Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
What was Santos doing at his house the night he died?
And who sent me this photograph?
“You look white as a ghost. This won’t do.”
“Excuse me,” I say, unable to process, needing time to understand. I rush into the bathroom and slam the door, locking it. I grip the edge of the sink and try to level my breathing. I’m shaking when I finally sit on the edge of the tub and look at the photo again, really look, because there’s no denying what this means—what someone has gone out of their way to tell me about the man who will be my husband in a matter of hours.
12
Madelena
A full twenty minutes passes before I come out of the bathroom. I feign nerves. Wedding jitters. But it’s not that. Of course, it’s not that.
Evelyn is wearing black from head to toe. I wonder if it’s to mourn her dead husband or my wedding to her son. She’s irritated to have to wait for me but I barely hear her complaints. My mind is a blur of thoughts as I follow her obediently to the limousine waiting downstairs.
I think about the times I’ve seen Santos in person. First, the night of Uncle Jax’s funeral when I was fifteen, when he’d said those two words, forgive me, that somehow drew me to him, bound me even before the blood oath did. Then nothing for two years until I had turned seventeen when he crashed the prom and most likely saved me from being attacked by the man I had thought was my fucking date.
Jason Cole. Christ. I’d thought he actually liked me.
Term was almost over by prom, with just a few weeks of school to go. Jason was a senior who had been repeating our science class and he’d passed his exams, thanks in part to me. But for the rest of that year and the senior year that had followed, no one called me Mad Elena again. No boy ever whistled or made lewd gestures when I walked by. The Janes and the Anas of the world slunk away when they saw me.
All I heard was the Augustine name. No one fucked with me again, not after they saw what happened to Jason. I’m guessing he still has a limp worse than Odin’s. Did he deserve it? I don’t think so. He deserved to be punished, yes, but Santos went too far.
Then came the night of the charity event hosted by the Augustines. He’d seen the bruises my father had left earlier that day and had come riding to my rescue to save me from the beast that was—and is—my father.
He’s no white knight. Did I really think he was? Just for a minute, maybe? I’d hoped it. I can admit that, can’t I? All these years, there’s a part of me that has hoped exactly that.
What a fool I am.
I keep my gaze out the window and draw the veil down to cover my face, reaching underneath to wipe a tear. What was I thinking? That there could be something between us? That because he is protective of me that he’s somehow good? I’m an idiot.
The limousine slows to a stop outside of St. Mark’s Cathedral. I can see how full the lot is from here. Everyone who is anyone in Avarice would be invited to this wedding. It’s the event of the year. Of the fucking century. A De Léon will marry an Augustine. I wonder if anyone actually believes this is a love match and not what it truly is. I doubt it.
My door is opened but before I can step out, Evelyn sets her red-clawed hand on my arm.
“Don’t forget the muff.”
I look at it, look at her. “I don’t need it,” I say weakly, feeling sick to my stomach.
Did Santos do it? Did he hurt my uncle? Did he… kill him? Uncle Jax had drowned, but he’d been a champion swimmer. It had always sounded strange, had made no sense. They’d said drugs and alcohol were involved, but that also didn’t fit. It just wasn’t him.
“Maddy.” The familiar voice draws me out of my reverie.
“Odin?” I am so surprised to see Odin standing in the falling snow, with no coat, holding out his hand for me, that I leap out of the car. I throw my arms around him so hard, he stumbles backward, laughing heartily when I want to sob.
Evelyn clucks her tongue as she walks past us, the driver holding an umbrella over her head to shield her from the snow. She can go fuck herself. I don’t pay her any attention as she disappears into the church. I glance back at the car with its still-open door, and for one split second, I entertain the idea of running away, of getting into that car with my brother and driving. Just driving until we’re far, far away and no one named Augustine can touch us.