Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
“Are you keeping an eye on me for your brother?” I try to ask as a joke, but it comes out accusatory.
He shrugs like he’s taking me seriously. “I don’t need to. He has the staff doing it for him.”
I shiver and glance over my shoulder. None of the staff are in sight, but it’s good to know that they’re reporting my movements back to Casso.
“What are you doing out here then?”
“It’s my house. I could ask you the same.”
“I was talking to your mother-in-law.”
He grimaces. “I hate calling her that.”
“Then what do you call her?”
“I don’t know,” he admits, looking past me. Fynn’s a handsome man, muscular where he needs to be, but he’s strange in a way that I don’t understand. “She’s full of pain, that one. Always has been. I’m not sure it’s all because of my father. The surgery, the clothes, even that bullshit attitude, I think it’s all just a defense mechanism. A way to keep the world at bay.”
I smile despite myself. “Pretty deep coming from a gangster.”
He doesn’t smile back, only shrugs again, like it’s a nervous tic. “That’s my read on her anyway. But I really came out here to talk to you.”
“Whatever Casso sent you to say, don’t bother.”
“This isn’t from Casso.” He wipes his hands on his pants and stretches his back, rolling the muscles in his shoulders. “I just thought I should say that we want you in this family. I’m sure you don’t feel the same, but you should hear it anyway. Casso’s not capable of saying it himself, so I’ll do it.”
“Thanks, but you’re right.” I turn to the house. “This isn’t my family.”
“It will be though. As hard as that might seem right now, it will be, and we take care of our own.”
“I don’t need to be taken care of, and I don’t need a family like this one.”
I leave him on that. Maybe he’s right—maybe this really is my future. But I’m not ready to resign myself to a life like Elise spends wiling away the hours by the pool, hiding behind makeup and nice clothes, covering myself in armor to keep the world at bay.
I want to do more. I want to do something.
I slip into my room and pause. Something’s off, and it takes me a second to realize there’s a card on the coffee table folded in half. I walk over and unfold it. The writing is cramped and masculine.
Present for you on the bed. Casso.
I toss the note onto the couch and walk into my bedroom.
White and silky and gossamer. Low-cut top, beautiful skirt made of layers of tulle. It’s draped across the foot of the bed, mocking me. I stare at the dress, at the wedding dress, and don’t move. It’s like I’m stuck to the floor and that thing is my executioner.
I lose it all at once. I charge the dress, rip it off the blankets, and throw it on the floor. I stomp on it, and when that doesn’t make me feel better, I start tearing off pieces. Huge chunks of white flit into the air like twisted snowflakes. I don’t care that it’s beautiful, I don’t care that it was probably obscenely expensive, I don’t care about anything. I want to destroy it the same way my life feels destroyed. I rip the dress to pieces, shredding it with my hands until my forearms are exhausted and I’m lying on the floor covered in the tattered remains, trembling and sobbing into the wreckage of the fabric.
There’s no future for me. There never was, and all this playing at being a detective won’t solve a single one of my problems. I’m Casso’s now, bought and paid for. I’m his bride, whether I like it or not.
Trapped, that’s all I am. Trapped in this room with this ruined wedding dress in my lap, drenched in my tears.
Chapter 7
Olivia
I don’t leave my room for the rest of the day. Meals show up, but I don’t remember ordering them. More traditional Mexican food, and it’s good, the sort of stuff I had back home. Someone in the kitchen’s being kind.
I barely touch it.
Long after the sun goes down, I sneak from my room. I slip into one of the many sitting areas, find a bottle of wine with a twist-top, and head out back. Nobody spots me, or if they do, nobody stops me. I head to the edge of the property, beyond the pool and the manicured lawns that probably take way too much water to maintain, and I sit down on some dark red rocks. The heat of the day is still fresh against my legs. I stretch out, open the wine, and drink.
It’s good. I drink more, staring out over the black desert, wondering if I have the confidence to start walking and never stop until I’m so lost there’s no going back. The sun would kill me tomorrow, without a doubt. Or I’d freeze overnight. The evening chill is gentle, calming, a falsehood wrapped in sorrow. It’ll get too cold to stay out here soon.