Chapter Five AURORA #2
Sleep betrayed me. That was the first thing I thought when I opened my eyes the next morning. Because somehow, impossibly, unbelievably... my subconscious had decided to become my enemy.
I stared at the ceiling above my bed while pale morning light spilled through enormous windows and stretched across soft cream sheets tangled around my legs.
My room was quiet, but the city beyond the glass had already woken hours ago.
I could hear distant traffic thirty floors below and faint movement somewhere inside the penthouse.
Cabinets opening. Tiny footsteps running. Life continuing normally.
Meanwhile I had spent all night being psychologically assaulted by my own brain. Because every dream had been about him. Not romantic dreams. Not normal dreams. No. Apparently my subconscious specialized in emotional terrorism.
In one dream, I stood in a cathedral wearing white while Sergio waited beside me at the altar, his expression unreadable beneath stained glass and candlelight. But every time I looked at him... The devil masked stranger stood in the crowd. Watching. Not moving. Not speaking. Just staring.
Watching me leave. Watching me go. And I remember knowing somehow, because dream logic was horrifying, that if I got into the car... I'd never see him again.
I rolled over and shoved my face into my pillow. "For fuck’s sake."
Humiliation physically hurt. I had known that man for less than an hour. And somehow my brain had decided to act like I'd lost the love of my life. Absolutely pathetic. I wanted to punch myself.
"Aurora!" Sienna's voice exploded through the room. My bedroom door flew open.
"AUNTIE MUST EAT!" Bruno yelled from somewhere in the hallway.
"What?" I shouted. Tiny footsteps thundered closer. Then Bruno launched himself onto my bed wearing dinosaur pajamas and panic.
"Pancakes," he whispered urgently, clinging to my shoulders.
I blinked. "Pancakes are the reason you’re acting like a mini backpack?"
He nodded solemnly. "We're having chocolate chip pancakes. But there’s none for you.”
I shifted him into my lap. “And why not?”
“Because Mommy says you have to try on your wedding dress,” Bruno sighed. “Weddings are stupid. Dresses are stupid. I want you to have a pancake.”
I remembered my real life. Sergio was waiting, and so was his ring.
I’d just have to forget about the Devil.
Three hours later I stood on a raised platform while women attacked me with pins.
Hands pulled fabric tighter around my waist while somebody adjusted lace around my shoulders and another woman fussed with beads near my hip.
The bridal boutique smelled like white roses and expensive perfume and freshly bleached fabric.
Soft instrumental music drifted through hidden speakers while sunlight poured through giant windows and reflected off mirrors and crystal chandeliers overhead.
Everything looked bright. Beautiful. Perfect. I hated it. Absolutely hated it. Because I was standing inside my final wedding dress fitting. The word final sat heavily in my chest. Final meant real. Final meant no more pretending the wedding was far away. Final meant no more time.
I looked at my reflection. The gown was gorgeous.
Of course it was. Layers of white lace wrapped around my body while tiny crystals glittered softly beneath sunlight.
The dress hugged my waist before flowing around my legs in soft clouds of fabric.
Beautiful. Elegant. Exactly what a mafia princess should wear.
Across the room, Chiara sat on a velvet couch looking disgustingly happy. Actually glowing. Her blonde hair fell over one shoulder while Luca sat beside her eating tiny cookies and Bruno climbed all over her like a caffeinated monkey.
"Look at you," Chiara smiled. “You look so perfect.”
"Stop,” I muttered, closing my eyes tightly. "That face annoys me."
She blinked innocently. "What face?"
"The I-love-marriage face,” I said. “Just because you’re happy being a prisoner of the trad housewives variety doesn’t mean I will.”
She laughed. Traitor. "Doesn’t change the fact that you look beautiful."
I looked back toward the mirror. The dress felt too tight. Too heavy. Like somebody had wrapped ribbons around my ribs and pulled. I swallowed. Hard.
"Can we have a minute?" I begged my sister.
Chiara looked at me harder. Because something in my voice must have changed. She nodded slowly. A few minutes later the room emptied. The twins disappeared with a nanny. The assistants left. Silence settled over the boutique.
I stared at myself in the mirror for several long seconds. Then looked at my sister.
"Please,” I whispered. “Please, Chiara, don’t make me do this.”
Chiara's expression shifted. "Aurora. We’ve been over this, honey.”
"No." I turned toward her. "Please don't do that voice."
Her shoulders lowered. “I only want the best for you."
"I don't want this." The words escaped before I could stop them. And everything followed. "I don't want Sergio.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Chiara said, her tone placating.
"I don't want a wedding and a dress and bodyguards and babies and all this bullshit." I gestured wildly around me. "This horrible life."
My chest hurt. Because once I started I couldn't stop.
"I want freedom." My eyes burned unexpectedly. "I want a tiny apartment and a big motorcycle and bad decisions and a real, shitty job and normal clothes."
“Aurora, please,” Chiara said.
I laughed weakly. "I want to screw up my own life. I don't want somebody deciding who I belong to."
"Please,” Chiara repeated. “We’re only doing this to protect you, so please, please, just go along with it.”
God. I hated that word. Hated begging. But I looked at her anyway. "You need to reconsider. Before it’s too late and I never speak to you again."
For one horrible second... Hope flickered.
Because Chiara looked devastated. Actually devastated.
Her eyes softened. Then she stood slowly.
Walked toward me. Reached up and tucked dark hair behind my ear like she used to when I was little.
I thought she was going to smile sadly and tell me she'd fix it.
Tell me we'd run. Tell me we'd take Sienna and disappear somewhere stupid and beautiful where nobody knew our names.
Tell me she'd remembered our promises to each other as kids.
"Oh, Aurora,” she whispered brokenly.
No. No no no. Not that voice. Not the soft voice. Not the voice she used when Bruno scraped his knee or Luca cried because he found out dinosaurs were extinct forever. Because that voice meant pity. And I didn't want pity.
"I can't,” she said. “It’s too late.”
My chest went cold. "Chiara, it’s not too late. You have the power to stop all this."
"And I won't," she said.