Page 59 of Ruins
He’s turning into a ghost before he’s even mine.
He had been so tender, so careful with me, and for a fleeting moment, I let myself believe. I let myself hope. But the more I think about it, the more distressing it becomes, like thorny vines coiling around my heart, squeezing tighter with every passing second.
Now, standing in front of the mirror in my bridal gown for the final fitting, I barely recognize the woman staring back at me.
The lace is delicate, the embroidery perfect. The veil catches the light just right.
And yet, my reflection looks hollow. Like a bride on a music box—beautiful, elegant, and trapped behind the glass.
She’s beautiful, yes. But sad.Afraid.
I don’t feel like a dutiful daughter securing an alliance for my family and the Bratva. I feel naïve.Hoodwinked. Foolish.Falling for him in a matter of days, like a child still believing in fairy tales and dreams.
Cassandra circles me, beaming. She gushes about how stunning I look in the off-shoulder lace gown, how it hugs my waist before flowing into a cloud of ivory tulle. But all I can think about is how I feel like a lamb being led to slaughter—adorned and prepared for a fate that now brings me no joy.
“He’s smitten with you, I see,” Cassandra says, pulling me from my thoughts.
“What?” I blink, confused.
She smiles knowingly and lifts my left hand. “His mother’s ring.”
“Oh… yeah.” I gently pull my hand back, cradling it in the other. “He gave it to me at dinner with her book—for formalities.”
Cassandra’s eyes widen. “What book?”
“Vita Nuova.”
I say it softly, my gaze dropping to the ring as it glitters under the boutique’s lights, casting fractured reflections against my skin.
“Vasilisa!” Cassandra all but shouts, grabbing me by the shoulders. Before she can say another word, the door swings open, and my mother and Mimi step inside, dressed for the wedding.
“You look phenomenal, Vasi!” Mimi exclaims, eyes bright with excitement. “Like a real princess! Can you picture it? With the flowers in your hair?”
“What flowers?” my mother asks, her tone clipped with thinly veiled disapproval.
“We’re weaving in small white roses,” Cassandra says, fussing over my gown. “She’s going to be breathtaking.”
“Is that necessary?” my mother counters, her voice a delicate dagger.
Cassandra’s expression hardens as she glances at her. “It’s what Santo requested.”
My heart stutters. Santorequestedit.
The sound of his name coils around me, unexpected and suffocating in the best and worst way. My mother, stiff and poised, presses her lips into a thin line before giving a curt nod. She steps onto the podium, letting an attendant work on the final touches of her dress.
Cassandra doesn’t wait. She takes my hand, guiding me off the platform and through the boutique to the dressing room. Once the door clicks shut behind us, she studies me through the mirror, arms crossed.
“What’s going on with you?”
“I’m fine,” I say, meeting Cassandra’s gaze in the mirror.
She narrows her eyes, unconvinced. “Liar. What’s wrong?”
I hesitate, glancing away. “Why did you say that earlier? About him being smitten? And why were you so excited about the book?”
She gives me a look like I should already know the answer. “Vasilisa, he gave you his mother’s ringandher favorite book.”
I frown, confusion knitting my brows. “What does that mean?”
