Chapter 2

The table was already set with wine, bread, and cold appetizers.

I sat in a corner and picked up a honeyed fig. The sweetness spread across my tongue, then turned bitter.

Adrian gave the dress to Livia.

She was taken backstage by two attendants. When she came out again, the banquet hall erupted in applause.

The dress had been made for my body. Livia was shorter and thinner than I was, so the bodice gaped slightly at her waist and the hem dragged over the marble floor. The Moretti black eagle, stitched to sit over my heart, now hung crooked across hers.

No one cared.

My mother covered her mouth as if she were watching a miracle.

Adrian stood before Livia and looked at her for a long time.

“Livia, you’re beautiful.”

The relatives clapped harder.

“She looks like a princess,” my aunt said.

“No, like a real Moretti bride,” someone else added.

Livia lowered her lashes and leaned closer to Adrian.

“Will Elena be angry with me?”

“This was supposed to be her wedding. I took her place.”

Adrian adjusted the veil around her shoulders.

“She won’t. She knows you’re sick.”

Then he turned slightly, his voice calm enough for everyone to hear.

“Elena gave this ceremony to you willingly. She even brought the dress herself.”

Every eye in the room shifted to me.

Livia covered her mouth, tears gathering at once.

“Elena, do you really not blame me?”

My mother came over and took the fork from my hand.

“Today is Livia’s happy day. Who are you showing that face to?”

“Since you’re here, go make a toast. Wish them happiness.”

“Mom, today was supposed to be my wedding too.”

Her expression stiffened, then darkened.

“You and Adrian have been together for seven years. Do you really need this one ceremony?”

“Do you know how serious Livia’s condition is?”

“The doctor said she could hurt herself again at any moment. You are healthy. Why can’t you give way to her once?”

My aunt came over as well.

“Elena, we are not trying to hurt you. You have your own atelier, your talent, your future. You lack nothing.”

“Livia has only Adrian right now.”

A cousin raised her glass.

“We’re all family. Don’t make this ugly over a man. Be kinder, and Livia will feel better.”

They had said versions of the same thing since we were children. Livia cried more easily, so I had to apologize first. Livia fell sick more often, so I had to stop wanting whatever she wanted.

Today, the thing she wanted was my husband.

They wanted me to give up my fiancé, my wedding, and the dress I had sewn with my own hands.

The reason never changed.

I was strong. Livia was fragile.

I would not die. She might.

Adrian walked over.

“Elena, what is wrong with you today?”

His voice lowered in warning.

“You usually know better than this. Livia is about to cry. Go tell her you’re not angry.”

I did not move.

He frowned.

“I’m asking you to calm her down, not admit defeat.”

Seven years.

He knew how many orders I had refused for this wedding. He had watched me fall asleep over sketches and wake before dawn to finish the embroidery. He knew that what I had wanted most since childhood was a home no one could take from me.

Now he was asking me to comfort the woman standing in my place.

I picked up the glass of red wine on the table.

Adrian’s face changed immediately.

Without hesitation, he stepped in front of Livia.

“Elena, what are you doing?”

Livia gripped his sleeve, her face pale.

The room went quiet.

A Moretti guard moved half a step closer. My father stood behind Livia. My mother stared at the glass in my hand as if I had already thrown it.

I had never raised a hand to Livia.

Not once.

But in that moment, Adrian believed I might.

He said he knew me. He said I was sensible. He said I would understand.

His body had chosen before his mouth could.

I lifted the wine and drank it all.

The alcohol burned down my throat.

“I wish you happiness.”

I set the glass down and turned to leave.

Behind me, Livia’s trembling voice followed.

“Adrian, Elena is still angry, isn’t she?”

“Should I not have worn the dress?”

Adrian answered softly.

“Don’t mind her.”

“She’s just stubborn. She’ll be fine in a few days.”