Page 32 of Bitter Poetry

Fun? That’s not the word that comes to mind when I think of Christian.Bad news. Unhinged.I can’t believe he told me Dante wanted to speak to me when that obviously wasn’t true. None of this would have happened if Christian hadn’t sent me to speak to his brother.

I want to hate him for it.

Like I want to hate myself for not being stronger, for not pushing Dante away, for not fucking screaming.

But I don’t hate any of it. I have a feeling it’s going to be the highlight of my desperate life.

I carefully draw the necklace from underneath my blouse.

Jessica’s eyes widen. “Oh, that’s gorgeous.”

“My mother gave it to me,” I say.

“She did not,” she scoffs.

I roll my eyes.

“Ah.” She grins. “You’re right, she did.”

“I don’t want to take it off.” And doesn’t that feel like the deepest, darkest confession?

“Then don’t,” she says. “Mama gave us many things Papa didn’t know about or wouldn’t remember. It’s pretty. No one will question it.”

She doesn’t ask who gave it to me or why I need to lie about it. She’s only sixteen and more clued in than I’m sometimes comfortable with. She is also innocent, well, as much as any girl her age is, and I desperately want her to stay that way for as long as possible.

We pull up outside the bridal boutique. The driver opens the door for us. Helena is already there with her demon child in tow. Peony is swinging on a cream, diamanté-studded wedding gown hanging from a rack. Lillete, her nanny, is hovering nearby like she’s torn between peeling the child off the expensive gown and not interfering at the risk of courting Helena’s wrath.

Peony?I still can’t wrap my mind around that choice of name for the daughter of Satan.

There are no less than five boutique consultants present. The shop is closed to everybody but us; our guards will wait in the lobby. No one will be confused about the kind of people shopping here today.

“Girls.” Helena lifts her glass of champagne in salute and comes over to bestow us both with air kisses. It’s ten o’clock in the morning, but I guess we’re starting early.

“I’ve been browsing and selected a few dresses for you to try. I know my brother’s taste.”

“What about Carmela’s taste?” Jessica says.

“You’re a child.” Helena pauses to sip the champagne. “You can’t possibly understand this. But trust me. Satisfying your husband in our world is the most important thing any wife can do.”

“So, she’s not allowed an opinion anymore?” Jessica says.

I can feel a headache forming. “Jessica, please don’t. Let’s look at all the dresses Helena has picked, and you can choose some for me too.”

The moment the words leave my lips, I realize I’ve just doomed myself to piss someone off. I can’t help but reflect on how it might have gone if my mother was still alive. How she would have encouraged me to choose, but also offered guidance. Before we left, I would have found the perfect gown. Jessica would have muttered about stupid dresses, but in the end she would have been happy for me.

“Perhaps you’d like a drink before you try a few of the selected gowns?” an assistant says, approaching.

I ask for sparkling water, and Jessica asks for juice. And so begins a farce about selecting a wedding dress for a wedding I don’t want.

Despite Helena’s coaching, it’s not Ettore’s approval I have in mind as I try on the gowns.

It’s Dante’s.

CHAPTER 12

DANTE

I’m called for a meeting with Ettore, this time at his strip club. It’s not technically his club anymore. Once he marries Carmela, he will officially hand it over to his brother Bosco.