Page 12 of Heartless Vows

I keep my eyes focused solely on her as the kitchen staff brings out the first wave of dishes.

“Since they both seem eager, I have no problem with a quicker timeline. We don’t need a year to prepare a wedding,” Horatio Achilles, Aurora’s father, says.

My father nods and picks up his glass.

“I agree, the sooner the better, but we don’t want more rumors,” he says.

The fake concern marring his brows as he studies his drink sends ice down my spine.

“Maybe we do.”

Everyone swivels their attention to Madona as her words register.

“What do you mean?” my mother asks.

The ice infecting my spine spreads to my limbs as my mother’s deceit registers. I take a sip of water to hide my anger. She knew before she greeted me today what news awaited me. In fact, she planned how to direct this entire conversation with my father. She knew it would come to this, yet didn’t say a word to me.

“Aurora is eighteen. She’s an Achilles. There’s nothing wrong with her being so madly in love with Giorgio Vivaldi she has a shotgun wedding,” Madona Achilles says.

To my surprise, Aurora lifts her fork to her mouth and slips a bite between her lips as though the words don’t affect her at all. She keeps her gaze trained on her plate, but the tightness around her eyes and her reluctance to swallow speak volumes.

She’s fully aware of the conversation and definitely opposes, but the little mouse remains quiet even as her mother throws her to the wolves.

My mother counteracts with faux concern.

“We couldn’t do that to Aurora; plus, we shouldn’t risk your family name for the sake of ours.”

“Oh, please, it won’t bother Aurora at all. She’s never listened to gossip anyway, and we’re not risking anything. We’re honored to associate with the Vivaldi’s,” Madona says.

“You’re too kind,” my mother responds.

Madona dabs her painted lips with her napkin and folds it back into her lap as though she’s royalty before speaking.

“I’m not being kind. We want what’s best for both families. If that means pregnancy before a wedding, then we should explore our options.”

For the briefest of moments, Aurora’s features twist, but she closes her eyes and inhales through her nose before blanking her expression and putting food on her fork as though there’s nothing amiss.

I trace the base of my glass with one finger, playing in the condensation, and curl my other hand into a fist under the table.

The entire conversation between our mothers is too absurd. Not a single word spoken is believable. The more I hear, the less inclined I am to trust our parental units.

And I don’t like the pain shining from Aurora’s eyes. Her anguish was beautiful when I was the one wielding it, but sourness coats my tongue as I watch her suffer under someone else’s verbal blows.

She hides it better than most, but there’s no denying the slow death of her soul as her mother chips away at her dignity. I’ve watched countless men breathe their last, but no one has affected me the way her haunted eyes do.

I miss the spark of defiance as she glared at me.

Fuck, I’m so screwed. I’m obsessed after only a few minutes with her.

“Other than a few college courses—which she can always retake at a later date—she has no other commitments.”

Her mother’s words pull me out of my musings, and I realize I missed part of their conversation.

Aurora’s fingers tighten around her fork and her nostrils flare, but she sits with her back rigid and her mouth shut.

As fresh fury sparkles in her eyes, I long to have those gorgeous, fiery green orbs aimed at me.

“But we can only rush a wedding so much. Our children deserve a proper ceremony,” my mother says.

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