Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 54103 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54103 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
"Maybe just the dress," I murmur.
Gianna gasps melodramatically. "I won't tolerate such sacrilege. You need the entire ensemble. It's beautiful... no, that's insufficient. This outfit, Sienna, accentuates your natural radiance."
"The entire outfit is six thousand and twenty-three dollars," I say flatly. "I'm not getting it all."
"Then let me—"
"No," I interject. "Thank you, Gianna. I appreciate your kindness. But I refuse handouts. You've already been exceptionally generous with your payments for my artwork."
"That is not generosity," she says fiercely. "You've earned every penny I paid you. I'm not speaking to hear my own voice or merely showering you with hollow compliments, sweet girl. You possess extraordinary talent."
"Either way, I don't accept handouts."
"Then purchase it yourself," Gianna says with a note of challenge in her voice. "You can afford it... and remember, you've got more substantial payments coming, dear. You should indulge yourself."
I examine my reflection again. I'd be lying to myself if I denied wanting it. It's effortless to envision Nico approaching from behind, encircling my waist, holding me close as he devours my reflection with his eyes.
I inhale deeply. Am I seriously contemplating this? This wasn't part of my plan.
It seems that abandoning the script has become my specialty.
"Okay, I'm doing it. I'm buying the whole outfit!"
After the play, we venture to a bar called The Midnight Rambler. Yellow mood lighting enhances the ambiance... and the euphoric atmosphere of the afternoon. When I approach the bar with Gianna beside me, adorned in my brand-spanking-new outfit, I feel an undeniable sense of belonging.
We order two glasses of champagne and claim a corner seat. "Cheers," Gianna says, extending her glass.
I clink my glass against hers, feeling sophisticated, stubbornly anchored in the present moment.
"What did you think of the play?" Gianna inquires.
"It was perplexing," I murmur.
"Really? Which part?"
"The entire narrative seemed to revolve around her determination to adhere to the lessons and values her family instilled in New York, yet by the conclusion, she appears ecstatic to forge her own path, establish her independence. It's as though she abandons her family entirely."
"Or perhaps she decided she needn't remain enslaved to her family's values. She craves autonomy."
I reach into my clutch bag, squeeze the pendant, as if attempting to invoke Mom's presence and maintain my resolve. But the more time I spend with these people, the more my conviction wavers.
"Did you relate to the play?" Gianna asks.
"Why would you ask that?" I reply, my tone excessively harsh.
"You seemed deeply engrossed in it."
"She was a compelling actor. And yes, perhaps I recognized myself in her. Sometimes I feel torn between prioritizing my mother's wishes and pursuing my happiness."
"Torn, how?"
I scoff. "You don't want to delve into that."
"I wouldn't have asked otherwise."
I regard her seriously. "You genuinely don't," I insist. "It involves you and Nico."
"Now I have to know."
"I'll offend you."
"Pfft. I’m remarkably difficult to offend. It infuriated my late husband. He could hurl the most despicable insults at me, and they wouldn't penetrate."
"Why would he say anything despicable to you?"
"Because not every man possesses the gentleness of my Nico."
I take a large sip of champagne, then confess, "I'm unsure how much you know about your son's business."
"I know enough details," Gianna replies.
"My mom was killed in a mob confrontation. She wasn't even involved. She wasn't entangled in the conflict, the war, whatever it was. She was simply living her life – until she wasn't. And now..." The champagne has loosened my tongue, but unburdening myself feels almost therapeutic. "I'm trapped. Because Nico, he's... well, I'm attracted to him, okay?" When Gianna smiles, I snap, "You shouldn't look so pleased about that. I can't allow myself to like him. It feels morally wrong. He's embedded in the mob."
Gianna flinches, scanning our surroundings, then relaxes upon confirming our privacy. "It isn't what you might presume, dear."
"So he isn't entangled with the mob?"
Gianna's demeanor changes. She leans forward with intense seriousness. "If what you're suggesting is accurate, you understand there would be severe consequences if you weren't who you claim to be..."
"Excuse me?"
"If you were an undercover agent, for instance."
I laugh. This conversation has suddenly veered into surreal territory. But Gianna remains solemn.
"Consequences?" I echo.
"In this world, certain matters elude even Nico's and my control. Betrayal is one of them."
"I'm not a rat," I assure her. "Wait – what do you mean, you and Nico control?"
Gianna sips her champagne deliberately. "I'm fond of you, Sienna. In fact, I'm genuinely drawn to you. I noticed something distinctive about you immediately. It transcended the portrait, your artistic prowess. It was... your luminosity. You captivated my son."
"I captivated him?"
"When I saw the way he gazed at you, I recognized something unprecedented. That's why I'm inclined to reveal the truth. But I need assurance that you'll maintain absolute confidentiality. With everyone. Permanently."
"Or face consequences," I state.
"I wouldn't let anyone harm you, dear, but you'd need to leave Dallas. You'd need to abandon Texas, possibly even the country."