Page 17 of Borrowed Bride

I roll my eyes but oblige. Emilia is the only woman in the world who can demand things of me, and I will follow her every request. It’s the least I can do.

“This must be quite a shock. Since Marco won’t, I will apologize for his behavior. He is very protective and has spent a lot of time keeping me safe. I imagine you were never supposed to find out.”

“She was supposed to stay out of the south wing,” I mutter as I pour the tea into three porcelain cups. “A pretty fucking simple request.”

“I’m sorry,” Gianna says. She sits as stiff as a board. “I was curious. I was exploring and I shouldn’t have.”

I want to say more. I want to yell at her, scare her until she begs for mercy and never even dreams of breathing a word about this place. Anger simmers just under my skin and I repeatedly flex my hand to try and remain calm.

“Indeed,” Emilia says. “There is nothing I can say or do that will stop you from telling people what you have seen here. After all, that is your choice.”

“Emilia—” I start to warn her, but she raises her hand.

“But you are correct. The world thinks I am dead. Everyone thinks I am dead except Marco and my father, who I am sure you have met.”

Gianna nods quickly.

“It is a carefully crafted lie that Marco has spent his life creating and keeping so I am able to live in peace.”

I watch Gianna like a hawk and see her seeking out pieces of the puzzle. My sister’s constant coughing and wheezing, the scars twisted across her beautiful face and limbs, the oxygen tank at her side, and her obvious fragility. All pieces of a painful puzzle that Gianna has no right to.

“Marco keeps me hidden here, in this closed wing but it is nothing sinister, I assure you. I love plants, you see. When I was younger, they were my passion. Now I simply exist with them, watching them thrive year after year and praying the same for myself. Science, it seems, has not yet reached that level.”

She chuckles softly and slowly reaches for her tea.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Gianna says quickly. “I swear.”

“I can’t stop you,” Emilia says. “But I hope you will take everything into account before you do.”

Slumping back in my chair, I watch Emilia closely to ensure she doesn’t spill hot water on herself. She takes a few sips of her tea and then speaks.

“When I was thirteen years old, the estate was attacked. Marco and I hid, as we were ordered to do. We’d spent years doing practice runs of such things, but it was never supposed to be a reality.”

I grunt softly, fighting the acidic wave of guilt that rises as Emilia talks. I feel responsible for that night and it weighs on me daily.

“Details are fuzzy, you understand,” Emilia says. “I was young and Marco was only sixteen. We weren’t privy to the inner workings of the family. We just had to hide and survive. Unfortunately, we failed.” Her voice trembles faintly. “They found our mother first. They tortured her, assaulted her, and killed her. Then they found me.”

Gianna’s face turns as white as a sheet and her hands tremble despite her tightly laced fingers.

“Marco did everything he could to protect me, but what can a sixteen-year-old kid do against five grown men?” Emilia looks at me, then reaches for my hand. I grip it as tightly as I dare. “They beat him. I thought for sure he was dead and then it was my turn. Our father’s guards arrived just as they finished with me. Marco recovered from his wounds, but I was not so lucky.”

Emilia indicates to her face with her free hand and as she does, her shawl slips down her arm revealing the twisted burn scars coating her forearm.

Gianna gasps softly, and then her cheeks flush red. “I’m so sorry.”

Emilia waves her off with a warm smile. “It was a lifetime ago, my dear. I’m thirty-seven now and still going strong!” She laughs, then her grip becomes like iron as she coughs harshly. “Anyway, I wanted to die for a long time, but Marco kept me strong. He kept me hidden and to bring me peace, he told the world I was dead. Father went along with it because of guilt, I suspect. I didn’t want to be a piece of meat married off at the next convenience. I’d been meat once. Never again,”

Gianna glances at me. Her expression is oddly soft, but I can’t quite decipher it. Anger still fuzzes the edges of my mind and her very presence irritates me.

“That’s the real reason I needed a wife,” I say tightly. “My father is growing more and more desperate as the world around us changes. He’s seeing threats everywhere and thinks we are weak. He wants to reveal Emilia and marry her off to a family he thinks will strengthen us, and I refuse to let that happen. So now, we are married, and I will raise our family on our own merit not through an archaic wedding.”

“Is that the real reason he was so furious?” Gianna asks. “He wants a union and you took that from him?”

“My sister is not for sale,” I mutter. “Perhaps. I can’t say for sure. But I definitely fucked up his plans.”

“I am sorry, dear,” Emilia says. “When Marco told me what he had done, I was furious that he roped some poor girl into the mess of our lives.”

“It was necessary,” I snap at her, then quickly reel myself in.

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