Chapter 3

Isabella

10, 11, 12, 13, 14. Turn. 1, 2, 3, 4…

I had been pacing the length of my room, counting steps like it’s the only thing keeping me from losing it completely. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. What the hell was Aristide thinking? Did he even know yet?

My phone rang and I jumped. “Fuck,” I breathed. I glanced at the screen on my nightstand. “Fuck,” I said again, softer this time.

My hands trembled as I picked it up. “Aristide,” I whispered his name like it might break me. You can do this, I told myself. But what would I even say?

I hit the answer button quickly, like waiting might make it worse. “Hello?” My voice barely came out above a whisper.

A sigh came through the line. “Izzy?”

“Ari,” I sigh.

“You heard the news?”

I let out a short, dry laugh. “Yeah.” I sat on the edge of my bed, trying to breathe normally. I didn’t know what I wanted to hear from him. I didn’t even know what I felt. But I did know one thing—if he said he wanted to marry my sister instead of me, it would hurt.

“What kind of ring would you like?”

My mouth fell open. That is what he asked? Not if I’m happy. Not if I wanted it. I guessed I should’ve been glad since I didn’t have any answers to those questions.

“I…I,” I cleared my throat and tried again, “I haven’t really thought about it. Another laugh escaped me. What was happening?

“Are you okay with me picking it out?” He gave nothing away. That calm voice—too calm. He was hiding how he felt, and I knew him well enough to know he was good at that. Too good. Which meant I couldn’t read him. I had no idea if he was happy or furious.

“Of course,” I told him when I realized I haven’t answered him.

“Good. Good,” he said, exhaling again and clearing his throat. And that was when it hit me—he didn’t want this. The realization hit hard and fast. It was only in that moment that I understood what I’d been feeling all along.

I had been happy about this.

Now? Not so much.

“I will bring it with me when I come for the official announcement,” he said.

“When?” I asked a little too quickly. “When will that be?”

He laughed a little, “I thought you’d know already. So… you don’t have a dress yet.” Another sigh. I could imagine him shaking his head the way he always did when I missed something obvious. “The party’s Saturday.”

I gasped and jumped up from the bed, pacing again. “That’s so soon.”

He laughed again, longer this time. “Didn’t want to give anyone a chance to change the deal again.” He paused. “I can’t have that happen.”

“Right,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Of course. The deal’s important.”

“It is.”

His tone was final. And just like that, any leftover hope inside me faded. I didn’t know if I was upset with the situation or with myself for believing—even for a second—that maybe he wanted this. That maybe he wanted me.

“I… Um… Have to go,” I said, fighting back the tears pressing hard behind my eyes.

“Okay. Yeah. I will arrive Friday afternoon. I look forward to seeing you, friend.”

Friend.

The line went dead, and I started crying instantly.

How is this my life?

Lying back on my bed, I throw my arm over my head and stare at the ceiling as the tears continue to fall.

Deep breath in. Hold for three. Exhale.

Deep breath in. Hold for Five. Exhale.

Deep breath in…

The door flew open, crashing into the wall behind it.

Gianna.

She strolled in like she owned the place. Of course.

I rolled my eyes and blinked rapidly to hide the tears

“What’s wrong?” She asked as she stopped beside my bed, looking down at me with her hands on her hips.

Sitting up, I wiped my eyes. “Nothing,” I shake my head, “I’m just not feeling well.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not stupid, you know?” She started walking around the room, eyeing the pictures on the wall—ones of me and Elena, the ones I’d added to my old high school photos when I came back from New York.

“You should perk up,” she looked over her shoulder with a fake smile on her face before turning back around. “You’re getting a gorgeous husband.”

I watched her walk to the wall furthest from me, where my desk was, and started moving things around. My stomach clenched. She knew I hated people messing with my desk.

She turns and looks at me, arms crossed. “Considering your…” she looked me up and down, “less-than-appealing appearance, you should be grateful.”

“Ouch,” I mumble.

I’m not shocked, and hell, I know she’s right too. I know that she is more “appealing” than me.

But I wasn’t shocked. She wasn’t wrong either—not in the eyes of people like her. She had the long legs, the tiny waist, those bright green eyes that sparkled like they belonged in magazines. I was… well, not that. At best, I was an hourglass. My eyes were a dull hazel that couldn’t decide what color they wanted to be. I wasn’t the girl people looked at—I was the one standing just behind her in every photo.

And yeah, maybe I should have been grateful. I was getting out of here. Away from this house, from this city. I missed New York. I loved it there. Aristide had always been kind. We had a strong friendship. And Elena—God, I missed her too. She made life fun.

Sitting up straighter, I felt a flicker of resolve spark inside me. I would make this work. I would be the best wife Aristide could ever ask for. He wouldn’t even remember Gianna’s name by the time I was done.

“I really don’t feel well,” I said as I stood up. “And I’m fine marrying Aristide,” I added, looking her right in the eye with a small, careful smile. “For you, of course.”

She beamed. Of course she did. Gianna loved feeling adored. Worshipped. She had no idea I was playing her.

If she thought for a second that I actually wanted this, she’d march straight to our father and demand it be changed back. And then I’d be stuck here, married off to some aging businessman who’d keep me locked away like a pet. And Aristide? He’d be stuck listening to Gianna talk about shopping and spa days for the rest of his life.

No. I couldn’t let that happen. Not to either of us.

Gianna threw her arms around me. “I know I don’t say it enough, but you really are the best sister I have.”

I bit my lip to keep from pointing out I was her only sister.

“You’re doing a good thing for the family, Isabella,” she said, cradling my face in her hands with a glowing smile, then walked out.

The door closed, and my shoulders sagged.

“Shower,” I told myself, and made my way to the bathroom.

As the water heated, I undressed and caught my reflection in the massive mirror—the one she had installed while I was away at NYU. I remembered how she’d giggled when she said it was so I could see what the freshman fifty looked like. I tried to correct her—fifteen, not fifty. She just smiled and said, “Maybe for normal girls,” and left me crying on the floor.

The tears came again, unbidden.

I stepped into the shower, sat down on the cold tile, and let the water—and the tears—flow until everything went cold.