Chapter 28: What does he want?.

I barely sleep.

Every time I close my eyes, I see the same thing. Olivia standing beside Lysander in two weeks.

I keep telling myself there has to be something I can do, some way to stop this before it happens. But every solution I come up with leads back to the same problem.

Too many lives depending on a marriage neither of us asked for.

By morning, I am exhausted. I’m sitting on the edge of the bed when Olivia walks into the room already dressed.

She looks far too cheerful for someone who is getting married to the devil in two weeks.

"Get up."

I look at her.

"No."

She pulls the curtains open and Sunlight floods the room.

I groan pulling a pillow over my face.

"Olivia."

"Get up."

"I don’t want to."

"You promised."

I lower the pillow.

"Promised what?"

"To come with me."

"Where?"

She gives me a look.

"Wedding dress shopping remember?

I stare at her.

"Right."

"Come on."

"I changed my mind."

"No."

"I’m tired."

"You’re always tired."

"I had a stressful day yesterday."

"You got your brother shot."

I sit upright.

"That was not my fault."

"I know."

"Then don’t say it like that."

She laughs.

"Get dressed."

I stare at her for a moment before getting up.

"You’re enjoying this."

"A little."

"Betch."

———

The boutique is exactly the kind of place I expected Uncle Lorenzo to choose.

It’s Expensive, private and quiet.

The moment we walk inside, two women greet us.

"Miss Luciano."

Olivia smiles politely.

"Hello."

One of the women looks between us.

"Are you the bride?"

Olivia nods.

"Yes."

Something twists in my stomach.

"Congratulations," the woman says.

"Thank you."

I look away.

We are led farther inside.

There are dresses everywhere.

Some are simple, some are so elaborate I can’t imagine anyone actually walking in them without tripping over themselves.

Olivia’s eyes light up.

I stare at her.

"You actually like this."

"Of course I do, I’ve always loved shopping.

"You’re getting married to a man you don’t know."

"I know. It doesn’t matter the circumstances, shopping is still shopping"

"And you’re looking at dresses like this is some fairytale."

She turns toward me.

"I’m allowed to enjoy the shopping process."

I sigh.

"Fine."

She walks toward the first rack and I follw her.

For the next twenty minutes, she picks out dresses while I sit on a couch and watch.

She tries on the first one...too much lace.

The second...too plain.

The third makes her look like she’s attending someone else’s wedding.

Then she disappears into the dressing room again.

When she comes out, I look up and forget what I was about to say.

The dress is simple. It hugs her waist before falling softly to the floor. The sleeves are delicate, and the neckline is elegant without being too much.

Olivia stands there awkwardly.

"Well?"

I blink.

"You look beautiful Oli."

Her smile appears instantly.

"Really?"

"Really."

She turns toward the mirror as I stand and walk closer.

"You should get this one."

"You think so?"

"Yes."

She looks at herself for a long moment. Then she looks at me through the mirror.

"What do you think?"

"I think..."

I pause.

"You look like a beautiful bride."

Her smile fades slightly and she turns away from the mirror.

"Maybe I’ll try another."

"Okay."

She disappears back into the dressing room.

I sit down again.

A few minutes later, she comes out in another dress.

This one is more dramatic.

She spins once.

"Well?"

I laugh.

"You look like you’re about to become queen."

"That’s good, right?"

"No. You’d be unbearable."

She throws a piece of fabric at me.

"Shut up."

I laugh.

For a few minutes, it feels normal.

Just us.

Two sisters teasing each other about dresses.

Then she walks toward another rack.

I watch her quietly.

"Which one do you like?"

She turns.

"What?"

"Which dress?"

"I don’t know."

"You’ve been staring at that one for five minutes."

She points.

"Try it."

She takes the dress down. While she disappears into the dressing room, I look around.

Everything here is beautiful.

My sister is going to wear one of these dresses in two weeks. Then she’s going to stand beside a man whose family has been our enemy for years and everyone will clap, everyone will smile, everyone will pretend this marriage is a celebration.

When really, it’s a treaty with flowers.

"Rissa?"

I look up.

Olivia is standing in front of me, the dress she chose is beautiful.

I smile.

"That one."

"You like it?"

"I love it."

She looks at herself.

"So do I."

I stand and walk toward her.

"You should wear this one."

She looks at me.

"Are you sure?"

"Yep."

She smiles.

Then her expression changes.

I stare at her.

"Olivia."

"It’s okay."

"No, it isn’t."

She turns toward me.

"I’ve accepted this, Rissa."

"You shouldn’t have to."

"I know."

"Then don’t."

She gives me a sad smile.

"Sometimes accepting something doesn’t mean you’re happy about it."

I don’t know what to say.

She takes my hand.

"I don’t want you fighting everyone for me."

"I’d do it anyway."

"I know."

She squeezes my fingers.

"That’s what scares me."

I look at her.

"I don’t want anything happening to you."

"I know."

"I can’t just stand there and watch."

"You don’t have to stand there."

She smiles.

"You can stand beside me."

My throat tightens as I pull her into a hug.

She hugs me back and for a moment, neither of us says anything.

Then she whispers,

"Thank you."

I close my eyes.

"For what?"

"For always choosing me."

I pull back.

"Always."

She smiles.

"Now help me choose a veil."

I laugh through the tightness in my chest.

"You’re impossible."

"I know.

We spend another hour choosing the veil.

By the time we leave the boutique, Olivia has made her decision.

The dress will be delivered, the veil too.

As we step outside, I adjust my sunglasses.

Then I stop.

Across the street is a black car with two men standing beside it.

One of them looks vaguely familiar.

Olivia notices me staring

"What?"

"Wait here."

She grabs my arm.

"Why?"

"I know that man."

I step away from her and cross the street.

The closer I get, the more certain I become.

He’s one of Lysander’s men. The same man who escorted me into the private room at the club.

I stop in front of him.

"What are you doing here?"

He looks at me calmly.

"I’m not following you."

"I didn’t ask whether you were following me or mot."

His eyes flick briefly toward the boutique.

"Then what are you doing here?"

He hesitates.

"Well?"

"Don sent me."

My stomach tightens.

"Which Don?"

He looks directly at me.

"Don Lysander."

Of course.

Because apparently, two weeks isn’t enough for him to stay out of my life.

"What does he want?"

When the man says nothing I take a step closer.

"What does Lysander want?"

He reaches into his jacket and my hand instinctively moves toward the weapon hidden beneath my clothes.