Page 156 of House of Roots and Ruin
Part of me felt cheered as she went through such elaborate steps for the wedding—surely that must be a sign she was as in the dark as Alex believed her to be. If our union was only meant to be the next step in a series of mad experiments, why such fanfare? There were ways for Gerard to accomplish what he wanted without spending thousands of florettes on table settings and puff pastries.
Dauphine helped me onto the platform, holding my hands for balance. I moved slower than I normally would have, flinching at every sound I couldn’t determine an immediate cause for. Since racing away from Viktor last night, my imagination had run wild,concocting up terrible scenarios where Gerard would burst out of hiding from secret panels, carrying vials of unknown poisons and medical instruments, demanding a line of progeny.
What would Dauphine do? Would she scream and knock away the tinctures or pin me down as he administered them?
What was going on behind those green eyes of hers?
I could feel her fuss with the gown, fingers skimming over the netting of my sleeves, before fluffing out the skirt.
“Now,” Dauphine said, pleasure evident in her voice.
I opened my eyes and felt my lips part—saw them do so in the reflection in front of me—but no sound issued forth.
“I’ve never seen a lovelier bride-to-be,” Dauphine murmured, squeezing my upper shoulders. “You were absolutely right about this gown. I’m glad I listened to you.”
The dress had been the only part of the wedding that I’d staunchly refused to budge on. When gown designer Madame Fujiwara learned I was an artist myself, she’d delightedly told me they could produce lace in any pattern I’d dare to dream up. I’d immediately set to work, drawing out a sketch in the salon that day, determined to have one small part of the ceremony that was Alex’s and mine alone. She’d added in her suggestions and together we’d created something meaningful and symbolic.
The bodice was sheer lace and had a high neck and elbow-length sleeves, with three vertical lines of alyssum flowers slashing down the front and filled in with diagonal lines of tiny waves, washing away from my center. The back repeated the pattern and had a long row of tiny buttons trailing down my spine. The geometric lines of the top were cinched with a matching belt before falling into a long, flowing skirt of pleated chiffon.
Dauphine had said it customary for Bloem brides to choose avibrant hue for their gowns, then use that shade as their signature color for everything from stationery to bedsheets.
But Salann brides wore white and the silk threads I’d chosen reminded me of the salty kisses left on our black sand beaches by adoring waves. It sparkled with a radiant luster and made my skin glow.
It wasn’t the big, show-stopping creation Dauphine had wanted, massive pilings of tulle and organza. There was no elaborate beading or patterned paillettes. Its beauty lay in clean, simple lines, well-executed and precise.
I loved it.
The design was perfect, a glorious merger of both Alex and myself. Behind me, the mirror showed ropes of greenery hanging from potted baskets around the shop and dozens of tiny tea lights that glowed in happy clusters, releasing a soft perfume of basil and mandarin. I could almost believe that today was my wedding day. That I was about to walk down the aisle and pledge myself to Alexander.
I held on to that feeling as long as I could, remembering the happier times before Viktor and Julien had crashed into my life, shattering my vision of what the future held.
“My darling…are those tears?” Dauphine asked, stepping forward to get a better look at me. “Do you not like it?”
“I love it,” I whispered. “It’s…perfect.”
“Then they’re tears of joy?”
I nodded, lying.
I was crying for all the things I’d thought I’d understood but didn’t. Crying for all I’d hoped for that wouldn’t be. A cold, cruel light had been cast upon Chauntilalie’s beautiful façade.
It was not a happy, perfect family I would wed into.
It was family with pasts even darker than my own.
There was horror within those gilded walls.
I watched Dauphine’s movements through the mirror, wanting to believe she was as much a victim as we were, wanting to believe we’d have another ally to bring Gerard’s crimes into the light.
Kosamaras had told me to run.
Julien and Viktor had said to stay and seek.
What did I want?
I stared at my reflection, seeing all of the details and meaning and care I’d sketched into a dress I wasn’t sure I’d ever get to wear again.
My fingers skimmed over the gauzy silk layers.
