Page 1 of Forbidden Dark Vows

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RUBY

RUBY & HARRY 1987

My mom straightensmy coat collar, checks me out, eyes narrowed like she’s disappointed I left home without applying lipstick,again, and says, “Smile, Ruby, for God’s sake.”

I stretch my lips upwards in a fake smile and roll my eyes at the same time. I can’t help it. She clocks the eye-roll, and her mouth pinches into a tight buttonhole shape. “Remember why we’re doing this.”

Weare not doing anything. What she means is, remember whyyou’redoing this, Ruby.

“I didn’t pay for all those ice skating lessons for nothing,” she adds, her voice silky smooth while making sure that I understand we’re in this together.

I work at the outdoor skating rink some evenings. I don’t mind it. I like being outdoors. I like watching folks landing on their butts on the ice and leaping up again, laughing like they planned it that way. Like they enjoy making a total ass of themselves on a night out.

Sure, the boots stink sometimes, and I have to pinch my nose and hold them at arm’s length when I shove them back onto the correct shelf, but it means I get to skate for free whenever I want. The rink gives off holiday vibes anyway, especially when we’ve had a frosting of snow in Chicago, and people are snuggled up inside their furry hoods and ski gloves.

The fairy lights strung around the rink twinkle behind my mom, highlighting her rosy cheeks and pink-tipped nose. I knew as soon as I saw the VIPs rock up in a black stretch limo that it would only be a matter of time before she showed up. I could’ve timed it down to the second if I wasn’t so busy shoving boots into the hands of celebrities wanting to show off their skills—or lack of—on the ice.

I don’t even know how she does it. It’s like she has a built-in radar:money alert, money alert, money alert.

My dad had a stroke thirteen years ago, shortly after I started middle school. Before he got sick, he’d been a successful businessman. He started his company from the basement of his parents’ house when he graduated from university with a master’s in computer technology and an idea that he believed would make him a millionaire.

It did. And then some.

And then it almost killed him.

Well, not the business exactly, but the stress of running a company that was evolving faster than he could keep up with. I don’t know what happened exactly—my parents don’t talk about it—but I do know that a bad deal wiped him out and his business collapsed faster than a house of cards.

I watch my mom fussing over my hair, teasing strands over my shoulders and clicking her tongue like she could do with a can of hairspray right about now. Her hair is immaculate as always, her clothes old but still with designer labels attached to the inside. Her eyes skim my face, noting the state of play of the makeup and nothing else.

“It’s fine, Mom,” I say. “An extra layer of mascara isn’t going to make any difference.”

“It makes all the difference, Ruby.” Her eyes finally meet mine. “I didn’t bring you up to be the kind of girl who forgets to check her teeth in the mirror before she leaves home.”

My mom applies two coats of mascara every day, more sometimes, depending on who she wants to impress.

She works in a beauty salon—I guess looking perfect comes with the job title. It’s what she did before she met my dad and got swept off her feet and into the parallel universe of exclusive hotels, expensive champagne, and glitzy parties. Between her full-time job and my three part-time jobs, we cover the household bills now that my dad can’t work.

She doesn’t resent him for it—for better, for worse, until death do us part, right? But she misses the lifestyle they had before the business went bankrupt. She misses the doors money opened for her, the front row seats on Broadway, and the way people looked at her like she was somebody.

That’s why she’s here now.

She glances over my shoulder, and her eyes widen. “He’s even more gorgeous in real life than he is in the movies.” I see it in the slant of her eyes and the tilt of her head, flirting without even realizing she’s doing it.

I have my back to the rink, but I saw Alessandro Russo arrive with a bunch of his wealthy friends. The boss served them. Only the best for celebrity guests—I guess he couldn’t risk me trying not to gag as I handed over the bladed boots.

Mom thinks they ooze money.

I think they could do with oozing a little less arrogance and a little more authenticity.

So, maybe Alessandro RussoisHollywood’s rising star. Maybe his last moviedidmake him a bunch of dollars and first pick of the lead roles in next year’s planned productions. But there’s also the teensy little advantage in his pocket that his family is wealthy and associated with the Russian Mafia—if the stories are to be believed.

But I bet his shit still stinks.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Mom stands back and surveys her handiwork. AKA me.

“Like what?” I know that she knows exactly what I’m thinking.

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