Page 35 of Where Quiet Hearts Scream
I rest a finger over the symbols and trace the aspects I’d pored over for days. What was it I’d found? That’s it. One of the most striking conclusions I’d drawn was that Andrew’s chart was dark. Not just morally questionable-dark, but seriously pitch-black-dark. And it’s all true. He’s basically a cold-blooded killer. Perhaps not of the serial killer variety, but he’s definitely got the blood of multiple men on his hands. Why else would he be in any sort of position to form an alliance with New York’s ruling Mafia family?
I roll my eyes. To think he was of the same ilk as a president... how naïve.
I was right when I saw chaos in the patterns. Will I be right about us being the death of each other? I certainly wouldn’t mind killing him right now. Probably more realistic was my observation that his darkness could snuff out my light.
I flop back onto the bed and stare at the wall. As far as astrological predictions go, I’d say that one is uncannily correct.
Serafina
“Why isn’t she saying anything?” I mouth to Trilby as the seamstress pins and tucks the dress around my waist and hips.
I’m standing on a small pedestal with my wedding gown draped over me, counting the minutes until I can take it off and go back to pretending I’m not about to be married to a lying, cheating crime lord.
Given my lack of interest in the dress, Allegra hired the same seamstress who made Trilby’s gown for her doomed wedding to Savero, because I don’t care about this wedding and I don’t care who fits my gown. That being said, I do remember the seamstress being a little more chatty back then. Today, she has hardly uttered a word. Did something happen when Cristiano took Trilby to her final fitting?
Trilby waits until the seamstress is out of earshot, then leans into my ear. “Let’s just say she made a comment about my figure and Cristiano made it known that he’d overheard.”
That would make sense. Cristiano wouldn’t bat an eyelid at ruining someone’s life if they dared say a word against my sister.
I look back at my reflection and sigh heavily. It’s a beautiful dress but I don’t want it. I don’t want this wedding. I don’t want this life.
Allegra looks on with a proud tear in her eye, but all I can see is a cage. A beautiful white cage. The silk clings too tightly around my hips, and as the seamstress flutters around with more pins, I have to force a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes.
The mirror returns a vision of elegance—ivory lace, delicate beading—but it doesn’t reflect the storm curling in my gut and the tingling that creeps through my veins when I struggle to contain my feelings. In two weeks, I’ll walk down the aisle toward a man with blood on his hands and a thorned crown on his head. But my heart is already bleeding, and no one seems to care.
“Is the bodice tight enough?” Allegra asks. “It looks like it’s bunched under here.”
My aunt gets to her feet and starts prodding at my hips.
“Allegra, that’s just my shape,” I say quickly, not wanting anyone to probe at me too closely. My figure hasn’t been a source of healthy self-esteem, let’s put it that way.
She ignores me. “It looks rippled. Can you see?”
The seamstress bites her lip and walks round the back of me to see what my aunt is referring to.
“Ah yes, it’s nothing. Just one of the layers caught under the bodice.”
She goes to lift the skirt and I shove my hands down to stop her.
“I can do it,” I say, forcing a smile.
“But Miss… it’s at the b?—”
“I said, I can do it.” My voice comes out sterner that I’d anticipated and both Allegra and the seamstress jerk their heads up. I feel Trilby’s eyes narrow beyond them.
I wave my hand. “I’m sorry, it’s just that my nerves are getting the better of me. And I’m very self-conscious. I will do it.” I step off the pedestal, lift the skirts and walk behind the changing curtain.
Once I’ve righted the fabric, I emerge with a renewed attempt at optimism. “There. I think it looks fine. Can I change out of it now?”
Allegra and the seamstress exchange a look.
“I just need to pin the skirt back in place, then you may change.” The seamstress adjusts the skirts and inserts the metals pins. “There, you can step out of it now.”
I frown lightly. “May I have some privacy?”
“Of course.” Trilby pulls Allegra toward the door and the seamstress dutifully follows.
As quickly as I can, I clumsily pull on my leggings beneath the dress before slipping out of it.
