Chapter 5: Not just One, But Three

"Fiona is quite ready," Veronica said. "She has prepared for this for months."

"Has she?" Mr. Salvatore question. It was the first thing he'd said since we sat down, and he didn't even look at Veronica when he said it.

We were lined up on one side of the desk, like a job interview. He hadn't sat. He stood behind the wood with both hands flat on it, the afternoon light behind him, so I couldn't read his face.

"The Ashcroft bloodline and your family have stood together for a long time," Veronica went on. "The alliance has kept the peace for a generation. This marriage seals it."

"A generation of peace," Richard added, to the carpet.

"I'm aware," said Mr. Salvatore.

"Then you'll appreciate that Fiona understands what is expected of her."

Under the desk, I pressed my thumbnail into my palm. *Say less,* I told myself. *Let the silence run.*

"The ceremony will be private," Mr. Salvatore said.

"Naturally."

"She will live here."

"Of course."

"She will not leave the grounds."

"Of course." Veronica said it like she was reading off a card. Nobody had asked me anything. I sat with my hands folded, knuckles hidden, feeling like a coat someone had left on a chair.

Richard cleared his throat. "Mr. Salvatore, the terms seem more than generous. If we could simply..."

"Miss Ashcroft."

My spine went straight. "Yes?" Low. Slow. The way she'd say it.

"Do you accept?"

Three words. His voice never rose. It didn't have to. I'd known they were coming, and they still landed in my stomach like a stone.

*Would it matter?* It was right there, on my tongue, in my own voice. I swallowed it. I thought of Fiona's chin tilted up, and I tilted mine.

"I accept, Mr. Salvatore."

He didn't move. He looked at me for what felt like a full minute. Then he looked at the door.

"My brothers should be here for the rest."

"Brothers?" It slipped out too high, too ordinary. I cleared my throat. "How nice."

"How lovely," Veronica said, almost on top of me.

I noticed that. She hadn't blinked, and she hadn't asked a single question. Everyone else in that room had a face for surprise. Hers was folded away somewhere.

The door opened.

The first man in had a glass in one hand and a blue jacket hanging open over a black turtleneck. He was younger than Mr. Salvatore and easier in his skin, with short blond hair that made him look like he'd walked in from somewhere sunnier. He smelled of cigarette smoke and whiskey. He took one look at me and grinned like he'd walked in on a present.

"So this is the bride. You didn't say she was pretty."

Mr. Salvatore said nothing.

"Criminal." The man looked me up and down. "Is this the nightmare I was promised?"

I didn't smile. Fiona wouldn't. *It gives people ideas.* And *depends who's doing the promising* was halfway out of my mouth before I caught it and bit down. I looked at him the way you'd look at a menu you'd already read.

The second man came in behind him without a sound. Black hair falling over his forehead, a brown leather jacket, a black tie knotted exactly right. Softer face. Quieter. His eyes didn't roam over me the way first one did. They went to my face and stayed there, steady and patient, and I had the odd feeling he'd already read the first page of me.

"Miss Ashcroft," Mr. Salvatore said. "My brothers. Collins." The one with the drink raised it. "Arman."

Arman nodded once. "Miss Ashcroft," he said quietly.

"A pleasure," I said, cool and slow. "I'm sure we'll all get along beautifully at the wedding."

Collins laughed out loud.

"Is something amusing?" I asked. *What the hell is so funny* was right behind it. I kept it there.

"Only that it's *our* wedding, love."

"I assume that's a figure of speech."

"It isn't," Mr. Salvatore said.

My smile stayed on by habit. "I was told I'd be marrying one man."

"No."

I waited for him to say more. He didn't. He never did, I was starting to learn. He let the quiet do it for him, and then he said it plainly, like he was reading me a price.

"You are marrying all three of us."

He looked at Veronica. Veronica studied the wall.

Nobody spoke.

I laughed. I felt the mask come loose while I did it, thin and cracked, the sound you make when someone tells you the floor is gone. "That isn't funny."

Nobody answered.

"It's a little funny," Collins said.

Arman had taken a step toward me, hands open, like I was something that might bolt. "She's gripping her wrist."

I was. I let go.

And then it all came back at once.

Richard in the car, so low I'd almost missed it: *Let them talk. They like to.* And after that: *It's me being someone who's met them.* Veronica, eyes on the window: *They've read the reports. Whatever they believe about you, you do not correct it.* At the Ashcrofts' table, when I'd asked his name: *The head of the family.* Not a name. When I'd asked if he was kind: *He is powerful.* I'd said *he,* and she had let me keep it. Fiona shaking into her wine glass.

Them. Them. Them.

Every time one of them said it, I'd heard it. I'd even started to ask, and let it slide, because I'd been so busy being scared of one man that I never thought to count.

I turned my head.

Veronica was now studying her hands. Richard was studying the floor.

Neither of them looked surprised.

They hadn't forgotten to tell me. They'd decided not to.

I opened my mouth. Every word I owned was in it. Then I thought of a phone lying face-up on white linen, and a thumb over a green button, and I shut it again.

Three Salvatores stood in the room, waiting for an answer from a girl they thought was the real one. Now I knew what Fiona had been laughing at.

Collins lifted his glass an inch, and his grin came back, slow and warm and not safe at all.

"Welcome to the Trinity, love."