The Runaway Sister

thirty-six | weddings

I sit still in my chair as a professional team of makeup artists and hair stylists fumble around me. Two women work on my hair, and three work on my face and nails. 

"My God, darling, you're going to be the most beautiful girl at the wedding! Even the bride will be jealous of your undying beauty," The hair stylist gushes. 

I smile politely. "Thanks." 

The door opens, and in the corner of my eye I see the new maid— her name is Ingrid, she replaced Aurora— bring in a dress covered in a white bag to avoid it being ruined. 

At the sight of her, I tense. I keep my attention trained on Ingrid until she smiles at me and leaves the bedroom. A sick feeling settles in my stomach as I think of my imprisonment. 

The wedding is being held at a lavish mansion tucked away in Maine. It's for the only daughter of Italian Mafia's underboss— Warren's older cousin. 

Alexander informed me of this wedding only two days ago. Only the American Mafia is invited to the Italian's wedding. I'm still not so sure why. 

Perhaps they want me to start thinking about weddings. Perhaps they think that if I see people getting married I'll want to automatically marry Warren Bertelli. 

My room feels colder today. Everything feels cold. My skin, my hands, my legs. Even one of the makeup artists mentioned it when she began to paint my nails. 

Outside, the sun beats down on the estate. The birds are flying back North from the South, and the gardeners have been re-hired to fix up the grounds of my brothers' home. 

I don't know why I am feeling so cold. It could be nothing. It could mean I have some rare disease that eats away my heat until I die of hypothermia. 

"Don't tense so, dearest! Think of proportionate makeup application," A makeup artist scolds me gently, and I try to relax in the chair, my mind spinning with memories. 

Mum stands in front of me, holding a small makeup brush and a blush pallet. She grins at me mischievously. "Sit down at my vanity, my darling Eve. Let me dress you up!" 

I hesitate and sit down on the plush seat. "But I don't even have a date for the dance, Mum! Not like other girls. I'm just going with some of my classmates I barely even know." 

"Oh, don't be so negative, my love! Don't you want to be shining at the dance? Of course you don't need makeup, but let your mum have some fun, won't you?" 

I let out a small giggle, and Mum begins to faintly brush some blush across my cheeks. She even gets out her hair curler and begins to curl my stick-straight brown hair. 

"Think a boy will finally notice me?" I ask softly, my shoulders tense from the thought. I'm mostly invisible at school, the habit of being unseen one I haven't yet forgotten.

The girls I'm going with are only inviting me along because, as I heard one whisper to the other, "she's really pretty."

Mum laughs. "Of course! You'll be the belle of the ball." 

———

The ride to the wedding is filled with chatter from Luke, occasional snarky remarks from Logan, and gentle scolding to be more quiet from Sullivan. 

My three other brothers left in a car thirty minutes before us. Alexander told me it was for safety, just in case any of the cars were attacked. 

The thought makes my chest tighten. It makes me sick. My body trembles, my skin is slick from sweat. Just knowing I'll never be safe— I'll always be targeted— undoes my sanity.