by Portia Moore
Because I don’t really want to spend more of Vincent’s money? Because I don’t want a fancy party? Because I won’t even get to pick out a dress for me? It’ll have to be something that I know Vincent will love, and our tastes don’t always align. Especially when it comes to what I would wear for my twenty-first birthday party.
The one nice thing about today is that at least I don’t have to force myself into something Vincent will love for the day out. I can wear what I like, at least from the choices that I have.
“Give me a half-hour,” I tell Erin. “I need to shower and put on some makeup, and then we’ll go.”
I don’t do a full face of makeup, either. Vincent hates the few freckles on my skin from years of tanning outside as a teenager, and he always prefers me to look airbrushed and flawless. But for today, I just slap on some moisturizer and sunscreen, swipe some mascara across my lashes, and pull my hair up into a high ponytail. I look so much younger and healthier like this, not all made up and sculpted. The only thing artificial about my face today is my eyelash extensions—but I have to admit I don’t hate those. Growing up with blonde lashes made me wish I’d had them all my life. It’s one of the few beauty treatments I’ll really miss if I ever manage to leave Vincent.
No heels for me today, either. Instead, I put on a pair of faux leather leggings and a long sleeveless silk tunic and pair it with designer sneakers. I dig out a pair of hoops that look similar to Erin’s, and despite myself, I can’t help but grin when she scrambles off of the bed and comes to stand next to me. We really do look so much alike.
I’m going to try to enjoy today as much as I can, I tell myself. I’m in Italy, with my little sister, and an unlimited credit card. Vincent or no Vincent, this is something special I’m getting to experience with her. I can’t get out of it, so I want to at least make it something good.
My lifted spirits last exactly the length of time that it takes for us to get downstairs and see Sonya sitting at the breakfast table in a figure-hugging wrap dress. Her hair and makeup are as perfect as always.
“Going somewhere?” I ask as casually as I can, sitting down across from her with Erin next to me. Lucia appears as if by magic, producing a breakfast plate for both of us. “Fruit and lemon-ricotta pancakes with fresh lemon curd,” she says, and my mouth waters. Apparently, Vincent has stopped caring quite so much about my diet, or he’s gotten too busy here to notice.
Either way, there’s no chance I’m asking for something else.
Sonya smiles tightly. “Gianna thought it would be a good idea if I came along. We’re all about to be family soon, so she suggested we get to know one another better.”
Her pursed lips tell me that she doesn’t want to go any more than I want her there. It makes me feel a tiny bit better to know that even Sonya doesn’t get to make all her own choices in this family.
But still, my heart sinks as my visions of a day almost alone with my sister—except for April—vanish. Instead, I’ll have to be on my best behavior all day, and with a constant reminder of Zach and his new relationship at my side.
“A driver is waiting outside,” Sonya says as we get up from the breakfast table, and sure enough, as we walk out into the bright sunlight, there’s a town car waiting for us. The driver holds the door open as the three of us slip into the interior. It has the familiar smell of rich leather and polish that I now associate with my nights out with Vincent, a scent that I’m not quite sure if I like anymore.
“Mimosas all around?” Sonya reaches for the compartment with the glassware, pulling out three crystal goblets and pouring a little chilled Cristal into each.
I shake my head immediately. “Erin won’t be having one. She’s only seventeen.” My tone is as firm as I can possibly make it, but Sonya waves a hand as if nothing I just said matters.
Meanwhile, Erin is already glaring daggers at me. So much for a nice day out with my sister.
“You’re in Europe now,” Sonya says with a smile. “My aunt and uncle were letting me have a little wine with dinner when I was fourteen.”
“I just turned seventeen,” Erin says excitedly, and I have to fight to bite my tongue. First Vincent charming my little sister, and now Sonya.
“There’s a song about that,” Sonya says sweetly, topping her glass off with orange juice and handing it to her, and then doing the same to mine. “The Sound of Music. You should watch it. It’s a classic.”
“I don’t like old movies,” Erin says with a shrug.
“There’s a lot to be learned about living in the upper class from them. How to have genteel manners, how to fit in among polite society. Those actresses had an elegance that you just can’t find easily now.” She smiles sweetly at me as she speaks. “You can tell the difference between someone who has grown up with those kinds of manners and someone who hasn’t. Unless, of course, that person tries very, very hard to learn and fit in.”
Erin takes a sip of her mimosa. “This is so good,” she exclaims.
Of course it is, I want to blurt out. That champagne cost more than two months’ mortgage on our parents’ house. Of course it’s fucking delicious.
The shopping center of the town is magical. Montepulciano is an old town, and the feature of the main square is the huge, ancient cathedral. The old, medieval-looking buildings have been repurposed into vintage and designer shops, side by side with hipster cafes and mom-and-pop restaurants. The mix of old and new is so well blended that it takes my breath away as we walk through the cobblestoned square into the first store.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Sonya asks as she sees my expression. “Centuries-old buildings full of Chanel and Dior. It’s any girl’s dream.”
It’s not really my dream, but I keep my mouth shut. There’s no reason to argue with Sonya—she’s not someone who could ever understand the way I feel.
In fact, I don’t know of anyone around me anymore who does. Even my sister is smitten with this family’s lifestyle, and I can’t blame her because I was once the same way.
Still, it makes me feel achingly, almost unbearably lonely.
“So. What do you envision yourself in?” Sonya asks as we walk into the first store. She stops at a marble-topped table, rifling through some of the most gorgeous scarves I’ve ever seen. She stops at a gorgeous sky blue one that looks amazing against her skin, and I feel a pang of envy. She’s one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen—and she’s with Zach. Whatever their relationship is, they’re still sleeping together. He’s still kissing her, touching her, making love to her. He’s still giving her all of his attention. It makes me feel like I’m in high school all over again, smitten over him and heartbroken because the girl he was with wasn’t me.
I should be long past that. I’d thought I was. It seems cruel beyond belief that after everything this past year has thrown at me, I have to deal with this now, too.
Forcing myself not to think about it, I cross over to a garment rack and pick up a blue silk A-line dress. “Maybe something like this? Vincent likes me in blue. He says it brings out my eyes.”
Sonya makes a face. “That’s a pretty dress for a dinner party. But not for your birthday. You need something that stands out, something extravagant. You only turn twenty-one once! And screw what Vincent wants,” Sonya says with a laugh. “Men never know what’s best. It’s up to us to decide and then make them think it was their idea. Or just do what you want, and fuck whether or not they think it’s their idea.”
It’s a nice sentiment. It even makes me like her a little, just for a second. But that feeling is quickly replaced by jealousy. Not over Zach this time, but because Sonya has the freedom to say things like that, to not care what Vincent thinks—or what any man thinks, for that matter.
That’s the kind of power I wish I had, I think to myself. The power to just be me and fuck everyone else’s opinion of it.
“Here.” Sonya holds up three dresses and shoves them into my arms. “Go try these on.”
A saleslady appears the m
oment I take the dresses and shows
me to a dressing room, complete with a velvet-topped stool, gold hooks on the lavishly wallpapered walls, and a heavy velvet curtain separating me from the rest of the store.
The first dress I immediately know isn’t right. It’s a black bandage dress, and Vincent hates me in black now. He says it makes me look too pale, like a goth teenager. The second is a vivid scarlet red, strapless with a sweetheart neckline, and fitted all the way down to my hips, where it then flares out into a wide skirt.
“This is a ball gown,” I say as I step out.
Sonya laughs. “Your party is being thrown at an Italian estate. I thought the bandage dress might be fun if you wanted to be rebellious. But knowing Vincent, you probably shouldn’t be. And everyone will be wearing black tie and evening gowns.” She waves to the saleslady, who brings over a pair of diamond chandelier earrings and holds them up to my ears. “With your hair up, and diamonds dripping off of you, this could be gorgeous.” She smiles at me. “This is your day to be a princess, Rain. This and your wedding day. So enjoy it.”
I try on the other dress, a similar gown but in emerald green. Sonya brings me three more, and the first two I don’t care for—one is velvet, which seems excruciatingly hot. The other has beading over the neck and shoulders, which I think ages me. And then I try on the last one.
It’s entirely made of rose-gold fabric that shimmers in the light, reflecting it every time the fabric shifts, but without being vulgar. It’s as if the dress is made out of woven metallic threads—hell, it might actually be. I’m almost afraid to put it on. It’s strapless with a sweetheart neckline, and it fits like a glove, clinging to my waist and hips and thighs and flaring ever so slightly into a subtle mermaid silhouette.
My blonde hair seems to glow next to it, and it brings out the slight pink undertones in my skin, making me look soft and rosy instead of pale and tired.
Even I think I look beautiful.
I step out, and Sonya looks genuinely astonished. “You’re a pretty girl normally, Rain,” she says, “but this dress does wonders for you.”
She holds up a pair of earrings, peachy morganite teardrops surrounded by halos of diamonds, set in rose gold. “These are perfect with it,” she says. “There’s a cuff bracelet to match. I wouldn’t wear a necklace if I were you. Don’t take away from that décolletage.”
I’m not entirely sure what that word means, but I’m pretty sure she’s referring to my cleavage. It does look good in the dress, I have to admit.
“Where’s Erin?” I ask suddenly. “I want to know what she thinks.”
Sonya frowns as if wondering why I’d need the opinion of a sixteen-year-old when she’s given me her approval. “I think she went to go to the bathroom? I’m not sure.”
I turn on my heel, glaring at April, who is standing next to the dressing room. “How could you let her out of your sight? We’re in Italy. She could get kidnapped or something!”
“My job is not to leave your side, Ms. Carlisle,” April says flatly. “Vincent hired me as your security.”
“You really think he’s going to be happy if something happens to my little sister? Under his watch?” I can feel myself flushing red with anger.
“Rain, calm down,” Sonya says firmly. “She probably just went to get some coffee or gelato or something. Just change, and we’ll go look for her.”
It’s hard for me to be careful as I get out of the dress, but I manage to unzip it and hang it back up without doing any damage. I get dressed in a matter of seconds, hardly hearing Sonya say that she’ll tell the saleslady to hold the dress until we come back as I barrel towards the door, not bothering to wait for April.
The first place I look is the café next door, and of course, Sonya’s right, Erin is there.
“See, I told you….” Sonya starts to say, appearing behind me as if by magic, but I don’t hear if she says anything else because my heart is pounding as I look at where my sister is seated.
She’s not alone.
A man is sitting across from her who looks Italian—devastatingly handsome and visibly older with swooping dark hair and eyes and that rich tan, and a white smile that shows as he laughs deeply at something Erin has said.
Erin is staring at him like she’s found God, eyes wide and intent on his handsome face, toying with a piece of her hair.
“Erin!” I call out her name, stalking across the café to where she’s sitting. She looks up and flushes guiltily the second she sees me but doesn’t budge.
“Erin, you weren’t supposed to leave the store without telling me or Sonya or April.”
Defiance flares in her eyes, and I can tell she doesn’t like being treated like a kid in front of this man, whoever he is. But for once, I don’t fucking care. I’m not letting her out of my sight again if this is what happens.
“I just came to get something to drink,” she says defensively. “And then Matteo was nice enough to offer to buy it for me, and we were just getting to know one another.”
The man gets up from his chair, extending his hand. “Matteo Bracciano,” he says.
I don’t even have a chance to speak before Sonya pushes in front of me suddenly.
“Bracciano. You bare a striking resemblance to someone I used to know. Would you happen to be related to Piero Bracciano?” She asks coolly, and his smile falters just a bit.
“Piero is my uncle, but we are pretty estranged.” He says with half-shrug, his eyes landing back on Erin.
“Estranged.” She repeats her brow arched and her tone clipped. “Of Course.” She says dismissively. She turns toward Erin and me, her face hard and voice stern. “Let’s go.”
I stare at her, momentarily dumbfounded. Her charming exterior is gone, replaced by a commanding demeanor that reminds me so much of Vincent that a shiver runs down my spine. When I glance at Matteo, his face is still pleasant, but I see something flicker in his eyes.
Erin looks up at Sonya petulantly, as startled as I am. She thought Sonya would be on her side. “What, why?”
“Don’t question me. I said, Now.” Sonya says sharply. I don’t like Sonya speaking to Erin like that, but Erin isn’t listening to me, so I say nothing.
Erin gets up reluctantly. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I have to go.”
“Another time then, Bella.” Matteo smiles at her, and Erin flushes to the roots of her hair.
“You will not be seeing him again,” I say as I hustle her out of the café. “What in the hell do you think you were doing? You can’t just talk to strange men in a foreign country!”
“Why not?” Erin demands. “He was nice, and I have friends with older sisters who have done exchanges in countries like this, and they have cool flings with guys. I got his number,” she says triumphantly. “See, the makeover helped. I think he has money, too. His suit looks expensive, and the card he used to pay for the coffee looks like the one Vincent gave you.”
I grit my teeth. “April, can you please keep an eye on Erin? I’m going to go pay for the dress and jewelry, and I’ll be back.”
I pay for the items faster than I ever have in my life and emerge less than five minutes later. The driver almost immediately appears, taking them from me to put into the town car.
“Aren’t we going to do more shopping?” Erin looks alarmed. “I haven’t gotten a dress for the party yet.”
“We’ll go another day,” I say firmly. “For now, I think we need to go home. And you’re going to get rid of that guy's number.”
“He has a name,” she says sulkily. “Matteo.”
“I don’t care.”
“We’ll go to Rome to shop tomorrow,” Sonya says, clearly trying to placate Erin. “You can get your dress there.”
Erin nods, getting into the car after that, but I’m horrified at how spoiled she’s acting. “You’re going to get rid of that number,” I tell her. She glares at me and then looks out the window, not saying a word.
She refuses to speak to me for the rest of
the drive home, and I have to fight back the tears of anger and frustration.
I thought it would be amazing having Erin with me again, but this just seems to be getting worse and worse.
I can’t be responsible for something happening to her, to my little sister.
I can’t let her make the same mistakes I did. She can’t end up with the life I have.
I don’t know how I ended up here. When I was younger, I never dreamed of being in a foreign, exotic country. If I would have, I’d never imagined it being one of the most miserable times in my life and sitting next to a sister who at this moment hates me.
“Erin I’m sorry if I embarrassed you. I didn’t mean to.” I tell her quietly, but she still refuses to look at me.
“I know you’re upset, but can you please talk to me,” I ask her as the car pulls up in front of the house. “I’m not trying to be mean. I just want what’s best for you. ”
“You just want what’s best for me?” She snaps at me with a fire in her eyes I’ve never seen before. “Leaving me to rot in Indiana while you go on expensive trips wearing thousand-dollar dresses is what’s best for me?”
Her words cut through me. I swallow hard, looking at the girl who was once my cute little five-year-old sister who loved me and who believed I could do no wrong. She’s so different now from that little girl who adored me.
She’s not even the same girl that I picked up in Indiana a week ago.
It just twists the knife that feels permanently embedded in my heart these days. This is how she’s been feeling, I think miserably. That I left her behind, that I abandoned her, that I haven’t done enough.
It takes everything in me not to tell her the truth—that there’s so much underneath the makeup and designer clothes and expensive jewelry that there’s a dark side to this that she doesn’t understand. That I’m doing all of this for her, for our family, and trying not to feel as if I want to die every single day while I do it.
But now, I don’t even know if she would understand or believe me. I’m not sure that she wouldn’t just say that I’m making excuses not to leave if it’s really so bad. And maybe that’s true.
