Page 54 of Santiago's Conquest (Four Dark Horsemen 1)

I hope though I can change my daughter’s.

Always yours,

Flora

Briseis

“We’re done,” the makeup artist, Erica, announces, brushing my cheek with the blush one last time before stepping back and clasping her hands together. “You look stunning.”

“She’s right. You really do,” Aly says, and taking a deep breath, I face the huge vertical mirror behind me, gasping the minute my eyes land on my reflection, surprised to see myself so…

So beautifully put together.

My brown locks have an elegant long hairstyle, the heavy curls cascading down my spine, the crystal pin holding them together from both sides giving me a princess-like vibe with the perfectly applied makeup. My eyes are exceptionally vivid in my face and, despite their different colors, somehow manage to stand out on my pale skin. The red lipstick brings attention to my full mouth while the slight blush carves my high cheekbones.

My gaze shifts to the silver-white dress, an unusual color for a wedding dress. According to Aly, Santiago picked it himself. To my surprise, it wasn’t the one hanging in the cage. Maybe that was just a prop he used to demonstrate his point?

The off-the-shoulder ballgown has a laced, tight corset, squeezing the life out of me and emphasizing my slim waist, curving into my wide hips where endless silk laps over the skirt. The silver stiletto heels finish the composition.

If I were a real bride on the verge of marrying the man of my dreams, I would be the luckiest woman on earth, crying in happiness at how amazing everything turned out.

Except everything around me and on me showcases an illusion of his creation destined to bring me suffering and pain.

“We need something old and blue,” Erica says, glancing around her. She wiggles the bouquet of red roses in her hand, matching the color of my lipstick. “Too bad these aren’t blue.” She inhales their scent, sighing dreamily. “You’re so lucky, Briseis.”

Aly adjusts her glasses on her nose, shaking her head, hinting for her to stop talking so informally to me.

After arriving with Remi, I discovered quickly how much power the Cortez family truly possesses when she took us to the elevator through their big-ass empty office building while she tapped fiercely on her tablet, informing me everything was ready.

We entered a wide room consisting of expensive furniture, a bathroom, crystal chandeliers, and a team of people ready to work their magic on me.

And all of them did their job efficiently and quietly, without even daring to raise their eyes to me. Aly brought me medication and hot tea with honey, bringing temporary relief to my sore throat. The assistant asked me several times to let her know should I need anything and that my wishes are top priority over any plans scheduled.

Poor girl tried so hard to do her job that I had no heart in me to be difficult or indifferent; after all, it’s not her fault this is a fake game her boss plays in order to…

God knows what really.

Wracking my mind for an hour while being pampered by different professionals didn’t bring me any clues to what Santiago might achieve with this wedding.

The only person who chatted my ear off was Erica, the bubbly girl as I discovered can talk about anything and everything, spitting out a million words a minute.

Aly’s phone dings, and her eyes widen before she darts to the door, and since we’re standing right in the middle, I assume one of the four must be here to take me to the church.

Fisting the skirt of my dress, I start to walk after her when Erica grabs my elbow, tugging me back to the middle. “We have to put on the veil.”

A veil in certain cultures represents the pureness and innocence of the bride. In ancient times, it served as protection from evil spirits who might attack the bride or curse the marriage.

Except wedding traditions hardly matter to me. This marriage is cursed from the get-go, and no veil will rectify the situation.

“I don’t need it.”

Erica opens her mouth to protest, but loud high heels clicking on the marble shift my attention to the new guest sauntering toward me.

My jaw almost hits the floor.

Simply put, I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman, and by the confidence pouring out of her, she’s well aware of the fact.

She has long black hair falling down her back in heavy waves, the bright light reflecting through the silky strands, and they must reach her bottom, easily styled in a waterfall fashion.

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