Page 23 of Ruins
The hidden section.
The place where I shoved all the dresses she bought me, hoping she’d forget.
I cringe internally, bracing myself as she lets out a triumphant squeal.
“This one!” She pulls a blue silk dress from the hanger, clutching it like a prize.
I hate that dress.
“Put this on. It’s perfect.” Her smile is almost loving. “All the shops we’re visiting today know who you’re engaged to. We need to be sure you look the part—lest they say something to Mr. Amato.”
The way she says his name sends a cold shiver down my spine.
I don’t argue. It’s pointless.
Instead, I slip into the delicate silk, the fabric clinging tightly to my frame, molding to me in ways that feel too revealing, too deliberate.
A glance in the mirror and I barely recognize myself.
Gone is the girl who cried herself to sleep just hours ago.
Today, I am Vasilisa Popov—poised, primed, and ready to fulfill my duty.
A favor to my family. A transaction to strengthen an alliance.
Today, I play the role I was born into.
Behind me, my mother watches through the mirror, pride gleaming in her reflection.
I force myself to turn, tugging in vain at the hem of the dress, trying to lengthen it. “When is the wedding? Can’t we take our time?”
She doesn’t answer right away, and I push further. “I have class later. I don’t have much time for shopping.”
She clears her throat gently before hurling the bomb.
“In two weeks. Mr. Amato has requested not to meet before then… As for class, I’ve sent in a deferment so you can focus on being a wife.”
My head snaps to her so fast my vision blurs.
“What?” The word barely scrapes past my throat.
Adeferment.
The word alone sends a jolt of fear down my spine. My stomach twists violently.
That wasmine.My future.The one thing I had control over. And now, it’s slipping away like everything else.
“For how long?” My voice is barely above a whisper, but the demand in it is undeniable.
I clutch the fabric of the dress tighter, as if physically holding onto something will keep the rest from slipping through my fingers.
“You can’t—what about finals? My degree? I’m not ready to get married, I—”
The words choke out of me, sharp and frantic, as my mother’s earlier statement settles deep in my bones.
Two weeks.
An icy shiver spreads through me, curling around my spine, sinking into my gut.
