Page 59 of Cursed

Chapter Twenty-One

The crowd erupted into a cacophony of cheers, but Edeena couldn’t concentrate on that, couldn’t concentrate on anything except for Vince kneeling in front of her.

“What are you doing?” she mouthed, as soundlessly as she could, fiercely aware of the microphone at her neck.

“Say yes,” Vince mouthed back with a grin, equally aware but somehow still maintaining the presence of mind to keep up the act.

Only . . . was it an act? If it was, it was one of genius. And yet the way he was staring at her, his entire face flushed with intensity, his eyes boring into hers as if they could see into her soul . . . surely he was merely trying to help her, trying to save her from being embarrassed.

Right?

He squeezed her hands, hard, and Edeena said the only thing she could think of, the only thing that made sense in that moment.

“Yes!” she blurted, the sense of surrealism crashing over her again. “Yes, Vincent Rallis, I’ll marry you. If you will have me in return, you will be the next . . .” she swallowed, suddenly aware of the weight of silence that had once more fallen on the world around them. “You will be the next Count Saleri.”

To her surprise, there was no more cheering in the crowd. In fact, the entire place had fallen dead silent.

All the blood drained out of her head, and even Vince was looking a little green. At her gentle tug, he rose to his feet, but he didn’t step away from her. Instead he turned with her, one hand stealing behind her back, the other gripping her hand. He wasn’t about to let her face any of this alone, she realized, and for once, she was okay with that.

In fact, if what she’d agreed to was true—was real—she’d be okay with it for the rest of her life.

Her gaze swept the crowd, and she finally spotted Marguerite and Caroline, both of them looking like they were ready to jump out of their skin. Instead, they were being restrained, not by Rob and Cindy Marks, but by the very real, august presence of the King and Queen of Garronia, who now stood on either side of them. Also flanked between them was Silas Saleri.

For once, Silas wasn’t seething with malevolence either. He looked . . . more shocked than anything.

Edeena could understand how he felt.

The urge to say something—anything—grew intolerable, and Edeena took a deep breath. As Vince squeezed her hand, silently giving her the courage to step forward again, however, there was a new movement in the crowd.

Casually, with surpassing dignity, Guillarmo Aconti strode out into the space between the gazebo and throng of people. He bowed deeply to Edeena and Vince, then turned to face the gathering.

“I am Count Guillarmo Aconti Saleri, son of Lisbet Saleri, oldest daughter of Marcus Saleri, son of Antonio Saleri, son of Isabella Saleri,” he boomed. “I bless this union and cast my lot with Countess Edeena Saleri and her new husband.”

Edeena stiffened. Guillarmo Aconti Saleri?

Another man strode forward, and she recognized him as their driver from the day in the country. “I am Count Martin Saleri,” he said proudly, holding out his arms wide as he shouted out a similarly complicated lineage, this one even longer than Guillarmo’s. “It has been one hundred years since my family has laid claim to the Saleri name. I lay claim to it today. I am honored to count myself a member of this family, and I bless this union and the strength of the Saleri name.”

Then a woman bustled forth, and Edeena blinked hard, unable to stop the sudden, irrational surge of tears that came to her eyes. It wasn’t one of the polished nobles she’d met over the course of the endless brunches and breakfasts, dinners and tea parties—it was someone she would have never imagined.

The ancient, sharp-eyed dressmaker bustled into the space opening up in the crowd, her dress a vision in black silk with a cream collar, subtly continuing Edeena’s own elaborate tea dress colors but in a style far more suited to her petite frame and mature years. “I am Magdalene Anastasia Rigotto Martine Saleri,” she said triumphantly. “My family cast its lot with the Andrises of Garronia, and it continues to be my pleasure to serve them. But I, too, bless this union. On this day above all others, I am proud to call myself a Saleri.”

After that, there was a rush of people to the front of the crowd, all of them claiming solidarity with the Saleri name as Edeena and Vince stood, their hands gripping so tightly, Edeena thought she’d go numb. Within the next five minutes, a new movement started, and the crowd parted to let the king, queen, and her father and sisters make their way to the gazebo.

Marguerite and Caro were radiant with joy, Silas still looked faintly shocked, but it was Catherine and Jasen who looked the happiest, and—Edeena was surprised to realize—clearly relieved.

Jasen took a proffered microphone. “It is with great pleasure that I also endorse the engagement of Countess Edeena Arabelle Catherine Saleri and Mr. Vincent Rallis, and heartily applaud the remarkable solidarity of the Saleri family. Apart, you have been a credit to your country. Together, you will be the pride of all Garronia.”

Another cheer went up, and the music surged forth once more, sending the party into a fever pitch as their small group lay trapped on the gazebo stairs for another moment more.

Marguerite and Caroline converged on Vince, pulling him away from her, which left Edeena staring face to face with her father.

In the privacy of the gazebo, he no longer looked shell-shocked. He looked nearly manic.

Hesitantly, Edeena reached out to touch him on the arm. “Father—”

“It’s not going to work,” he snapped, his gaze connecting with hers. “It’s close, it’s very close. But it’s not perfect. The engagement won’t hold.”

She blinked at him, her outrage all the greater because it spoke to her own insecurities. She couldn’t really expect Vince to marry her—they’d known each other all of three weeks! It was preposterous! But to have her father throw his disdain so boldly at her stiffened her spine.

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