4

    A familiar dread settled in my stomach. Sleep eluded me; I tossed and turned, finally giving up and getting out of bed. I checked my phone: nine AM on Friday. The wedding day.

Good riddance.

I shot out of bed and rushed to the bathroom. A quick shower, and I threw on one of my old pajama sets. They were a bit snug, but comfortable. I still hadn't unpacked my luggage.

The dress the seamstress had promised yesterday was nowhere to be found, adding to my growing frustration. I remembered his critical gaze, his comments about my "rough skin" and how "skinny" I was.

Skinny!

"...Darling, did everyone starve in America?" I muttered, mimicking his condescending tone as I left my room.

The hallway was eerily silent. It didn't feel like a wedding was about to take place, and I couldn't shake the feeling that my family was hiding something.

I passed Mara's maid as she walked toward my sister's room. Our eyes met briefly, and I thought I saw a flicker of something—a plea? But I dismissed it and continued toward my mother's room.

The door was ajar, and my mother saw me in the mirror.

"Don't be a stranger, Katie. Come in," she said, her voice surprisingly gentle. It lack the tinge of yesterday coldness.

Had she forgiven me already?

Her room was much as I remembered: white walls, gold accents, and the large mirror that reflected my image.

"Is Dad back?" I asked.

My mother's gaze flickered, and that was all. It was as if she was guarding a secret, something she didn't want me to know.

"Have you spoken with Mara yet?" she asked, changing the subject. "You know, it was a difficult time when you left. Ileana was the only one who could stop her from harming herself...again."

Again. 

Again?

What did I do?!

I tried to meet my mother's eyes, but she avoided my gaze, as if I, or the golden face mask she was wearing, irritated her.

"It was a hard time for all of us, especially your sister. She loved you. She always looked up to you," Mom sighed, removing the mask and massaging her face. "This marriage should have been yours, to seal the bond with the Alexandrescu family. But your sister is brave."

That small smile felt like a blow. My face stung, guilt. Still, I managed to force a smile, meet her gaze, and say, "We spoke. I saw her yesterday. She really is brave," I lied.

Mom continued her beauty routine while I watched her. It felt strange, as if I were observing a stranger who was concealing something.

"Isn't this wedding supposed to be a big deal?" I finally asked. "It's today, and no one is talking about it."

Setting her things aside, Mom frowned, just for a moment. She crossed her legs, visibly searching for the right words.

"Have you ever seen or heard of an Alexandrescu wedding?" she asked. "It's always invite-only, a small circle. We, especially the Alexandrescus, don't like attention and you know that."

She glanced at the door, as if urging me to leave. I understood and slowly began to back away.

"I'll just wish Mara good luck before the wedding," I said.

She didn't respond, her silence a clear indication that she blamed me for everything. 

Mara had really tried to kill herself?! What had I done? No wonder she didn't want to see me yesterday. I had broken her heart. Growing up I used to be her best friend, now? 

My heart pounded in my chest, my hand trembling as I knocked on Mara's door.

"Please, it's Katherine," I whispered, pressing my face against the door. "Please, at least listen to me..."

The door slowly opened.

At first, I hesitated to barge in, but a peculiar scent filled the air—a metallic tang mingled with the fragrance of fresh shampoo.

"Mara?" I called, stepping inside.

Her bed was empty, neatly made, as if she hadn't slept in it.

"Mara?" I called again, my voice laced with concern as I noticed the wet floor.

Water trickled out from under the bathroom door, and my heart sank. Deep down, I knew something terrible had happened, but I refused to believe it.

Denial.

With a growing sense of dread, I pushed the door open and saw her: Mara, lying in the overflowing bathtub, the water still running. She looked lifeless, as if she had drowned.

"No... No... No, please, no!" I screamed, turning off the water and yanking her out of the tub.

Her body was heavy, but I didn't care. I laid her on the floor and began CPR, but she didn't respond.

Nothing.

No copper, no death. Just the faint chemical bite of whatever pills she might have swallowed. No pills around but she does really look drowned.

"MARA!" I screamed, shaking , my beating somewhere in my stomach.

I looked up to see Mara's maid rushing into the room, her face etched with horror.

"What did you do?" she asked, her voice accusatory.

I was stunned. I couldn't believe she would ask me such a thing.

"Call nine..." I paused to catch my breath. "Call one-one-two! Please, call one-one-two! Now!" I urged.

She gasped and ran out of the room.

I stayed there, beside Mara's body, hoping, praying, shaking her. Maybe it was a failed attempt, or...maybe a cruel prank?

"No! Please! Please DON'T DO THIS," I sobbed. "I swear I'll make things right. Please, just wake up!" I began to shake her more violently.

A piercing wail filled the air. My mother.

Her face, red and puffy, told me she had been crying before she even reached the room.

She fell to her knees, pushing me aside, and cradled Mara in her arms.

"You did this," she snapped, her voice filled with accusation. "All you had to do was follow the family traditions, but you left! You went to New York, and your sister suffered!" she cried.

My chest grew heavy, as if the weight of the world was crushing me. I was drowning in pain, regret, and a desperate desire to make things right. I wanted to do right by my sister, at least for once. I sat back on my heels. Water soaked through my pajama bottoms, cold now.

"Did you call the ambulance?" I asked the maid, my voice barely audible.

My mother glared at me, her eyes filled with malice and rage.

"And bring the press here?" she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

I was speechless. Her daughter was dying, and she was worried about the press?

"We've already failed too much. You brought the press when you left. Mara brought the press when she attempted it the first time and when she dropped out of school," my mother said, her lips trembling.

Her words were laced with rage, pain, and a hint of genuine hatred. The glint in her eyes, the almost invisible line of hate.

"How much more will you break me, Katherine? How much more will your self-centered mind toss us aside like we're nothing?" she broke down, her voice cracking. "Now... Now she's dead. Your sister is dead, and you still want the attention? You still want the drama?"

I avoided her gaze, cold in shame. I was desperate to redeem myself.

"Mama, Mama te rog," I pleaded, tears streaming down my face. "Please, I'm sorry. What can I do?"

She paused, her gaze softening slightly. I could have sworn she pitied me.

"She's dead, Katie. She only did wrong by trying to fulfill your obligation to this family, and you..."

Obligation... The wedding...

The rest of my mother's words faded into a blur. Nothing could ease her pain—not my tears, not the heartbroken look on my face, not even the surprised expression I saw when I repeated myself.

"Let me fulfill my obligation, Mama," I said, my voice clearer this time.

She scoffed, looking me dead in the eyes. "That won't bring my baby back," she whispered.

I gulped, wiping my face with the back of my hand. I tried a different approach.

"Please, let me do right by Mara," I whimpered. "Give me the responsibility, and I'll carry it. I'll take on the family obligation! I'LL CONTINUE THE WEDDING!" I yelled, my voi

ce cracking with desperation.

We sat there, breathing heavily, staring at each other.

"And what does that change?" My mom finally asked.