Chapter 13 – Lies Worn Like Silk

The dress smelled like lavender and time.

Elise stood in front of the mirror, fingers smoothing the faded silk across her hips. It had belonged to Camila — a soft dove-grey with embroidered cuffs and a neckline that skimmed the collarbone without showing skin. It was elegant. Refined. The kind of dress worn by women who played the long game and smiled while doing it.

Camila had laid it out herself.

“You wore this the first time you met his aunt,” Elise said.

Camila appeared in the doorway, hands already clasped.

“And she remembered me. That’s the point.”

Elise adjusted the sleeves. “You think this will disarm them?”

“I think it will soften you,” Camila replied. “They’re not coming to be impressed. They’re coming to be reassured.”

Elise didn’t look at her. “Then they’ll be disappointed.”

Camila watched her for a beat longer.

Then left.

—

The Caro estate had been transformed.

Gardenias lined the courtyard. The sitting room gleamed with crystal and curated heritage — oil portraits, lacquered tea service, fresh pastries arranged like offerings. The guest list included six wives, two daughters, and one D’Amaro aunt whose approval still carried the weight of inheritance.

Camila managed every detail. The guest seating. The flowers. Even the timing of Elise’s entrance.

“You’ll arrive second,” she’d instructed. “After they’ve settled. After they’ve started whispering.”

Elise waited on the staircase as instructed.

But when she stepped into the room, it was her silence that did the work.

She didn’t smile.

She didn’t rush.

She walked the length of the parlor in Camila’s old dress, hair swept back into a soft chignon, eyes lined just dark enough to unsettle.

The women fell quiet.

Marina D’Amaro — Cassian’s aunt — was the first to rise.

“Elise,” she said. “You’re even more elegant than I remembered.”

“Elegance is repetition,” Elise replied. “I’ve had practice.”

Marina laughed softly.

A few of the younger wives exchanged looks.

“Elise has been such a mystery,” one of them said, a blonde with too much gold on her wrists. “We were starting to wonder if you’d vanished entirely.”

“I was listening.”

“To what?”

“The questions you were asking when you thought I wouldn’t hear.”

That landed.

Camila cleared her throat gently. “Shall we sit?”

—

The tea began as a performance.

Porcelain clinked. Small spoons stirred. Scones were broken with delicate fingers.

But Elise wasn’t here for pastries.

She was here to see who would flinch first.

Across the table, Marina leaned in slightly. “Cassian speaks of you often.”

Elise tilted her head. “He rarely speaks at all.”

“He’s changed since the engagement.”

“In what way?”

Marina glanced at her companions. “More... measured. Less volatile.”

The blonde wife laughed. “He’s obsessed with you.”

Elise set her teacup down. “That’s a dangerous word.”

“But accurate,” Marina added.

Camila tried to shift the tone. “We’ve been so proud of Elise’s growth.”

“I’ve heard,” Marina said. “Though it wasn’t the word I used.”

A beat passed.

Then Elise smiled.

The first one since entering.

A slow, quiet thing.

“You expected someone more malleable.”

“We expected someone more traditional,” Marina said.

“I can pretend.”

“That’s not always enough.”

“It depends on the audience.”

—

The conversation drifted to wedding plans.

Elise let them talk. Flowers. Venues. Music. The illusion of tradition.

She didn’t interrupt.

But she didn’t agree.

When asked about the guest list, she replied, “Anyone who values discretion.”

When asked about vows, she said, “I don’t make promises I don’t intend to keep.”

And when Marina asked whether she planned to keep her maiden name for appearances, Elise met her gaze directly.

“I plan to keep whatever serves me best.”

—

Later, after the tea had been cleared and the guests began to trickle into the courtyard, Elise remained in the sitting room.

She let the wives linger.

Let them think she was resting.

Two of them stayed behind.

The blonde and the brunette with a soft laugh and sharper eyes.

“You know,” the blonde said, stepping closer, “most of us had bets.”

“On what?”

“Whether you’d make it this far. Or if Cassian would find someone else easier to manage.”

Elise studied her.

“And?”

“I won.”

“What did you bet?”

“That he’d fall harder than he meant to.”

The brunette smiled. “You’re not what we expected.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“It’s a reminder,” she said. “Not everyone at the table is on your side.”

“Then they should have chosen a different table.”

—

By dusk, the garden had emptied. The staff began clearing the porcelain. Camila walked the perimeter with Marina, offering soft reassurances, quiet promises.

Elise stayed seated on the edge of the marble fountain.

Cassian appeared from the side path, jacket in hand, shirt slightly undone.

He stopped when he saw her.

“You wore her dress.”

“I wore it better.”

He didn’t smile.

But he came closer.

“You made them nervous.”

“They should be.”

“You’re going to make this hard for them.”

“I’m not here to be easy.”

Cassian stepped around the fountain.

“You looked like a woman born to run a family.”

“I wasn’t born,” Elise said. “I was built.”

He didn’t know what to do with that.

Which meant it had worked.

—

That night, Elise returned to her room and removed the dress slowly.

She hung it on the back of the door, let the fabric catch the light, and stared at it for a long moment.

Then sat by the window with the black journal.

She didn’t write about the tea.

Or Marina.

Or the wives.

She wrote:

This is what they fear most: a woman who doesn’t need to ask. A bride with no leash. A Caro who smiles like a D’Amaro.

Make them say your name. Not as a daughter. Not as a wife.

As a reckoning.