Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
SOPHIE
My wedding dress was simple. White silk with delicate lace cap sleeves, a modest neckline, and a flowing A-line skirt that brushed the floor.
While it was no competition for any of the four wedding dresses Cath was already planning at Maison de Lys (one of the best-known fashion houses not only in Montvarra but across Europe), mine came from their ready-to-wear collection.
Madame Noir, the owner of the atelier, sent it over along with other selections.
But this one fit perfectly without needing any alterations.
For makeup, I’d never done my own before, and over the past five years there’d been no need to learn. So a soft pink lipstick and mascara were the extent of my skill.
As for jewelry, the one Mamma initially insisted I wear was far too ornate for such understated makeup. But with a heavy heart, she agreed that toning it down to simple diamond earrings that matched my engagement ring was the right choice.
I looked one last time at my room, at the dusty rose walls with sprays of lavender painted on them, my bed with its creamy pillows and pink coverlet.
My small white sofa that I’d barely used.
My desk—the only thing that felt a bit strange in the room—with my notebooks organized in chaos, where I’d written notes and solutions from the books I’d borrowed from Papa’s library.
Some were on the shelves, long ago replacing the dolls and all the trinkets I used to collect.
I’d spent endless nights filling those notebooks, trying to avoid thinking, analyzing, remembering the things that made me… what I am.
All this would remain here, in this room that I once thought I would never leave again.
Everything else had been packed and sent to my new home.
I’d made the right decision, I repeated to myself.
And I wouldn’t regret it! Even if Rafa was sure I would.
He could be angry, I knew, but he wasn’t the one who’d been forced to lock herself in four walls.
Besides, it seemed nothing much would change.
Viktor had promised me a separate room. And to ensure my peace. I only hoped he was a man of his word.
I moved to the window and looked down at the garden below, where white silk ribbons hung from the trees and roses lined the path to the altar. There he stood, in his black morning suit, perfectly tailored over a crisp white shirt, with his short dark hair curling in soft waves.
He inclined his head with a brief smile at something the man beside him said.
Yann Korolyov—Viktor’s cousin from Kosvenia.
He had a reputation as bad as any criminal’s in Eastern Europe, though how much was the truth I could only guess.
He looked to be in his late thirties, while his wife, who was standing a few steps away chatting with Mamma, seemed only a few years younger than him.
My gaze shifted to the bouquets that had arrived this morning. Some from friends I hadn’t seen in five years. Some from people who’d been celebrating my fall from grace. Each one wishing me a blessed marriage.
Though all of them probably knew that the love story fed to the press about Viktor Rowks being in love with me for years and finally acting on his feelings was fake.
As fake as the story of us choosing my parents’ backyard with only close family due to my private nature. As if no one knew the real reason.
A knock caught me off guard, and when I looked, Rafael was already standing in the doorway.
“It’s not too late to change your mind,” he whispered, closing the door. “If you do, I’ll handle the rest.”
“Rafa.” An itch appeared at the tips of my fingers—to reach for his hand, to take it in my palms, to feel his warmth.
Instead, I gave him a smile. “I know you love me. I know you care about me. I know how far you’d go for me…
But this is my life. So let me handle it.
” I swallowed. “I will eventually marry someone. Someone I won’t love.
Let it be someone from whom we’ll benefit the most.”
“You could just never marry,” he said. “Why can’t you just… be here?”
I laughed, probably the most sincere laugh in years, when another knock landed on the door. This time it was Cath.
“Fifi, you look so beautiful.” She gasped, awe in her voice.
Rafael glanced at me again, from head to toe, and a sad smile touched his eyes. “She’s always beautiful.”
My cheeks burned with a blush, and I turned once again toward the window.
“You ready?” Cath asked, hinting at the clock on the wall.
Five minutes till seven. Five minutes while I was still Sophie Moreau.
I took a breath, skimming over my room for the last time before picking up my bridal bouquet and stepping toward the doorway.
“I knew you’d somehow find a means to not be my maid of honor. But marrying yourself into the Rowks… That was one hell of a way.” Cath chuckled when I reached her.
I chortled at her joke as we moved forward. Best not to mention that the thought had actually crossed my mind.
I stopped on the terrace, feeling a pang of sympathy for all the men who had to wear full formal attire. Despite it being evening, it was still sweltering. If not for the breeze that swept through the garden, I couldn’t imagine how they’d survive it.
Papa approached, extending his arm. And I wished I could take it. I’d grown up watching brides being led to the altar by their fathers—smiling, gleaming, exchanging their vows, and sealing them with a kiss of love.
But mine had none of that. Only clutching my bouquet as I walked down the aisle beside Papa, avoiding looking at my groom.
Our vow exchange was vague, more like torture, yet my hand surprisingly didn’t shake when I signed the papers. Or perhaps I didn’t fully comprehend that with a few strokes of the pen I was ending my time as a Moreau.
Even when congratulations came from all around, addressing us as Mr. and Mrs. Rowks, nothing felt real.
The rest of the evening passed in fragments.
As if I was watching myself from outside: how we moved to the small wedding table, how Yann Korolyov’s wife tried to start a conversation while I drifted in a fog, only snapping back for a second when my mother caught my attention by gesturing at the plate in front of me.
I clattered my fork and knife, but I doubt anything reached my mouth.
The next moment, we were in a car, sitting in silence on opposite sides of the back seat, each of us looking out our windows while it drove along the road. We stopped briefly at the guard post outside the Rowks Estate gates, and then once again in front of the house.
I had expected a deep chill to wash over me the instant I stepped out. But while cool air blew from the fountains, it was warm. And the house didn’t seem scary. Perhaps it was the yellow light spilling from the lamps.
The interior was surprisingly modest—modern renovations that still preserved the original grandeur.
“You must be tired,” Viktor finally said. “Ms. Hale is our housekeeper.” He gestured to the woman in her mid-fifties who was standing at the bottom of the stairs. “She will also take care of anything you need.”
I silently greeted the woman, and she returned the gesture, smiling, revealing fine wrinkles near her eyes.
“It’s my pleasure,” she said, leading me upstairs. “You must be exhausted. Shall I show you around tomorrow morning?”
“Yes, thank you.” I followed her up the stairs. Behind me, Viktor’s footsteps didn’t follow. And when we turned left at the second floor, I couldn’t help glancing the other way.
“Mr. Rowks’s bedroom is over there,” she added when I glanced back in the opposite direction.
Far enough. Good.
When we reached the end of the corridor, Ms. Hale showed me through the sitting room and into the bedroom.
“Your belongings have been unpacked in the dressing room,” she said, gesturing to one of the two doors on the right. The other was probably the bathroom.
But my attention shifted when I noticed the large private terrace beyond my windows.
I went out there first thing when Ms. Hale left me alone.
It faced the garden, which was bigger than the one at my parents’, with another fountain placed in the center, surrounded by several statues.
Similar statues stood at other points in the estate, but only those closer to the house lights were clear.
The wedding ceremony would’ve been much prettier if held here. I shook my head at the thought before sitting on the settee near the entrance. For the first time that day, I felt silence. Only the soft chirping of crickets from the garden.
Peaceful. It was so peaceful. Viktor seemed not to have lied about this. It was then that the realization sank in.
I was now Sophie Rowks.