“How bad would it be if we canceled the wedding now?”
Dad’s expression gave a very unmistakable answer.
“Amo, you took Cressida’s virginity in revenge. Do you even realize what kind of backlash we’d face if you don’t marry her, not to mention that it would be absolutely dishonorable to drop her like a hot potato only weeks before the wedding, when everything is already booked and planned.”
I nodded, because I knew it was true. Our men forgave many things but fucking their daughters without marrying them wasn’t one of them. Still, the idea of marrying Cressida when every fiber of my body longed for Greta seemed like the worst torture. Dad and I had discussed this before but I’d never felt this deep certainty that I’d hate every moment of being with Cressida, that it would be the worst torture I could imagine, because it meant I wouldn’t be able to be with Greta.
“You despise Cressida, don’t pretend otherwise,” I gritted out.
Dad chuckled. “I won’t. She’s a gold digger. You weren’t careful and she used your weakness against you.”
She had. And she would keep looking for other openings to get me to do what she wanted. Marriage with her would always be a power play, always mean I’d have to watch my back and live with a shield around myself in my own home.
Dad sighed. “Keep this apartment, live here most of the time. While Antonaci can expect you to marry her, he doesn’t care if you share a roof with her all the time as long as she’s protected and you get her pregnant at some point. You can keep living your life. Nobody expects you to be faithful.”
“You’re faithful to Mom.”
“You can’t compare your mother to Cressida, and I want to be faithful.”
If Greta were mine, I’d want to be faithful too.
I couldn’t fall asleep. Restlessness had settled in my bones like a deep ache. For two weeks, I’d hardly slept more than two hours at a time. All my thoughts revolved around Amo. He’d marry in four weeks. I’d never paid attention to the arranged marriages in our world. Social events were something I avoided if possible but the countdown to Amo’s wedding day rang loudly in my head.
I slid out of bed and grabbed my favorite leotard, the material threadbare thin from wearing it so often. A small sigh fell from my lips, my body welcoming the familiar piece of clothing like an old friend. I had many leotards in my wardrobe, one for almost every day of the year, gifts from my family, or people who wanted to get into Dad’s good graces.
I rarely wore any of them, always circling back to my two favorite pieces.
Bear regarded me through bleary eyes from where he’d curled up at the foot of my bed. When I opened the door, he hopped off the bed, but Momo stayed curled up, which was probably for the best considering his tendency to run away. Once Bear was out in the hallway with me, I closed the door.
The mansion was quiet at this time in the night. I didn’t bother turning on the lights. My senses were tuned into every corner of my home. Even with my eyes closed I would have found my way downstairs. On the top of the stairs, I touched a small bump in the rail like I always did, rubbing my thumb over it in slow circles before I descended the staircase. My parents, siblings and I lived in the east wing of the mansion, while my uncles and their families occupied the other parts of the house. Only Adamo, his wife and their son lived in their own place.
I stepped out into the vast backyard, my gaze sliding toward the small house which was nestled to the right of the building and that harbored my ballet studio. Dad had built it for me shortly after I’d started dancing as a small child.
Through the windows small lights flickered up and out. I wasn’t alone tonight. After a brief moment of disappointment over not getting the chance to dance by myself, I walked toward my ballet studio. It was early for them to be back. They often lingered in my ballet studio when they came back from their nightly activities to calm down before they went to bed.
Through the glass door, I saw Alessio, Nevio and Massimo sitting on the floor of my ballet room in the dark. I opened the door and reached for the light switch but then lowered my fingers without turning it on. On nights like this it was better to leave the lights out. I knew what they were but it was easier not seeing it.
The glow of the cigarettes threw shadows on their faces, turning their beautiful features into frightening grimaces, a reflection of their true nature. I often lay awake worrying about them when they went off into the night—more than that, I worried about the people who’d encounter them.