“You can’t be serious.” Collins sighs, pinching her brows, aggravation tightening her features.
I just smile at the defeat in her voice, slipping my Cartier earring into my left ear, the warm glow of wine buzzing along my nerves.
She had thrown some drab black dress and criminally small black heels at me this morning to wear, after directing me in what was to be expected at this dinner. Quiet and demure.
Completely opposite of who I am. Or who I’m going to be to my fiancé.
I took those pieces of fabric and shoes, threw them into the trash beside my desk, and took out one of my most scandalous dresses and highest pair of heels. Because, spite.
Collins groans again at my wide smirk, crossing her arms over her chest. She’s clearly not happy at my change in wardrobe, nor at the way I’ve done myself up.
For a woman who constantly reads, my sister is beautiful. Soft cinnamon brown hair, that’s pulled up and curled over her head, black glasses that frame her bare eyes. Not an ounce of makeup and although I find that insane because I’m always freshly done up, she doesn’t need it.
I turn to inspect myself in the mirror, savoring the feel of the red leather against my stomach and the way the dress skims just past mid-thigh, hugging my hips. Versace’s leather corset dress is more fitting for a night out, champagne bottle in hand, but tonight, I’m here to make a statement.
This is a power dress. A clear display to my fiancé that I cannot be controlled, and I plan on being at my absolute worst to prove it.
The dress barely covers my ass and my chest is all but spilling out, but I don’t focus on that. Fluffing my long red locks—expertly curled—I spray on my perfume, making sure my makeup is flawless.
Maeve has her weapons, Collins her books, but I have my sex appeal to fight my battles. It’s worked in the clubs when I wanted to sneak into restricted areas and it’ll work now. I’ll stoop to whatever levels to end this contract before it begins, including looking every bit the sex-depraved devil that no decent made man would want as a wife.
As far as Collins knew, Alessio still hadn’t cancelled, so I was pulling out all the stops.
“I think that’s enough.” Collins gives me a disapproving look, as I take another sip of wine. “I’m not carrying you to your engagement dinner.”
Like the good, obedient sister, she’s come to collect me. Or make sure I don’t run.
I finish the glass, holding it upside down. “Easy, Col. It’s only my second glass.”
She rolls her eyes. “Of which bottle?”
I just wink. My sister knows my tricks better than I do.
Get sloppy drunk before the dinner, let loose and wear a revealing outfit are just a few of the things I’ve been known to do. Collins knows this and she’s watching me like a hawk.
Soon, I’ll be at that dinner, a royal screw up on full display.
Then, freedom.
“Why are you even helping this?” I pull my top up, adjusting my breasts in the mirror. “As my sister, you’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I am on your side.” She rolls her eyes, tugging the bottom of my skirt down. It doesn’t move and her eyes narrow behind her frames. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but this is actually good for you.”
“Good for me?” I snort. “Right. Being kicked out of the family is such a great thing.”
Collins sighs, gathering patience. “Sloaney, all of us got our decrees. I got my decree just like Maeve did. This was yours. We all have roles to play if we want to stay in the clan.” She pulls at my top, my breasts giggling with her effort, but my dress cannot stretch. “You do realize Maeve could have just kicked you out, right?”
Wine sloshes in my gut. “She did.”
“She didn’t. She gave you a purpose.” Her green eyes flash. “What else would you have done? How else can you benefit the clan?”
Biting the inside of my cheek, I refuse to acknowledge the burn behind my eyes.
Obviously, no one thinks I can do anything in this family other than screw up and be caught in the papers while doing it. But Collins is supposed to take my side, she’s supposed to understand how this makes me feel. Instead, she’s pushing me toward the exit, tugging my hair to cover my cleavage.
“Sorry we’re not perfect wannabe doctors, with genius level IQs,” I bite out, bitterness drying my mouth.
“Sloane—”
“She’s selling me to the highest bidder.” I brush a few stray tears away because, not now. “You want to act like this is some benevolent act by our oldest sister, but I’m just a pawn in her game, a liability she shoved off into someone else’s hands. Pops couldn’t wait to get rid of me when I got old enough—Maeve is just doing it now. How can you say this is good for the clan when it’s not good for me?”
Collins shifts, her cream dress standing out against the warm woods and soft reds of my childhood bedroom. “Because living in this world, in this clan, we all have to do things we might not like.”
“Right. And what do you have to do?” I flick my fingers over her. “You get to live out your dream as a doctor. No one’s making you dress up and meet a man accused of killing his former lovers.”
There’s a flash of sorrow but it’s swallowed under the cool clinical gaze of a doctor.
“No one gave me this decree, Sloane, because I can’t have children.” She smooths down her skirt and I internally wince. “I can’t be of benefit to the clan this way, and the only way I can is by being a doctor.”
My mouth snaps shut, rage burning in my gut even as guilt threatens to temper it.
Collins can’t have children—not since she fought childhood cancer and was warned the treatments would reduce her fertility.
It’s always been a topic we’ve never discussed.
“Do you know how hard it is to watch you take on this decree?” she whispers. “I’m your big sister, I’m supposed to do the hard things so you don’t have to. I’m supposed to make the sacrifices. But I can’t take your place here. You have to do it. And I have to trust that Maeve has a reason for this.”
Every word stabs a jolt of pain into my heart, killing my frustration.
“Do you know how many times I’ve found you passed out in the front yard, too drunk or high to make it inside?” It’s a rhetorical question, because I have no memory of this. “Too many to count. So, if this arrangement calms that side of you down, if it stops you from killing yourself in your quest for attention or love or whatever your problem is, then so be it. I’ll gladly hand you over to the De Luca family. I’ll gladly support Maeve. Because… you want to know why?”
I swallow, shaking my head.
“Because at least you’ll be alive.”
I rock back as if slapped.
“I’m not that bad,” I defend weakly. But even I know that’s a lie.
I can only ignore the numbness with drugs and alcohol. I know this and apparently, so does Collins.
Collins shakes her head. “You are. Maybe this arrangement will knock some sense into you. Maybe you’ll find whatever you’re looking for.”
I snort because it is unlikely. Even I don’t know what I’m looking for in this life.
“Now, finish up,” Collins commands, pointing to my Medusa heels, one still unclasped. “We’re going to be late.”
I glare, saluting her sarcastically. Then I see her low heels.
Not one to be outdone, I point to her shoes, purposely goading her to feel like I’ve won.
“Couldn’t you wear a pair of nice heels for my engagement dinner? I’ll even let you borrow one of mine. We’re the same size.”
“And hurt my poor feet? No thank you.” She pushes her glasses higher up her nose and checks herself out in my floor length mirror, dotting her eyes. We’re back to the typical sibling banter now, as if the past conversation never happened.
Once the final shoe is secured, she leads me into the hallway, my pointed heels snagging on the red carpet. I do my best to focus on my feet and not her words.
She can’t honestly think this arrangement is best for me. She can’t honestly think that being tied to a man with a worse reputation than Maeve is in my best interest.
She directs me down the stairs, holding my elbow, as if I’ll slip through her fingers. “What’s with the ushering? Have a bet planned on my escape?”
Collins snorts, but that’s confirmation enough. She thinks I’ll run.
I’ve considered it. If only my sister’s men would let me go. I’m sure they’ve been instructed to make sure the youngest sister is at her engagement dinner.
My hand runs along the thick staircase, nails catching on the grey stoned walls.
Taking inspiration from the castles back home, the walls of our home are grey brick, with dark wooden floors and heavy curtains. Suits of armors line the walls, heads of exotic animals hang above us, with three floors, a wing on each with various rooms and quarters hidden behind heavy doors.
We descend the stairs, stopping in the main foyer, noticing the two soldiers at the front door down the long hall. My father never had people guarding the doors but new leader, new rules, I guess. The entire mansion is littered with men now, patrolling the grounds with guns ready.
My eyes go to Maeve’s closed office door. The place our father was found, and she’s holed herself in there for the last few weeks, rarely leaving it.
I wonder if she’s going to be at the dinner. Or if I’ll have to endure this alone.
Scanning the front door, I debate on if I can run in these heels. Unlikely, given these men don’t look like the typical goons my father employed. Gone are the dirty, ratty jeans and the shirts that looked better used as rags. These men wear clean dress shirts and business slacks, combat boots and combed hair.
I turn, a man gliding past me just on the peripheral of my vision. He enters the office, not bothering to knock.
For some reason, he seems familiar, but I can’t place him.
“Who was that?” I ask Collins, jerking a thumb to the office. “Did you see him?”
“Not sure.” My sister tugs me in the opposite direction. “Whoever he is, he doesn’t look like someone to mess with. He’s probably here for business with Maeve.” That’s an understatement.
The only impression I got from him was the touch of death, a coldness that seems to follow me even as we enter the dining room.
With its burgundy paint and dark wainscoting, it looks like something from an old Victorian home, rather than a castle. The burning fireplace casts angry shadows all over the walls, turning the antique room haunted. Red roses dot the large table, a sick memory of my mother’s taste in this room.
She loved red roses. It’s why I wear her perfume, why I have a tattoo of it on my lower hip. Not because I miss her, but because the only time my father ever spoke nicely to me was when he compared me to her.
Rich notes of savory food hit my nose and my stomach grumbles in response. Roasts of veal and lamb, rich pastas, and salads with gleaming green beans and potatoes have been laid out by our personal chef, a man that hides in the shadows and only makes his presence known with the delicious smells of his cooking.
We’re not alone in this room, though. Three older women, all in their late fifties or sixties, sit at the table. Two have dark dresses, with simple diamond earrings and no makeup, judging me with bold disgust. The woman in the center, though, is dressed in a burnt orange dress, her soft brown hair long with streaks of grey. She doesn’t look as irritated as her friends, but gives me a quick scan, eyes lingering on my hair and my exposed legs.
I didn’t feel self-conscious in this dress before but under her gaze, I’m ready to run and change. This is a woman used to receiving respect and won’t tolerate anything else.
“Your sister and the De Luca men are on their way,” Hayes says from behind, startling me. “Your sister requests you sit down and behave.” He shoots me a knowing look and I roll my eyes. There goes my last hope he wouldn’t show.
“We’ll behave.” Collins smiles sweetly, hand placed on my arm in warning. Traitor. “Come on, Sloane.”
She directs me to the table, and I grab the unopened bottle of wine before she can stop me. The buzz is wearing off and I’ll need all the extra help I can get.
My phone goes off, and when I open it, I’m greeted with pictures of a yacht from Danica. A place I should be, escaping this nightmare and enjoying the various warm bodies crowding her.
I send her a quick comment before turning my phone off, placing the screen face down. Collins glares at me, two lines forming between her brows.
“How will your new husband like knowing you still talk to an ex-hookup?” she whispers, avoiding triggering the matrons.
I have no such reservations, clearing my throat. “Considering it’s not my choice to be here, he’ll have to deal.”
“Sloane—‘
“You know, we do this every time she’s mentioned.” I flick my fingers at her.
It’s not like Danica is my best friend. I’ll be damned to admit that to Collins who seems to think she knows everything.
She glares. “Because eventually you’re going to learn that she’s not the person you should keep in your orbit. There are better choices for friends. Friends who aren’t addicts.”
My heart pangs. Not because she’s wrong, but because she’s right.
“At least I have friends.” I sip from my glass, keeping the cunning smile on my face even as I lash out. Collins winces as if I’d stabbed her, and the buzz is keeping any guilt from penetrating my heart. “Maybe you don’t know what a good friend looks like.”
Demurely, Collins places her hands into her lap, not touching her wine. “Maybe.”
The clock strikes seven over the fireplace mantle, the ring bouncing around the room as I shift. Time to meet my future fiancé and end this marriage before it starts.
