Chapter 3 Eleanor
Eleanor
The walls seem to tighten around me, though I never show it.
Not to him. I’ve stood outside my father’s study too many times before, made of glass under his scrutiny, but this is different.
My heart drums a fevered tempo as I knock.
He’s forbidden Juliet and me from entering this room, but I know my value to him. A value I’m about to auction off.
Inside, the room smells of cigar smoke and varnish, a heavy mix that chokes the air.
Dark leather and polished mahogany fill the space, each piece precise and expensive, yet the whole feels as sterile as an operating table.
His back is to me at first, a tall figure in an immaculate gray suit, staring out the window.
"Eleanor." He doesn't turn around. My name leaves his mouth like a business card slipped across a table. "I trust this is important."
"It is." The words catch, just slightly, and I force them through. The room seems to shrink as I step farther inside.
He turns, and his eyes meet mine with the cold weight of appraisal. Richard Price: Gem trader, empire builder, the man who thinks even blood is an asset to be liquidated. Juliet and I have no business here, he often says, except when we are the business. I breathe in, but the air feels thin.
"You look determined, my girl. Dangerous, that.
" He leans against his desk, perfectly composed, a cat toying with a cornered mouse.
His fingers tap a steady rhythm against his onyx ring, a motion that always means he's planning three steps ahead.
"Have a seat." He gestures to the leather chair opposite, but I don't move. Sitting feels too much like submission.
"I'm here about the Rosettis," I say.
"Ah." He smiles, but there’s no warmth. "So, you’ve heard."
"I’ve heard," I echo, keeping my voice as smooth as silk. "And I’ll do it. I’ll marry Leonardo Rosetti."
The room stretches with silence, every tick of the clock loud and slow. I wonder if he can see the way my heart pounds, if the fine silk I wear betrays my pulse. He doesn't answer right away, lets the quiet press in on me.
"It isn’t up to you," he says finally. "Leonardo will choose. The one he likes best." He sounds almost amused, as if I’m still a child, still so easy to mold.
"Then I’ll make sure he likes me." My voice doesn’t waver, but inside, I’m unsteady, balancing on a knife's edge.
His gaze sharpens, and I see a flicker of the ruthless man behind the polished surface. "Are you sure you can play the mafia wife?"
I’ve practiced for this moment, locked away my fear where even Juliet can’t see it.
Still, my hands feel cold. I clasp them together, a mirror of his calm.
"I’m worth more to you married into that family than kept here.
You’ve been teaching me that my whole life.
So I will do whatever is required of me to achieve my goal. "
He laughs, a sound more cutting than pleasant. "Careful, Eleanor. You’re starting to sound like me."
I am like him in some ways—sharp, deliberate—but not in the ways that matter most. "This is business," I say, letting each word stand on its own, a barrier between what he thinks I am and what I’m becoming. "I know how to play the game. Juliet doesn’t."
"Ah." His eyes flicker, calculating, as if weighing his daughters in carats. "So that’s it. You’re protecting her. Again."
I don’t answer. He doesn’t need me to. Instead, I hold his gaze.
"Emotions make you weak, my girl," he says. "Don’t let them cloud your judgment."
He doesn't understand that this is judgment, that I've measured the risks and found the path. It would be easier to run, to take Juliet and disappear, but he would find us. He always does. The mafia is just another tool in his hand, one that cuts deeper than I dare.
"I don't do emotions," I say.
"We’ll see," he replies. He picks up a folder from his desk, his attention already shifting. "Leonardo insists on meeting both of you before he decides."
I swallow, the idea of a meeting twisting the air even thinner. "When?" I ask.
"Tonight. Make sure you look...impressive."
I leave his study with the pressure of his expectations wrapped tight around me. I am resolved. I will be the one Leonardo chooses, and in doing so, I will keep my sister free.
Out of sight, I pause to catch my breath, running a finger over the thin gold ring on my hand. The one piece of my mother’s that he couldn't trade away. It turns under my touch, a small, silent rebellion.
I head for my room, knowing Juliet will be waiting. She's always waiting, full of hope and doubt and the quiet strength no one sees but me. I’ll tell her we’ll be fine.
And if I can make myself believe it, then maybe I am strong enough after all.
Juliet twists her hair with one hand and reaches into my closet with the other.
Dresses fall to the floor, silks and cashmeres in limp defeat, until my room looks like a high-end yard sale.
"Eleanor," she says, her voice a thin wisp of pleading.
"What happened to our plan to run? Let's do it. Right now. I’m ready. "
I imagine the two of us out there, all desperate and romantic, until father finds us. He would, eventually, and there’s no telling what the Rosettis would do. I pick up then discard the silver-blue dress I wore to the O’Malley’s Christmas party. This time I need to impress a future husband.
"No running,” I say. “I never should have suggested that. I’m ready to grow up now, Jules. I’m ready to marry.”
Juliet sits beside me, clutching a pink tulle gown. Her hazel eyes meet mine. "If we just left—"
I force my words to be softer, gentler than I feel, because she needs that more than the truth. I push a white dress in her direction. "What about this one?"
Her lips tremble, trying to form an answer. Instead, she touches the edge of the fabric. "It’s...pretty."
Pretty. It’s a word I’ve learned to avoid. Our father calls us pretty like he calls us girls, never enough to be worth anything on our own. "And this?" I pull out an emerald silk. "Too dark?"
Her hands knot in her lap, fingers fidgeting. "I just wish—"
"We can’t wish our way out, Jules," I say, sharper than I mean to.
She flinches, a small, pained motion that makes me pull her close, arms wrapped around her thin frame.
"I’m doing this because I want to. I want to marry Leonardo Rosetti.
" The lie feels jagged in my throat. "All we need to do is get through tonight, make sure he chooses me. "
"But—"
"We’ll be free if he does." It’s a promise I intend to keep. I let her go and step back, feigning a certainty I don’t feel. I am a perfect, well-cut gem in my father’s hands.
Juliet reaches for the emerald dress, eyes searching mine like I’ve left a clue. She doesn’t understand how well I’ve learned to hide them. "Okay," she whispers. "We’ll be free." It sounds like she’s trying to convince herself, too.
I take the silver-blue dress from the floor. "Help me with this?" I ask, slipping into the dress. It floats over my shoulders, cold and silken as the Price family touch. She pulls the zipper up.
"Are you sure it’s not too...icy?" She gives me a sad half-smile.
"Isn’t that the idea?" My laugh is brittle, a practiced note that I hope sounds convincing.
"To show him what he’s getting?" My eyes catch the gold ring on my finger, the only rebellion I allow myself. I twist it once, just enough to remember it’s there, before forcing my thoughts back to the dress.
"Unless you think Leonardo would prefer me in something else? "
Juliet bites her lip, a familiar picture of hesitation. "Something that makes you happy?"
Happiness. Another thing we’ve never had enough of. "He’ll want me because of what I’m worth, not what I like." My voice is thin.
"I don’t want him to have you at all." Her words come out quick, and she looks startled by her own honesty, a rush of color rising in her cheeks.
"Think of the connections,” I say. “Do you have any idea how connected the Rosetti family is? I could snap my fingers and have anything I want. No more relying on father’s charity.” I give her a deliberate smile, forcing it until it almost feels real.
The dress is smooth against my legs, but it hugs my ribs too tightly, and for a moment, I wonder if I can breathe through the pressure. The reflection in the mirror is a stranger: polished, confident, everything I need to be.
In the glass, Juliet looks smaller and younger than she is. "You don’t have to do this," she says, and I want to believe she’s right.
But she’s not. I look at her, then at the floor littered with better options.
I bend to pick up one of them, a baby doll dress in pale pink, and hold it to her.
"You should wear this," I say. Pastel pink. I want her to look young, too young… and hope the Rosetti man isn’t into that sort of thing. "Help me with my hair?"
She takes the dress and nods. I sit in front of my vanity, her fingers working through the strands of my hair.
"He will love you," she says, a soft certainty I wish I could share. "It’s impossible not to."
I want to tell her that’s not relevant, that we learned to be unloved before we learned anything else.
But she looks so hopeful, and I can’t bring myself to crush it.
"Then this should be simple," I say instead.
"And once he sees you in that pink monstrosity, I won’t have to worry about competition. "
"Be serious," she whispers.
Her fingers weave my hair into a smooth, precise twist. I pull the strands tight with bobby pins, secure in all the ways I’m not, and force a grateful smile. “I’m always serious,” I tell her, and sadly it’s true.
While Juliet slips into the pink tulle dress, I look away, to the drawer full of my father’s jewelry. I pull out a diamond necklace and wonder if I can wear it without it choking me. It catches in the glow of the vanity. "Too much?" I ask her, holding it up against my neck.
She nods.
I sigh. I replace the necklace, taking out a string of pearls instead. They are more modest, but still beautiful, still capable of capturing Leonardo’s attention.
She moves away. Her fingers touch the edge of the dresser, needing something to hold.
"I’m scared," she says, as soft as a confession.
She’s not the only one, but she’s the only one who can say it. I smooth my dress. "You won’t be when he chooses me."
"And if he doesn’t?"
I reach for her hand, a sudden, certain grasp. "Then I’m not as good at this as I thought I was."
She holds on tighter than I expect. "You’re good at everything."
"I am, aren’t I?" I laugh, a soft break in the tension, but it feels more like crying than I want to admit. I give her a look that says, believe me this time. "We’re going to be fine."
It’s the same promise as before, but she lets me believe it’s working. We finish the last touches, two girls pretending they aren’t scared, pretending they know what they’re doing. The weight of my decision presses closer than the pearls around my neck.
We leave my room with everything we need, but it still feels like I’m missing the courage I’ve promised her.
I can’t look back now. My father’s trained me better than that.
We move forward, out of my room and toward what I’ve decided, toward Leonardo and everything he means for us.
I just hope my lies are stronger than my fears.