Page 113 of Isaia

Isaia’s face flashes in my mind. His dark eyes, the way they burned with intensity every time he looked at me, the way his touch sent my heart spiraling into chaos.

I ache for him. Crave him with a desperation that scares me.

My chest tightens as I remember the sound of his voice, his promises, the way he made me feel like I was the center of his universe. My heart splinters with memories, the jagged edges tearing me apart.

I wonder if he’s thinking about me right now. If he knows what I’m about to do, what I’m about to give up.

A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts. My mother steps inside, her face lighting up as she takes me in.

“Oh, Everly,” she breathes, her eyes misting. “You look…you look stunning. A perfect bride.”

I swallow hard, forcing a smile as she approaches. “Thanks, Mom.”

Her hands tremble as she adjusts the lace on my sleeves. “I’m so proud of you, and your father would be too. I wish he was here to see you about to become a wife. He would have approved of Anthony. I know it.”

Her words twist the knife deeper, and I’m barely able to suppress the sob that swells in me.

“How are you feeling?” I ask softly, desperate to steer the conversation away from me. “Did you make that appointment with your doctor?”

She hesitates, her gaze dropping. “I did. It’s tomorrow.”

My stomach knots. Michele is waiting, I realize. Waiting to ensure I keep my end of the deal before he allows her to take care of herself.

My hands tremble as I reach for hers, squeezing them tightly. “Good. That’s good. I do think getting a second opinion will be a good thing. Who knows,” I shrug, “maybe you’ll find a better doctor.”

One that’s not on Michele’s payroll.

She smiles, oblivious to the war raging inside me. “Don’t worry about me, darling. Today is your day.”

Today is your day.The words echo in my head, bitter and mocking. It’s not my day. It’s not my wedding. It’s not my life.

Another knock interrupts us, and Michele steps in, the weight of his presence sinking into each corner of the room, and I have to fight the urge to vomit.

“It’s time,” he announces, his gaze sweeping over me like a hunter surveying his kill. “You ready?”

No. I will never be ready for this. But I nod.

For a second, I glance at the ground beneath me, not sure it’ll be able to hold me, fearing I might plummet into oblivion. But thatwould be a mercy, one I can’t afford myself if I want to ensure my mom survives.

I look at her, her eyes, and my heart clenches with my love for her. Even though we haven’t had the perfect relationship, I’ll always love her with that one part a daughter keeps safe for her mother. A part that will shatter and die and never heal if a mother is taken away…forever.

As much as I want to scream from the rooftops what Michele is forcing me to do, I hope she never finds out. I hope she never learns of everything I had to give up…for her. I don’t want her to carry that burden. All she needs to focus on is her health and nothing else.

I plaster a smile on my face, as brittle as glass, and pull my mom in for a hug. I wrap my arms around her as if I could absorb her warmth and draw it into me, my little shield against the cold storm looming ahead. Every second, every heartbeat, feels precious, like an eternity, as I hold her.

“I love you, Mom,” I whisper, a tear sliding down my cheek.

“Oh, darling,” she coos. “I love you, too. So much.”

“It’s not good manners to keep the guests waiting,” Michele barks, and I pinch my eyes closed, breathing in deeply.

Michele holds out his arms, and I clench my jaw. I wanted my mother to walk me down the aisle, but Michele insisted on playing his twisted version of a proud father figure. It’s all about showing the world this is a Rinaldi-Paladino wedding. Not Beaumont.

I take his arm, hating the feel of his touch, the scent of his overbearing aftershave. Everything about this man is revolting, and I will pray for his painful death every day for as long as I live.

The church is grand, every pew filled with faces I don’t recognize turning toward me as the organ plays a haunting melody. My steps feel heavy, each one a march closer to my undoing.

Michele holds me steady, his grip firm, his power over me absolute, and I want to scream, to run, but my mother’s life hangs in the balance, and so I keep walking. Silently. Obediently.

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