2. Chapter Two
Chapter Two
I return to my room, my lungs filled with anxiety.
I’ve stepped over the edge of the cliff.
Trading one prison for another. Whitewood Manor has a reputation for being impenetrable.
The only way one leaves is in a body bag, and it’s to be my new home with a man I don’t know.
A man I am to marry in my sister’s place.
Did she know this would happen? Would she care? Does she care about me–our family, at all?
I’ve barely had a moment to myself when my mother comes barging back into my room along with the glam team that was meant to prepare my sister for the ceremony.
There’s no time for tears.
No time for second guessing.
My mother’s assistant scurries past me, dragging my luggage with her. Wordlessly, she packs my things, not bothering to ask what I wish to take and what I prefer to leave behind.
“Odette,” Mother shrieks my name. “Focus. Cassandra needs to alter the dress.” She claps, and the seamstress steps forward with the wedding dress. The one I helped my sister pick out six months ago. Did she know then that she would never wear it on this day? How long did she have this planned?
“Odette,” Mother screams my name and snaps her fingers.
There’s no room for modesty as I strip down to my underwear. The woman lays the garment bag across my bed, carefully unzipping it.
I stare at the opposite side of the room.
The side that belongs to Lynette wishing I could manifest her before me now.
Force her to explain why. She could have been honest with me.
I may have volunteered willingly had she given me the option.
I could have tried to help or something.
It cuts me to the bone to know that she didn’t trust me.
Realization that she drugged me last night rears its deceitful head. That’s why my wine tasted off. Why I slept the day away.
“There’s nothing to worry about.” My mother reads my expression.
Pinched brows and lips. On the verge of tears.
I don’t know if I’m mourning the life I will never get to live.
The one of my own choosing or the loss of my relationship with Lynette.
My sister was my best friend. Now I can never, ever trust her again.
“Chop. Chop, Odette. Cassandra doesn’t have all day. Neither do you.”
The silk fabric hangs heavily on my body, swallowing my petite frame, drowning me in the expectations I now carry. Lynette was blessed with long legs and thick hips. I, on the other hand, am short and slim with a decent bra size.
Disappointment hangs in the air between my mother and me. I’ll never compare to her precious Lynette, and she’ll never be the mother I need or the one I desperately want.
The seamstress pulls the fabric tight around my midsection.
“Can’t I wear something else?” I tug at the drooping bust. “I look like a clown. A child playing dress-up.”
Cassandra makes a tsk sound, jabbing me in the hip with one of her pins.
“Don’t be so dramatic, darling. Cassandra can work miracles.”
It’s going to take more than a miracle I’m afraid.
She works tirelessly. Each pin is a jab into my heart. A painful reminder of my sister’s betrayal. A reminder that my parents do not care about me.
“Smile, Odette. You’re going to make a beautiful bride. Nico will not be disappointed,” Cassandra tells me.
I smile because I am expected to.
The dress comes off, and she scurries away with it. I’m shoved down onto my vanity chair. Three women crowd around me. One tussles with my hair. Another plucks at my brows. The last kneels next to me and starts on my nails.
My mother beams in the background before fading away to get ready herself.
They all make it sound easy to pretend that today is the happiest day of my life. Don’t they realize they are dressing me up for my funeral?
As promised within the hour, I’m groomed and am as ready as I can be for what comes next.
The car pulls around the front, and I fold into the back with my parents and younger sister.
The lock clicks. I’m trapped. Bound by duty and honor. I won’t disgrace my family like my sister chose to do. My friends will think I disappeared into thin air, but the truth is heavier and darker than that. I’m being traded to protect my family. I’m a game piece.
Property.
I don’t even feel like a person.
I suppose it could be worse. I could have been sold to the Lamb Society.
No one speaks at first. I close my eyes and lean back against the seat.
The leather is too smooth, too cold, as if it resents my presence, too.
A steel, icy hand wraps around my heart, squeezing the air from my lungs.
How long did it take her to decide to leave without a word to anyone?
To decide that the fallout didn’t matter.
Was it easy to leave me behind? To mark me as the sacrificial lamb.
I was only supposed to be a bridesmaid. I was never meant to be the one giving up everything.
My father clears his throat. “You’ll grow to like Nico. Maybe one day you’ll love him.”
My heart cracks a little more. What a terrible thing to say to the daughter you’re trading to save your own skin.
My mother looks away, staring out the window as if the scenery is more interesting than our conversation.
She doesn’t offer me any words of encouragement.
Gissette, my younger sister, sticks her tongue out at me.
She’s lucky she’s only twelve. A child still.
By the time she marries she will have the freedom of choice.
Truthfully our father will likely be dead by then with his lifestyle.
She has no idea what is happening. I envy her cluelessness.
Mother whispers something to Father. The two of them discuss my life as if I’m not in the car. I digest every unwelcome glance they shoot my way when my name comes up in their conversation. I catch snippets here and there. Nico Moretti. Estate. Business. Empire. Don. Bride. Babies.
I am nothing more than an asset. A pawn. Their property. Not their daughter.
They don’t care about me. Have they ever loved me?
Tears burn in the creases of my eyes. I don’t want them to see me cry. To watch me break. They only care that I arrive at the wedding picture perfect. The dutiful daughter. Ready to say those two dreaded words.
I do.
The words stick in my throat. My fear morphing into my resentment.
I close my eyes again, squeezing them shut tight, wishing my shoulders would sprout wings and I could fly far away and never look back.
Lynette had two years to get used to the idea of marrying Nico. I’ve hardly had an hour.
“You’ll learn to love him,” Mother repeats Father’s words.
My father’s eyes bore into mine. His voice comes out louder this time, less patient. “He’s a good man.”
He’s a dangerous man , I think, but the words never claw their way up my throat.
Instead, I nod like a good girl. Arguing won’t change anything.
My father gave his word and I gave mine. A man's word in this world has more currency than gold.
My nerves are raw. Frayed around the edges, like the loose thread on my favorite sweater.
I try to picture what today will hold, but every time I do, the only thing I see is his face.
My husband to be. Nico Moretti. I twist my fingers together, feeling the roughness of his hands.
I touch my cheek, imagining the prickle of his facial hair.
I don’t know what color his eyes are, but in my mind, they are the deepest black, capable of drowning me.
Swallowing me. Smothering out all the light.
I think about everything I know about the man I’m to marry. Secret conversations with my sister play through my head. Keywords stick out. Ones I’ve hung onto. Stored in the back of my mind like the jewelry box full of mismatched beads I kept under my bed.
Mobster. Powerful. Cold. Rich. All the things any girl would want in a husband. Or so that’s what Lynette would say when we talked about her engagement.
My nails dig into my palm, leaving crescent-shaped indentations.
Angers boils through my veins. Why didn’t I run?
Why didn’t I see any of this coming? My regrets leave me hollow, and my knees knock together with every passing mile we travel.
Every turn and curve that brings me that much closer to my fate.
Our driver slows as we wind around another curve.
Dark trees arch overhead, creating a canopy.
I wish one of them would stretch its branches down and pluck me right out of my seat.
The sound of crunching gravel drowns out the blood rushing in my ears and kills my fantasy of escaping.
My heart is beating too fast. I want to shrink down, fold myself into nothing.
The door unlocks. My father twists around, gesturing for me to exit the car.
I don’t move. Not yet. Intense armed men greet us.
I’m used to seeing the same scene at my childhood home daily, but these men are larger than my father’s.
More intimidating. They have scared faces and tattoos on every patch of visible skin, including their hands.
Fear beats its fists against my ribs. Battering into me like a ram breeching the castle gates.
Whitewood Manor looms behind the men just as menacing.
Gargoyles perched above us, staring down at me as though they might come to life at any second, flap their wings and vomit fire.
Dark stone pillars wrapped in ivy. Floor to ceiling windows.
The estate is enormous and breathtakingly beautiful.
Like something found in a gothic fairytale and not what I expected at all.
A dark shadow moves in the highest window of the east tower. A shiver courses up and down my spine. A warning. Stay away. Don’t exit the car. Don’t come inside.
But the mysterious figure is soon forgotten. My gaze lands on him. Nico, the man I’m about to wed until death do us part.
He’s everything I remember and more. Taller than the other men, his shoulders broad and intimidating.
Then there’s his hair, black as the darkest of nights.
He’s handsome. Chiseled jawline dusted with facial hair.
Perfect lips. Not too thin. Manicured brows, but not in an obvious way.
His eyes meet mine, dark as charcoal. The sight of him takes my breath away, or maybe that’s the anxiety choking me.
As attractive as he is, he’s also scowling at me. He’s pissed. He’s terrifyingly handsome. And he's at least fifteen years older than me.
He continues to stare at me with those dark eyes.
Is he disappointed I’m not the bride he was promised?
His mouth forms a tight line, his brows knit as he glances at his watch. Impatient. I make a mental note. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting. I take a shaky breath and push the door open with trembling fingers, like an obedient daughter.
My father clamps him on the shoulder. “You remember my middle daughter, Odette.”
“I remember her,” Nico says, giving my father a hard smile, but his gaze is trained on me. His words grip me, drawing me closer.
He remembers me.
My heart leaps to my throat. I can’t decide whether or not his remembering me is a good thing.
Nico moves toward me, closing the gap between us with slow, confident steps. My muscles tense. I’m the lamb in the sights of a lion, hoping his teeth are dull and I’m not his favorite prey.
“You’re much prettier than your sister,” he says when he is close enough to touch me. The warmth of his breath is a whisper, a caress against my ear as he leans down and kisses my cheek.
His cologne is earthy with a hint of spice and intoxicating. I’ve never smelled anything more alluring.
I force myself to meet his gaze, but looking into his dark orbs is like staring into an abyss. Murky and full of shadows.
Endless.
I could drown in his eyes. There’s something hypnotizing about them. The longer I stare into them, the more details I take in. His eyes aren’t black at all but a rich dark brown with some flecks of gold peppered in.
His mouth twitches as though he finds my attention amusing.
I should say something. Anything before he thinks I’m mute.
“I’ll learn to like you,” I promise.
He laughs, and so do my father and his men.
I think even the gargoyles are chuckling.
Nico pinches my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze once more. All humor wiped from his expression.
My heart beats faster and harder.
“I’ll do my best to be likeable,” he warns, and all I can think is what it will be like to kiss his powerful lips when I become his wife.