Page 26 of Reckless Promises

“I know a guy.” She shrugs, smiling.

“Apparently.”

“Here, try it on.” She unhooks the dress and fluffs the bottom.

I slip my robe from my shoulders and step into the black wedding dress while Fallon helps me slip it up over my bust. It hugs my body at every curve, accentuating my hips.

If this marriage were real, the dress might be my fairytale.

“Odette, you’re beautiful.” Fallon circles me, fluffing out the bottom of the lace. “Cillian is going to be glad he gave into your demands because this dress is perfect on you.”

I force a smile, wanting to care about his approval when this whole day is a noose around my neck.

But glancing in the mirror, there’s no denying she’s right. The dress is beautiful. Cillian would have to be dead to not appreciate it. Even being as disinterested in me as he is.

“There.” Fallon reaches for a necklace on the counter and brings it up to my neck. “That does it.”

Brushing my fingers over the stones, I take myself in. The perfect mafia bride.

And an expensive one at that.

A knock comes at the door, and it makes me jump when I didn’t realize I was zoning out on my reflection.

“I’ll get it.” Fallon squeezes my arm. “It’s almost time.”

She walks out of the bathroom and any beauty wilts away with the forced smile on my face. I’m about to become a wife to a man I don’t know. One who is going to ruin my family. And my only choice is to swallow my pride and make it down the aisle.

I’ll survive.

10

Odette

Breathe.

All I need to do is breathe, and I’ll be able to get through this. A bride is what I was raised to be—who my mother trained me to be. I can’t let her and my sister down.

Standing in front of a solid wood door, I trace the intricate pattern in an effort to calm my nerves. My stomach’s in knots as I press my palm flat against it and take in a deep breath.

I’m here. I’m whole. My heart beats in my chest, and that alone means things can be worse.

Glancing over my shoulder, I take inventory of the guards at every door. They don’t look me in the eyes, but their attention is palpable.

There’s no use running. What’s done is done.

The walls around me tighten their grip on the air in the room, and I hold my bouquet tighter.

When Peyton walked into the room earlier, and I told her I didn’t care about my wedding colors, I expected to be met with something white or pink. Something soft and pretty.

So when they handed me a bouquet of green roses, I wasn’t sure what to make of them. The color is a deep emerald that’s unnatural, but beautiful all the same. They were likely once white, and something about that is comforting. The same way I stand at the door now in a black lace dress that hugs my body.

I soak in the dye of this façade like the roses did. Staring at the closed door, not knowing what to expect on the other side of it. I seep into this moment until the girl my mother trained me to be fills my veins.

I center myself in this reality and accept my fate.

Taking in a deep breath, I close my eyes and hold it until my lungs burn. Until my eyes are on the verge of watering. I cling to the fragment of myself that still lives inside what’s slowly becoming a shell of a body. And only when the wood door cracks open, do I open my eyes and let it go.

Slowly, the doors part, and I’m met with a wide-open ballroom. The sheer size of Cross Manor has me speechless, and every time a door opens, I swear it grows.

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