Page 32 of Souls and Sorrows

“I was. Ballet and tap, but mostly the former.”

“Past tense.” Nodding, she purses her lips, glancing around the room. Despite the friendliness she exuded before, now, the girl seems tense, and I can’t help wondering if she’s only just realizing who she’s standing here with. “What do you do now?”

Part of me wants to correct her notion that ballet is in my past because even if I stopped dancing forever, it would never actually leave me. The seeds of things you care for don’t stop sprouting just because you can’t water them daily; they’re far more resilient than that.

Still, part of my public persona is leaning into the fact that Iofficiallyretired from ballet when I was eighteen. But I don’t have to tell herwhyI left.

Clearing my throat, I pop open the top of a big, square velvet box with an amethyst drop necklace and matching stud earrings inside. I slide the heirloom out, bringing it up to admire the purple stone against my skin in the mirror.

“I’m between things right now,” I tell Zephyr, deciding that’s the safest option. Not to mention the most honest.

The business degree I got from Boston University two years ago sits somewhere in the attic of my nonna’s apartment, collecting dust along with a half-dozen pairs of ruined pointe shoes and the skeletons of my past.

“Just figuring things out?”

“Something like that.”

She smiles, and I catch the reflection, letting it thaw the icy edges of my heart for a beat. The jealousy I felt before keeps the rest of the organ warm though, reminding me she could turn at any moment.

I secure the amethyst around my neck, then put in the studs, tucking my hair behind my ears as I angle my face in the mirror. Moving to the dry-cleaning bag, I unzip the garment the rest of the way, and Zephyr shuffles over to assist me in removing it from the plastic, then laying the bejeweled train so it fans in a half-circle around the back of the dress.

Stepping inside, I bend and pull the bodice over my hips, using my arm to cover my breasts as I take off my bra. The sleeveless corset clings to me, tailored for a perfect fit, pushing my boobs up to cradle the amethyst and jutting out at the waist in full ballgown fashion.

Zephyr’s fingers are cool, grazing my lower back as she leans in to lace me up. A spark of gratitude flares in my chest, warmth radiating toward her that I want to capitalize on, but the moment’s over before I have a chance.

Guilt at my earlier sentiment bubbles inside me like an overflowing cauldron of black emotions, and I watch as she moves away, giving me a double thumbs-up.

My eyes threaten to narrow, distrust overriding the guilt. No stranger is this kind and inviting. At least, not in my experience. I keep waiting for her to demand something of me, or to take advantage of the fact that no one else is here with me.

“Well, you look…” She trails off, her brown eyes almost reverent as they trace over my form.

I swallow, silently filling the end of the sentence.Bloated. Pale. Like a prisoner being led to their death.

It’s been years since I’ve even spoken to the woman, yet I hear Mamma’s insults as if she were standing here, whispering them herself.

Zephyr crouches down, adjusting my train with one hand. “You look beautiful. Cash isn’t going to know what hit him.”

Her compliment sends a blush sprawling across my cheeks, and I bow my head to hide it. A few moments later, she excuses herself to go check on the priest, and I suck in a deep breath to try and calm my nerves.

This is really not that different from what I planned when I was going to marry Vitus, except it won’t be the same groom waiting at the altar. The years I spent getting to know Vitus, learning his quirks and dislikes and figuring out how to manipulate him into doing what I wanted, are now somewhat wasted.

I’ll have to start over with Cash. Figure out what makes him tick.

Something inside of me tenses, afraid that I might not be able to.

Afraid I won’t survive this.

Still, I finish pinning the sheer, hooded veil in my hair and situating each curl particularly on my shoulders, then head for the nave, where the congregation normally gathers for service.

Sparkling black lace covers my shoulders and arms from the veil and spreads out around me with each step I take, like evil bleeding out into the sacred halls. It fills the entirety of my peripheral vision, masking the marble floor and floral wallpapers I grew up between.

The doors to the nave are closed, and I pause just outside of them, gathering my nerves. This isn’t exactly how I imagined this day—didn’t think I’d be getting married all by myself—but I suppose there are worse things in life.

I’m tempted to go back and grab my phone and invite my sisters. They’d be upset, but at least I wouldn’t feel so fucking alone, like someone stole the important organs from the shell of my body and replaced them with frozen air.

But I don’t, reminding myself that they haven’t called or texted in weeks. If they wanted to be here, they could’ve reached out.

And it’s not like we actually got to attend Elena’s wedding. Or Stella’s high school graduation. So, why should they get to be here with me now?

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