as she’s cunning enough to disguise her contempt beneath layers of polished etiquette.
“I’m sure she paid someone to take care of the details.” It’s a chip at her pride, but I’m too drunk to care.
“Have you given any thought to the honeymoon?” She sips a glass of water, and I reckon everyone at this dog and pony show knows she’s knocked up because of it.
“What’s the point? You’re already carrying my child, aren’t you?”
The flinch of her eyes betrays the indifference she’s struggling to hold in place like a mask that’s too small for her face. “I understand this whole thing isn’t what either one of us would have chosen. But the least you can do is pretend to enjoy the evening.”
I lift yet another glass of champagne. “I’m working on that.”
As the night rolls on, I stumble my way through the first dance and the sloppy cake cutting, walking off before she has the opportunity to smash the twenty-thousand dollar cake my mother ordered in my face. By the time it’s over, I feel like I’ve been strung up by my briefs most of the night, my ass hanging out.
With the music blasting through the atrium, I stumble my way out into the hallway, my brain swimming in at least three bottles worth of champagne.
“Lucian.” The sound of Amelia’s voice is fine china scraping against ground glass.
I want to claw it out of my skull.
“Lucian, wait.”
On unsteady feet, I pause halfway down the hall, while she scurries to catch up to me. It’s only because she’s the pregnant bride of the evening that I give her the time.
“I’ll help you to our bed.”
“Our bed? No. There is no our bed. You sleep in your bed. I sleep in my bed.”
Tears well in her eyes as she turns away from me. “It was a surprise to me, as well. I didn’t do this to trap you.”
“Then how th’fuck did my father know about it b’fore me? Huh? How th’fuck did your father know b’fore me?”
“It was wrong of me not to tell you right away. I should have. I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry? Th’only thing I’m sorry about is sticking my dick in you.” It’s then I notice the music has cut out, and I turn to see a crowd of guests standing outside the atrium.
The potent fog of alcohol tamps down the flare of irritation burning inside of me.
Amelia breaks into tears, and runs off down the hall.
And once again, I stand here looking like the villain.
Chapter 37
Isadora
Present day …
I stare in the mirror, as Giulia pins the last curl in place with a clip adorned in crystals. My hair hangs in long, lazy curls over my shoulders, gleaming with whatever products she used to make it shine. Since I never bothered with prom, or any of the dances in school, I’ve really never had the opportunity to dress up this way, aside from for the few weddings Aunt Midge has dragged me to, but she was often the one to do my hair, and all I can say about her efforts is she tried.
The dress is not one I would’ve chosen myself. Long, black and vampy, it clings to my curves, and flares out past my knees. The obscene slit up the side feels almost too racy, but the woman at the boutique insisted I was the epitome of grace and elegance, in spite of my trepidations. Lace and jewels make up the bodice that emphasizes my breasts, while long sleeves cover my scars. The black, Swarovski rhinestone, Venetian mask punctuates what I’ve always been told are cat-like eyes, and the red lipstick plumps my already too-fat lips.
“My God, Isa. You look like a maleficent goddess.” The solemn expression on Giulia’s face belies the awe in her words. I’d believe it jealousy, for not having been invited to the masquerade, but she wouldn’t have gone through so much trouble, fussing over me, if that were the case. And that’s not what I’ve gathered of her personality so far.
“Is everything okay?”
In the mirror’s reflection, she frowns, before her gaze falls away, prompting me to turn around.
“Giulia?”
“You need to be careful around these men tonight. They’re not what they seem.” Before I can ask her more, she crosses the room and grabs the shoes set out for me, and when she returns, she lowers herself to the floor at my feet. “I don’t know why he would ask you to do this.”
“What is it about them that concerns you?”
Raising the hem of