Page 90 of Dance with Death

“If the family wishes to have me, I would be grateful to marry Lorenzo.”

“Do you love him?”

Olivia swallows. “Yes.”

“Are you willing to give him children?”

“Yes.”

“And you understand how your role will change with the family? You will no longer be a slave, but a wife. You will become Mrs. Fiore. Your duty to the Vittori family will come above all else and that may involve dealings which threaten your safety, your well-being, the very core of who you are as a person. Are you prepared to take on such a burden?”

Lorenzo places his hand on the small of her back and she must find strength in that. She lifts her chin a little higher.

No.

Tell them no.

“Yes, I’m prepared,” Olivia says and it’s clear that she means it.

Renata’s eyes narrow as she takes in a deep breath, regarding the two of them with precise consideration. “We would need to find new talent and with only weeks until we host—”

Olivia boldly interrupts Renata, “I would still like to perform.”

I turn my head to watch Renata, sure she won’t be favorable to such an interruption. But I’m wrong. A slow smile lifts her cheeks.

“She’s loyal to the family,” Lorenzo says. “Please.”

Renata nods as she looks at Vigo.

“Fine,” Vigo says. “Of course, we’ll have to put it to a vote with the board, but I don’t see why any of our colleagues would deny it.”

Lorenzo and Olivia let smiles light their faces as they both sigh in relief. Lorenzo hugs Olivia with such force, it nearly knocks her backward.

It breaks my heart.

What has made me so undeserving?

What have I done that’s so miserably awful as to give me this lot in life?

To see anyone happy in love right now makes me sick. It makes my chest feel tight, my muscles feel weak, my belly roil with nausea, my head spin with dizziness.

It makes me sick.

Sick.

Actual bile rises in my throat.

Oh, God, I’m going to be sick.

I can’t vomit here in the piano room, on Renata’s precious carpet. Even when my stomach threatens to purge its contents, I have to consider the consequences of my body’s involuntary reactions.

I jump up and run, heading for the bathroom that’s just down the hall. The moment my ass lifts from the couch, Vigo yells for me, jumping to his feet and chasing after me. I make it to the bathroom before he catches up, shove the door open, and reach the toilet just in time to purge the only food I’ve eaten in twenty-four hours.

“Fuck.” I hear him at the open door. “Are you sick?”

I want to give him my middle finger, roll my eyes, and tell him,“Obviously,”but I bite back the urge. Instead, I just nod, which only adds to the dizziness.

He leaves me.

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