Page 5 of The Sound in Silence

When I didn’t respond to any of his questions, he never gave up asking more. I didn’t even try to talk because there would be no payoff. Within minutes, Erico would return to Aurora’s side and I’d return to being the strange woman in the background.

After a while, he accepted my silence, and for the first time since arriving into the Corsetti’s mansion, Ibreathed. Like my mind was an absolute blank slate. Stressors from the past, worries of the present, fears of the future—they all melted away in exchange for absolutely nothing.

Was it that single meeting that had me volunteering to wed him? If so, I’m even more pathetic because that tiny interaction meant so little to him, considering he didn’t look at me twice for the rest of the night. His attention, rightly so, returned to his would-be fiancée. The second time I saw him was at Della’s wedding. He was a guest and I was the maid-of-honour; that’s all. Two people co-existing in one room and nothing more.

The door opens, pulling me from all my musings as Nico fills the doorway. His flat mouth and grim expression make my stomach drop in disappointment. Of course, Erico denied the offer. He nearly had the Corsetti princess, so why would he want the mute sister-in-law? It was a fantasy waiting to happen. A fairy tale I stupidly swept myself into, the same way every storybook princess seems to get themselves closer to the prince, only to have him yanked away.

“He agreed to the union but wishes to speak with you first.”

He agreed?

I slide from the bed, my legs wobbling with every step toward the doorway. The large decorative mirror resting against the far wall makes me flinch at my own experience. Both times Erico has seen me, I’ve been done up for the celebrations, making my current appearance more striking—and not in a pleasant way. Hair that I’m pretty sure I haven’t washed in over three days is drawn in a messy, crooked ponytail, and I’m wearing yoga pants and a tank I only remembered to change out this morning.

Well, he should know what he’s getting, I suppose.

At the doorway, I pause, staring up at Nico. Other than Della, he’s the only one here who’s heard my voice, but it was only a single time. With every repeated attempt, the usual tightness chokes me.

Dr. Shappo, the Corsettis’ doctor, theorized my trauma is linked to trust, explaining why Della continues to be my safe person. But when Nico showed up at the medical centre that day, searching for ways to save her, my mind granted me use of my voice. Let me trust Nico enoughforDella.

I force a smile to rid Nico of his pinched expression as he murmurs, “Ariella, I can still end this. The situation isn’t your burden to bear, and while you’re doing a huge service, I feel guilty.”

Making my silent statement known, I step by him and into the hallway, heading for the staircase that’ll take me to the main floor and his office. He falls into step beside me, his hands shoved in his front pockets, his shoulders slouched lower than I’ve ever seen.

“I’m serious. I’ll alter the terms and can send him away, but once you meet with him, I’m not sure anything I say will change his mind.”

For once, it feels nice to have another person broadcasting their own worries, especially someone so naturally guarded. Halfway down the stairs, I lay my hand on his arm, reassuring him of my decision once again.

He doesn’t smile, or really acknowledge me at all. Instead, he’s silent as he leads me toward his office. At the doorway, he points to the wall beside it. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”

I wave him off and open his door, stepping right inside before any sort of emotion other than minor confidence has a chance to creep up. Especially since there’s a few others threatening to tear me down: trepidation, self-hatred, doubt, sadness. Name it, I’m feeling it.

I shut the door with my back, my hands weaving together behind me as I stare at the figure across the room. The man perched on the edge of Nico’s desk isn’t the same friendly face from the party. This time, I think I’m truly seeing New York’s underboss. Flat expression, drawn features as he leans against the rich, wooden desk, his legs crossed at the ankle and his arms loose by his side, with his hands perched on the desktop for balance. He’s an image of ease, with chilling features that imply everything but relaxation.

His voice only amplifies the emotion. “Come here, Ariella.”

The command forces my feet forward. Bowing to men has always left a sour taste in my mouth. Perhaps it explains why Mom’s marriage to Stefano made me sick from the moment she announced the engagement. Witnessing his alpha-dog treatment of her was horrible.

But instinct says this isn’t the time to be defiant. Not unless I’m turning around and taking up Nico’s offer to escape this.

Erico’s sharp gaze stalks me, his eyes raking up and down my form. Starting from the mess atop my head, over my bare shoulders, my stomach, and toward my legs. No doubt, questioning his sanity for agreeing to this match. It’s okay because I’m doing the same, wondering how I’lllivewith this man.

The same way you do here. In your room, alone, with your head buried in the blankets.

Ah, the voice. My dark voice that visits me constantly. There’s comfort in being reminded it’s there. Without it, I’d definitely be lost in this interaction.

My spine tingles with an awareness I despise, and my hands curl by side. I feel suffocated. Like I shouldn’t be enjoying it, but even with his flat expression, he’s making me intrigued. Interested in seeing how the version of him I first met translates into the present.

In the same breath, I shove the feeling away. Of course, my stupid mind is interested in him, the same way it was from our very first meeting. But this is a wedding of convenience for us both. I’m a stand-in for the Corsetti princess. He’d never be interested in me beyond completing his duty.

When there’s about three feet of space left between us, I stop, straightening my back, my chin lifting half an inch to hide my apprehension. The corner of his mouth twitches at whatever’s in his head as he continues appraising me. Understandable, considering this marriage is essentially him buying me.

You had to get a man topurchaseyou for someone to be interested.

Sometimes, I hate my brain for being correct, even in its depreciating, grim thoughts.

His head tilts and his hands lift from the desk’s surface to instead cross his arms over his chest. His expression remains impassive, which I assume is a positive thing. I think. Do I hope so?

“Hello again, Ariella.”

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