Page 1 of Veiled Vows

Chapter 1

Serena

Istand in front of the mirror, putting the finishing touches to my makeup. The lash extensions make my blue eyes appear larger and sexier, and my spray tan gives me a lovely glow. My skin is smooth and silky, thanks to the endless treatments and creams I use. I look good.

Tonight, my parents are hosting another one of their parties, this time to celebrate their most recent milestone in the real estate business they have established. My family is thriving, from luxurious apartments in Milan to countryside properties in Tuscany. They don’t just host these events to celebrate; they also serve as a reminder of who controls the market.

The party is being held in a posh hotel, and I’m in the hotel room, getting ready for the evening. I step into the dress laid out for me, a loose long lace dress that hides my curves. It’s a shade of pink chosen specifically by my mother, knowing how Salvatore always tells me he loves me in pink. The fabric admittedly doesn’t do my body justice, covering the figure I’ve painstakingly taken care of.

As I put on my heels, I take a deep breath to ground myself. These events are more than just parties—they’re exhibitions, where every smile, every word, is scrutinized. I’m expected to play my part, to be the epitome of elegance.

Salvatore enters the room, his presence as commanding as ever. His dark eyes rake over me, taking in my appearance with a look of approval. He looks as handsome as always, his broad shoulders and chiseled features enough to make any woman drool. His slicked-back hair highlights his sharp jawline and grey eyes.

His manliness and charisma are magnetic. He looks every bit the part of a powerful, successful man—the kind of man any woman would envy me for marrying.

"You look stunning," he says, his voice smooth and deep like melted chocolate. He approaches, adjusting a stray lock of my hair, his touch sending a shiver down my spine. Then, he presses a kiss on my shoulder, making me swoon.

"Thank you," I reply. Inside, my stomach churns with unease. These parties never get easier. The nerves refuse to dissipate. I know everyone is watching, judging, and waiting for me to slip up. It's a constant pressure to live up to the expectations of being Salvatore Agosti's wife. I've become skilled at concealing how much the pressure affects me, at suppressing my emotions.

We make our way to the party, the commotion growing louder as we approach. The space is crowded with the upper class. They are all dressed in their finest, engaging in shallow discussions solely to display status and network. My parents are at the center, basking in the yes men around them that do nothing but kiss their ass.

I take my place beside Salvatore, his arm wrapped possessively around my waist. The night is a blur of dull introductions and small talk, my practiced smiles and polite nods polished to perfection. I am a damn good actress.

I excuse myself from the party and head towards the restroom. The smile I’ve plastered on my face all evening feels like it’s cracking, and I just want a moment alone, away from all of this fakeness. The powder room is lavish, just like everything in this hotel. I rest against the sink, shutting my eyes and adjusting in my painful heels.

The door swings open, and a group of women enter. I quickly slip into one of the stalls before they see me, wanting to avoidmore small talk. I sit on the toilet seat, waiting for them to leave, hoping they didn’t notice me.

"Did you see Serena tonight?" I hear, the voice dripping with disdain. "She looks like a Barbie doll, doesn't she?"

Another voice chimes in. "Oh, absolutely. Those boobs, though, they’re so obviously fake. And her nose—she’s had it done, right?"

I feel a flush of humiliation creeping up my neck. My fists clench on my lap as I listen to them tear me apart. I’ve made these augmentations way before I knew Salvatore, they are needed for our world. You can’t be ugly, you have to look like a model straight out of a magazine. At least that’s what my mother has always told me.

Did Salvatore know of all the things I'd done in order to fit into this world? Did he appreciate them, or did he view me as a fake blow-up sex doll like these girls do?

"Yeah, and her lips too. All filler. I mean, she’s pretty, but it’s all so… plastic," says another, a sneer evident in her tone.

"Salvatore seems happy with it, though," one of them giggles. "He’s always got his arm around her, showing her off like she’s his trophy."

My heart sinks at their words. I’ve always known people talk, but hearing it so bluntly, so cruelly, is not something I was ready for.

"Do you think their marriage was arranged?" one of the women asks, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "I heard rumors that her parents groomed her to be the perfect wife for him."

"Of course it is," another responds. "I mean, look at her. Everything about her screams ‘perfect wife.’ They probably made her take up all those hobbies he likes—horseback riding, classical music, even the way she dresses. It’s all too convenient."

I rub my arms to comfort myself at what I’m hearing. I’ve always done those things because I thought they made me happy, but now… now I’m not so sure. The doubts I'd pushed aside for months surge forward.

"She’s like a doll they’ve dressed up for him. And those surgeries, all that maintenance—it’s all to fit his ideal, isn’t it?"

Their laughter echoes in the bathroom, making me feel small. I feel the walls closing in, the air becoming suffocating.

"But Salvatore is so dreamy," I hear. "I wouldn’t mind being in her shoes, even if it was all fake. I mean, who cares if it’s arranged? Look at their life. Look at him.”

I can’t listen anymore. I feel sick. I want to leap out of the stall and face them, but their words have frozen me in place.

"Do you think he really loves her?"

There’s a pause, then a cynical laugh. "Who knows? Maybe."

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