3

Marco leaves a few moments later, and I shut the door behind him, nearly sagging against it. I take a couple of deep breaths and gather my wits. I’ll allow myself this one reprieve before I’m forced to mask my pain and put on a smile.

I suck one last calming breath into my lungs as I scrub a hand down my face and lift my chin. I might be drowning, but as long as a part of my head is still above water, I’ll continue on. I tiptoe past the dining room, hoping to escape without further notice. As soon as I reach the stairs, I race up them, stripping out of the itchy dress as I go. By the time I reach my bedroom door, the dress is off. I leave it in a heap near the door and slam the heavy wood behind me.

There, if one of them wants to come speak to me after that, at least they know what they are in for. The heels that I hate just as much as the dress fly across the room in opposite directions as I kick them off. Each of my toes ache, so I sit on the edge of the bed in nothing but my underwear and slip and rub some of the pain out of them.

It’s then that I notice the lights across the room in my bathroom and closet are on. The maids must have finished the packing they started yesterday and forgot to switch them off. The fireplace between the two doors is lit, the flames casting a soft warmth through the room.

The memories I made here with my sister threaten to bubble up, but I try to swallow them down with the rest of the people I have lost… too many in this life.

I  my first loss fifteen years ago. As I sit, my thoughts drift to the boy I thought I’d one day marry—Cici. The son of my father’s friend and business partner, of the now decimated Costa family. Cici had been my best friend for years, and then when I was only nine years old, he disappeared from my life forever. One day he was there, and the next, his entire family was targeted by a rival family and killed.

My father used it as a reminder to my sister and me of how quickly we can be taken away and why we should always listen and let him keep our family safe.

His safety net meant nothing to me, not after my sister died. Deep down in my heart, I knew if anyone should stand beside me in two days’ time at that church, it should have been Cici. It wasn’t going to be him, though; it was Marco, and I would just have to be content with settling. It’s the right thing to do, or at least that’s what I keep telling myself.

I close the little spot in my mind where I keep him. With my sister’s death so fresh, and my marriage looming, I can’t afford to indulge in frivolous fantasies. My childhood ended years ago. It’s time to move on. There is no point in dwelling on the past when there is nothing there to dwell on.

My head aches from the pins at the top where my mother’s stylist coiled some of my curls. I tug them out, massaging my scalp as I walk to the bathroom to wash my makeup off. One step inside, and I find it’s bare. The maids have already packed most of my toiletries away. The only things left on the sink are my toothbrush, toothpaste, mouthwash, and facial cleanser. It feels empty, and I’m reminded that my time here in this house is ending. It wasn’t always great, and there were a lot of horrible memories in this house, but this was the last place my sister was alive. Once I leave here, my life will never be the same.

I make quick work of washing my face. Each slide of the rag reveals another sliver of the real person beneath. With the makeup gone, I stare at myself in the mirror. Usually, I hate looking at myself, the scar being the only thing I see, but tonight, I see deeper than that.

Tears glisten in my eyes, and I blink them back. To dive into the water of my own personal issues and matters, no one has time for that, and even if I did, I have no solutions. I toss the rag in the sink and walk out of the bathroom to find a nightgown.

Most of my clothing is packed, as well as any other belongings. The only things left for me are a couple outfits, some underwear, a nightgown, and my wedding dress—a giant tulle thing hanging off the closet door on the far side of the bedroom. I wish I had the balls to light it all on fire. How fast can a ten-thousand-dollar dress burn? I’ll bet mighty fast. That is, if I were the betting type.

Another stack of items lay on the bench at the end of the bed. I lift the items, the fabric so soft and luxurious. It’s the handmade white lace lingerie my mother insisted I’d need for the wedding night. It would burn faster than the dress. I eye my fireplace and consider throwing it in, if only to cheer myself up.

A knock on the door breaks my concentration, and I call out, “Come in.”

Maria, one of the maids, enters carrying my discarded drink from dinner. I’ve known her my entire life, and in many ways, I consider her to be like a grandma.

Her smile is warm, and her presence always brings me joy.

“Your mother sent me to give this to you. She told me to tell you to finish it. That your fiancé made it for you, and you will show respect.”

I take the glass from Maria and stare down into the honey brown liquor. Another test of my resolve and commitment to the marriage my father agreed to.

I look from the glass and to Maria and find her face is a mask of guilt and shame. Now would be a good time to start practicing how to hide my emotions better.

“I’m sorry, Celia. Sometimes we don’t get to make choices in life. Sometimes they’re made for us. You can only do with what you’re given. I will miss you greatly, child,” she whispers the last part.

“I’ll miss you too, Maria. You’re probably the only person I’ll miss from this god-forsaken house.” I smile and wrap my arms around her middle.

Her sweet scent washes over me, and I suck a thick breath into my lungs. We hug for a moment longer, and when she pulls away, I see tears in her eyes.

“You’re only given one life. Make the best of it.” She clears her throat and backs out of the bedroom slowly.

My heart clenches in my chest like someone is squeezing the blood right out of it. There’s no point in trying to fight the inevitable. There are no other options for me. There never was. I’ll have to make do with what I’ve been given.

Shifting gears, I sip the drink and drag my attention back to the lingerie again. I try to imagine Marco taking it off of me. The image in my head leaves me cold. Marco won’t care about what I want in bed. He’ll strip me, use me, and then leave—a piece of ass he paid for with his family name.

I should find the worst granny panties in the world to wear on our wedding night. Maybe he won’t be able to get it up and instead seek out one of the many girls he keeps on his roster. That will set the precedence early that I won’t welcome him in my bed.

Could I even set that boundary?

Or would Marco take by force what I deny him? He seems like a man who would take it and enjoy stripping me of my dignity. I throw back the rest of the drink in a couple gulps and set the tumbler on the fireplace mantle. The alcohol burns all the way down my throat and settles deep in my gut, radiating warmth and taking a smidge of the coldness in my bones away.

I return to the bed and wiggle my bra out from under the champagne silk of my slip. No use putting on my nightgown when I can sleep in this. With the whiskey finally working its way through my system, a warmth swirls in my belly and radiates out toward my limbs. It’s like being wrapped in a heated blanket.