Page 64 of Sapphires and Snakes

I hide my gagging behind the rim of my glass.

Father smiles almost too convincingly. “Good health to our lovely couple.”

“And many, fat babies!” Danny yells.

“Salut!” the room cheers, some sipping their wine and some draining it. I land firmly in the latter. I don’t want to remember tonight, and I can’t wait for tomorrow to come. I have no idea what will happen—if Tamayo has made her moves, fulfilled my last wish in our fake engagement. There’s no way for me to find out, especially if she wants to keep it hidden.

But at least, no matter which path I take, this nightmare will be over.

Father sweeps his hand toward the archway into the hall. “Gentlemen, would you please join me in the library for a cigar? Dessert is waiting there should you want some.”

Mother stands, her blonde hair styled into soft waves, like she’s trying to present herself as a benevolent matriarch. All I see are my eyes staring back at me without a hint of warmth or regret for the hell she’s putting me through. “Ladies, please join me in the conservatory.”

Chairs scrape across the huge Persian rug as everyone stands. I endure Marcus’s hand on my arm, tight but not painful, as he presses a peck to my cheek. The wine in my stomach sloshes in a tempest of nausea and disgust. But I don’t vomit, though I really want to. Right onto his designer shoes.

I stop in front of a server, glass out and demanding a refill without a word. Before they can raise the bottle, Mother lays a hand on my arm. “That’s quite enough, Zarina. You need to be sharp for tomorrow.”

“I’m twenty-six years old,” I snap. “I can decide how much is enough, but thanks for your show of concern.”

Mother’s claws dig into my skin, and I know there will be half-moon marks indented there for at least the next hour. “Enough, Zarina.”

I roll my eyes and drop my hand. I know for a fact there will be champagne in the conservatory—Mother must make her own toast, after all—and if I don’t join in, then I’ll be shirking my wifely duties. And if all else fails, I’ll escape to the wine cellar.

The women make our way toward the conservatory in the South wing. There is a grand total of five of us, lumping in Pat’s non-binary ass—me, Mother, and Marcus’s mother and older sister, Carmela and Giuliana Accardi. Five compared to the eleven men following Father down the hall toward the library doors thrown open in welcome.

Mother chats with Carmela as if they’re the best of friends. Giuliana and I are quiet. I don’t know what she thinks of her brother, her family, if she’s even involved in their criminal enterprises or not. She seems mousy and shy, likely beaten down after years of never being seen, never being enough for her patriarchal obsessed father. She was born first, but Marcus will inherit the title of don. And Giuliana will likely be relegated to a marriage of leverage, cast off and forgotten once she leaves home.

“Excuse me, ladies, I need to use the restroom,” I announce. “I’ll meet you in the conservatory.”

“Now, Zarina?” Mother sighs.

I cut her a stony look. “I don’t have control of these things, unfortunately.”

“Fine.” She flicks her hand, like she’s flicking away an annoying pest. “Be quick.”

“Yes, Mother,” I mumble as I slip into the bathroom and shut the door behind me. I know Pat will stand guard at the door. Not only because it’s their job, but because the house is more unsafe now with all the Accardi men in it. I run the faucet, letting the cold water wash over my hands and clear my head just enough.

Pat lets themself into the bathroom, locking the door behind them. “You good?”

“Enough.” I wave off their concern. This situation is what it is, and I have more pressing questions. “She received it, right?”

“Yes.” Pat speaks low, letting the running water cover their words just in case. “I have confirmation from the messenger and from within the family.”

“Within the family?” I frown. “Who?”

They offer a too-casual shrug, and it just makes my eyes narrow further.

“Who,” I demand.

They clear their throat. “Don’t worry about it.”

I cock my head and consider who they wouldn’t want me to know they’re talking to. It can’t be Darius—Pat and he are friendly. That wouldn’t be news. But someone else close toher, someone they might want to keep to themself.

And then it dawns on me, and my head is shaking with a snort. “You dirty little slut.”

“What?” They look at me, eyes wide with fake innocence.

I roll my eyes. “Quit it, it’s so obvious.”