Page 119 of Vows of Silence

The two men might hate each other by now. Frankly, I wasn’t entirely convinced either of them particularly liked me. But my father was many things, and prideful sat somewhere near the top of the list.

Someone stealing his daughter?

Someone forcing her into a marriage? Well, someone who wasn’t him, at least. There was no version of reality where Vittorio Carbone quietly accepted that.

Help was coming. It had to be. All I had to do was buy time.

The problem was that buying time required cooperation, and cooperation was becoming increasingly difficult when faced with a wedding dress and a guard who looked as though he routinely disposed of people for entertainment.

The thought had crossed my mind that I should have rung Marco. But I didn’t want to drag my brother into this shit show if I didn’t need to. Besides, whatever power he had in this world was because our dad gave it to him. He was no match for Adrien, not when it came to taking on Silas.

And, if I were being truly honest with myself, I knew asking Adrien for help would hurt Silas far more than if I had asked Marco.

I looked at the dress again and immediately regretted it. It was somehow even more offensive the second time around. Whoever had designed it had clearly been talented. The fabric looked expensive, the lace delicate, and there were tiny embroidered roses stitched across the bodice that probably took someone hundreds of hours to complete. It was beautiful in exactly the same way a guillotine might be beautiful if enough effort had been put into decorating it.

“Has he lost his mind?” I whispered to myself. “Why the fuck would he take it this far? Why would he want to marry me?”

The guard raised an eyebrow at me. “Perhaps he loves you and wants you to have his babies.”

“Are you alright, or what? Because I feel like we’re all overlooking a fairly significant mental health crisis from both you and Silas.”

He said nothing, and I was beginning to suspect he had been born looking irritated, and his first words had been laced with sarcasm.

With a sigh, I picked up the dress and carried it into the bathroom. The guard followed me with his eyes the entire way, apparently concerned I might attempt another dramatic escape through the plumbing.

“You’re staying?”

“Until the bitter end.”

“Why did I expect anything else?”

“Maybe you’re the one who’s lost her mind?” he smirked at me again, and my hand itched to slap him.

Of course he was staying. Why would anyone in this house suddenly decide I deserved privacy? But did he really have to be so fucking smug about it?

The bathroom door remained open as I changed, which was humiliating enough without the added challenge of trying to force my body into a fitted wedding dress whilst every muscle protested. Twice I nearly lost my balance. Once I actually did lose it and ended up hopping across the floor on one foot whilst muttering several creative insults about Silas Falcone and every generation of his family tree.

“You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?” I barked at the guard after hearing a scoffed laugh under his breath.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. This isn’t the fun house, is it, Isabelle?”

Ugh. I hated hearing my name come from his disgusting mouth.

“Just… turn around and stop being a nuisance.”

“And miss the show? Not a chance. Hurry up.”

I rolled my eyes and turned my back on him instead.

The dress eventually settled into place, moulding itself to my body with alarming precision. It fit perfectly. It moulded to my breasts and cinched my waist, hugging tightly against my skin before flaring at the hips and creating the illusion of a perfect hourglass figure.

It wasn’t even a surprise that Silas knew my exact measurements. Nothing was a surprise at this point.

I turned slowly towards the mirror and immediately wished I hadn’t.

The woman staring back at me looked exactly like a bride.

Her hair fell neatly around her shoulders. There was a blush to her cheeks. The ivory fabric complemented her skin, and made her hair look almost black in comparison.