Page 82 of Veil of Vengeance

I yank my arm out of her hold and slap her hand away.

“Scared, Violette? Or are you trying to piss me off?” I taunt. She crosses her arms over her chest.

“I don’t think you remember what Dad is capable of,” she says firmly.

Acid burns my throat, and my nails dig into my palms. Instead of retaliating, I decided to go inside.

“Val, wait, I didn’t mean it like that.”

I don’t answer her, and she keeps following behind me. Our footsteps echo around the hallway as we make our way into the kitchen.

“Val, come on.”

Mom and Monica are standing at the counter, but Nonna is nowhere to be seen.

“What’s happened?” Mom makes her way toward me, her eyes frantically checking me, and then moving to Violette behind me. I step around Mom and make my way to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of iced coffee.

“Nothing,” I reply simply, closing the fridge and facing my Mom. Her eyebrows are pinched as she looks at me and then at Violette.

“Are you sure, cara?” she asks, and I give her another nod, before going back to my room.

* * *

I dustthe lightest layer of pink blush over my pale cheeks. They’re usually tan, but I’ve been feeling sick as of lately. Pulling down the sleeves of my dress, I watch as Violette slips into my room and silently closes the door.

She turns and sees that I’m watching her, giving me a sheepish smile as she says, “Nicholas is downstairs.” I raise an eyebrow and she adds, “He also brought you some roses.” A sour taste fills my mouth as I put the blush brush down and turn to look at my sister.

“I have to go. Don’t want to keep him waiting,” I mutter. As I pass by her, she grabs my arm.

“Val, you don’t have to fight this marriage, you can embrace it. You never know, it might be a good thing and not something bad like you think.”

I don’t look at her, yanking my arm out of her hand and walking to the door.

My hand rests on the door handle as I say, “It seems your fiancé has already turned you into a hopeless Matteontic.”

The door shuts behind me with a silent thud and I head down the stairs. I can hear Dad and Nicholas speaking, but I can’t make out what they’re saying exactly. They both stop and turn to look at me when I reach the last step, my heels echoing against the marble floors.

I give them both a smile, but it feels forced. I just hope it doesn’tlookforced. Nicholas’ face remains vacant of any emotions as his eyes stay on mine. He has a bouquet of red roses in hand, and he’s wearing a white dress shirt and navy dress pants. His hair is pushed back in an effortlessly loose hairstyle. It makes him resemble Prince Eric from the Little Mermaid but with green eyes.

“Drive safe and get her back home before midnight,” Dad says to Nicholas, who gives him a nod before handing the roses to one of the maids and heading to the entrance doors. Dad’s hand snakes out and grabs me when I try to walk past him. “Behave yourself, and don’t do anything that might annoy Nicholas.” His tone carries an unsaid threat, and I give him a curt nod as he releases my arm.

Nicholas holds the door open for me and gives me a curious look as I walk past him. I ignore it and continue toward what I assume to be his car. His driver opens the back door for us, and I slide in, Nicholas sliding in after me. The drive on the way to the restaurant is spent in silence, neither of us wanting to engage the other in idle conversation.

We come to a stop in front of The Daisy, which is known for its cutesy but intimate atmosphere. I slant Nicholas a look as we both step out; I’m trying to figure out why we’re at this restaurant. Especially when he already has eyes for someone else. My question is answered quicker than I thought it would be because more than one blinding flash of light goes off and the shouts of the paparazzi fill the air. Of course, it’s a publicity stunt. I’m not mad because I care, but I wish he had the decency to tell me beforehand.

Side by side, we walk toward the entrance. Nicholas maintains the constant constipated look on his face, and I have a small smile on mine. Once we reach the entrance, two guards open the glass doors for us, and the muted beige carpet muffles the sound of our steps. The hostess greets us with a smile before she leads us to our table that’s not far from where the paparazzi are seated, but it’s private enough that no one can hear us talk.

Nicholas pulls out a chair for me, and I can hear the clicks of the cameras go off. We don’t have time to even go over the menu before a waiter comes our way to ask for our orders. I order the steak and mashed potato on the side, medium rare. And Nicholas orders some Wagyu with asparagus. I guess we both know to be as bland and boring as possible when outside.

Once the waiter is gone, Nicholas turns to look back at me and asks, “How do I know that you’re not going to go yapping your mouth about what you saw at the party?”

I narrow my eyes at him before shooting back, “I’m about as happy as you with this marriage arrangement; however, for me, my survival depends on this shitshow working out. I won’t say anything if you can keep yourself out of the tabloids. At least until we’re married because, after that, my dad won’t give a fuck what you do.”

He raises an eyebrow and says, “Well, that's settled. You’ll mind your business, and I’ll mind mine once we’re married, but until then, let's keep our interactions to a minimum. I don’t exactly feel like going out on dates with someone I don’t enjoy the company of.”

“Ditto,” is all I say before the waiter brings out our dishes and wine and we eat in silence. The only sound is the clinking of our cutlery.

Nicholas takes me back home just before eleven-thirty, and I manage to avoid everyone on my way to my room.

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