Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 125243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
They transformed the chapel at a local hotel into a winter wonderland. It’s so beautiful and polished—it doesn’t suit a man with decaying insides like Antonio. Vivienne, the wedding planner, has surpassed herself. She always does. I saw the photos of Antonio’s first wedding. Vivienne could transform a broom closet into a royal ballroom if given enough ribbon and a proper budget.
Roses, lilies, and a thick, lung-clinging scent fill the air. The lighting is warm and golden, casting a soft glow over everything like a filter on a celebrity photoshoot. Tall glass cylinders holding flickering candles line the aisle, and their flames dance as if whispering secrets to each other.
Bows in my favorite color adorn every pew. That is a detail meant to make me feel seen, cherished, and understood. Instead, it feels mocking. This isn’t me. It’s the idea of me, dressed in satin and flowers, without ever acknowledging who I really am.
Vivienne stands a few feet away, waving her hand in frantic encouragement. She’s already propped up my nerves twice this morning, but the dread in my stomach still hasn’t moved.
Her third wave of support is even larger than the first two, her eyes wide with a mix of excitement and panic.
I force myself to breathe before I gesture to the man manning the door to open it.
The air in my lungs rushes out in a hurry when I spot who is waiting for me. Antonio is commanding the altar like a king waiting for his auction prize to arrive. His suit is immaculate and tailored within an inch of its life. His hair is flawless, his posture is perfect, and his expression is unbearably smug. He’s acting like he’s already won, and this ceremony is merely a formality to make his victory official.
My stomach twists as Vivienne waves again—her arms practically flapping now.
I force myself to take a step, and another, before I freeze just inside the chapel’s entrance. The front row on the bride’s side is meant to be empty. It isn’t. My mother and brothers hog the entire pew. It’s not hard. Ahmet is built like a tank. He stands a foot taller than everyone surrounding him. And Kemal’s aura is too dark and dangerous for anyone to consider filling the portion of the pew on each side of him. They’d rather stand.
My breath catches, and for a split second, I’m convinced I’m hallucinating.
What are they doing here?
None of my relatives should know I am getting married today.
They shouldn’t be here.
Under normal circumstances, excluding my mother, they wouldn’t be here. Unless it benefited them, they haven’t cared about me in years. I made them look weak, not powerful. That was enough to have me removed from every family meeting since I grew boobs.
I must be dreaming. That is the only solution. Then my father steps forward, and his scowl reminds me that this is as real as it gets.
He presents the same as he always has—stern, polished, and completely unreadable. His expression is carved from stone as he extends his arm like he’s been waiting his whole life to walk me down the aisle.
“Daddy—”
“Let’s not keep your husband waiting, Azra.” He freezes me in place with an angry glare. “Tardiness is as disrespectful as disobedience.”
I swallow hard, then nod.
As he guides us past guests gushing like they know a single thing about me, I whisper, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you—”
He cuts me off without even looking at me. “This will form a good alliance between us and our Sicilian compadres. That is all that matters.”
His snarled words replicate an icy bucket of water being thrown over me.
Of course that’s all he cares about. It’s never been about me or my happiness. My safety doesn’t even get a mention.
It is always about alliances and power.
I smile at Don Adami when I catch his eye. I must play the role I’ve been primed for since birth. But also, this is the final step before everything changes.
I’ll be free after this, and so will Hattie.
The aisle feels impossibly long, stretching out with every step. My dress swishes around my legs, heavy and suffocating, as my father guides me forward like I’m a pawn being moved across a chessboard to protect the king.
Halfway down, I notice a small table near the altar. It’s a memorial table for loved ones who have passed. My grandfather takes center stage, but just to his left, framed in silver, is a picture of Hattie.
My chest tightens as my pulse rings in my ears. She is so alive in the photo. So bright and full of hope, like she was when she promised she’d find me my own foreign prince so I could also escape what we thought was a fate worse than death.
We had no idea.
Antonio was not her prince. He twisted her into something she didn’t recognize and stole the only true friend I ever had.