Page 2 of Till Death Do Us Part

Being the youngest sister out of five girls, I’d always been treated like the baby, but this felt different. This felt like my older sister was throwing caution to the wind for both of us, not watching out for me. But that night, I should have been watching out for her.

Lolita’s girl’s night out was her way of coping. She was running from a future that was advancing on her. The thing about our family? We were all arranged to marry men we’d never met. It was our father’s choice. He believed in keeping alive a tradition stemming back to Italy. Our parents’ marriage was arranged, and my father felt it was the only way for his daughters too.

The Corvo sisters.

Isabella

Talia

Alina

Lolita

And me…Roma.

The easiest way to remember our names and the order of our births was to remember the first letters of our names put together spelled ITALY. Except my parents replaced the “Y” with a city. Not too many Italian names start with the letter “Y.”

Some of us were relieved that we didn’t have to decide. Others, like Lolita, were not so happy about it. Especially since she fell for a guy she met while in beauty school. Ben was his name, and he’d gotten a haircut from her.

Our father was traditional in one sense, but in another, when it came to school and jobs, he was okay with whatever we wanted to do or be. The timing of our marriages was mostly ours to choose too, unless we took forever to pin down a date.

This was Lo’s night to end Ben’s chapter of her life and begin a new one. She was set to meet her fiancé next week. What made it somewhat easier for her was that Ben totally flipped when she broke it off. He said things to her that made me want to knock his block off.

“Five nuggets.” Lo counted them and pushed them closer to the edge of her plate. “I’ll bet you five of my precious veggie-saurus nuggies that those guys over there—” she chucked her chin toward a group of guys in a corner booth who kept shooting glances our way “—would be doing the dino mating dance if it was still in style.”

My eyes roamed to their table. A guy with dark, curly hair held my stare for a second before turning back to his friends.

That was nothing new. Guys looked at me, but most of them never approached me.

My sisters always told me I was intimidating for a woman, though my parents had always called me warm. My skin had a Mediterranean olive hue, and my hair was chocolate brown. My eyes matched my hair, but instead of being welcoming, my sisters said they were shrewd. Something about not hiding the rejection if the guy wasn’t up to my standards. According to them, no man was good enough.

It really didn’t matter, though. That part of my future was already planned. So what if the guy I’d built in my head probably didn’t exist? He would always just be a fantasy because my husband was already picked out for me.

I shook my head. “Not even the most outstanding mating display could make him my type.”

She flung a fry at me. “You are so picky.”

The crinkle cut potato landed on my plate. I ate it, going back for more. Even though my stomach felt like it was turned inside out, the more food, the better. It was starting to take the edge off.

“I can be picky if I want. It’s not going to do me any good, but I can still have opinions.”

She grumbled something about her freedom being taken away. In our culture, family was important, and we just didn’t go against our parents. Since our mom had died, we especially didn’t want to break our father’s heart by rejecting something he’d planned for since his children were born. The guilt would be too heavy to carry around for the rest of our lives.

“It’s really not so bad, Lo,” I said. “It takes all the pressure off. It’s no longer your responsibility to find the perfect match. Babbo will be responsible if you kill him.”

“Funny, Y,” she said, calling me by the nickname my family stuck me with because my name was supposed to start with that letter. She turned her face toward the table full of guys, not shy about staring. “If you could build your perfect mate—”

I grinned and rubbed my hands together, knowing it was a bit evil looking. She laughed and pushed her plate closer to me. I nabbed one of her veggie nuggets.

“Tall, dark, and handsome. Except for his eyes. Green. Green eyes. Wears suits but is comfortable in a T-shirt and jeans. Has a soft spot for me only. The rest of the world—” I shot her the bird, but I meant that was how he’d feel about mostly everyone and everything but me.

“You saw him.”

“Saw who?”

“The guy watching you dance at Jupiter.”

“Um…no. What guy?”

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