Page 72 of Remi's War (Four Dark Horsemen 2)

My heart contracts painfully in my chest. I quickly wipe away my tears before they ruin the makeup Erica worked so hard to apply. The girl ended up the chattiest of them all, telling me stories about various brides who requested the weirdest makeup, but she didn’t mind as long as the pay was good.

Is this why she accepted this job, too? Because it wasn’t hard to guess from the misery etched on my features and my complete lack of interest in everything related to the wedding how this wasn’t something I wanted.

Aly and Kelly, Remi’s assistants, have tried their best to lift my mood by bringing delicious desserts and asking me questions about France. They must know their bosses really well though, because not once have they asked anything personal.

Or questioned a wedding they had to arrange in exactly three hours.

At least I got a short nap, which only added to my headache. All I wanted to do was run to France and find solace in my father’s arms.

I never should have touched the past.

Now, I owe it to my sister to marry a man so obsessed with her he doesn’t care she’s engaged to someone else.

Even in my worst nightmare, I couldn’t have imagined such a scenario.

Exhaling heavily, I focus on my reflection in the mirror. I’m thankful to Erica that, despite seeing a mesmerizing creature staring back at me, I still find traces of me in my reflection.

Although right now, I’m almost Amalia’s carbon copy sans the hair.

My heavy locks are bound together in a loose braid thrown over my shoulder. Several small crystal pins are strategically placed to create a shimmering reflection, bringing attention to the thickness and glistening color of my hair.

Artistically applied mascara and black eyeliner point out the vividness of my ocean-blue eyes filled with despair and frozen tears. The soft blush on the pale skin of my cheeks gives me a healthier look than I deserve.

Red color adds fullness to my lips, bringing attention to the shape of my mouth. The combined effect makes me think of the Greek goddesses displayed in various galleries.

Tempting and alluring, yet soft and gentle.

Why then does it feel like all I have to do is tap my finger on the mirror, and the image will shatter, showing my true reflection?

This is all an illusion designed to fool a monster into thinking he got his coveted prey so he’d stop hunting. And only God knows what he will do once the deception comes to light.

But I guess my twin gives zero fucks about that, and why should she?

I’m just a nuisance she wants to get rid of.

“This is one long-ass train,” Erica mutters before adjusting it so my legs won’t tangle in the chiffon. “Kind of an old-fashioned touch to the dress.”

“Erica,” Aly hisses, shooting me a scared glance. “Remi picked this dress himself. He loves the design.” She glares at her friend, who shrugs, not that I blame her.

When they brought the dress an hour ago, my jaw dropped so much it still freaking aches.

The white ballgown with a turtleneck and long, lace sleeves flows over my form, hugging it tightly and showing every curve and dip on my body. The countless buttons hold it all together. The silky, monarch train gives it a wider scope and pulls heavily on my waist. To finish the ensemble, my blue velvet stilettos peek from under the long skirt.

Remi decided they should be my something blue, so they found me designer shoes with a pretty crystal on the tip.

The dress indeed seems like it’s from another century, but ironically, it’s exactly what I would have chosen for myself had all this been real.

I’d be the happiest bride on the planet if the man of my dreams who awakened my body to all its pleasures knew me so well that he picked this dress for me.

Except he picked it for my twin.

And the dashing knight from the club who grew up with princes ended up being a villain.

Deep down, though, part of me, the one I’m not proud of, could have tried to understand why he does what he does and how horrific this is.

However, I can never get over who he truly wants, and just the idea of him touching me again while thinking of Amalia crushes my soul in more ways than one.

Glancing at the wooden clock, which announces a new hour’s arrival, I muster up a smile. “Well, if I’m ready, then I’m going to sit down.” I need to stop staring at myself, or the waterfalls are going to start at the injustice of it all.

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