Dark Castle by Shanna Handel

20

Willow

Locked awayin the solace of my room I’m busy sewing a patch on the hole in the knee of Posie’s favorite jeans. She wears them almost every day and I hate the ragtag look of her clothes being torn. She thinks they look trendy. I think they make her look uncared for, which couldn’t be further from the truth.

I’m thinking about my mother. I think about her a lot lately. Stefano, though, I’ve been able to push from my mind. We hear from him from time to time, short, cryptic messages telling us he’s closer to reining in Demi. I miss him. I miss our time in the woods when it was just the two of us, even though I know I shouldn’t.

Aldo says Stefano’s promises mean nothing until the deed is done. That sends shivers down my spine. Even if Demi’s death is necessary, I hate the idea of it.

My mother I haven’t seen since that day. I haven’t thought of my magic since that day either. I’ve kept my promise to my father. Even though I owe him nothing, I’ve still kept it.

I remember her face. How she froze me and left me in the basement of that castle. Our castle. Who knew the Rosa girls owned a castle? My thoughts make me miss a stitch and I have to go back and redo.

Briar breezes by. “Why do you bother with that? We can buy her all the clothes she needs.”

“Oh, I don’t mind.” I sew the final stitch, knotting the thread and snipping it with the scissors. I don’t say it, but I haven’t gotten used to the money. Besides, it’s not mine. Only Briar is a Russo. It’s her money. I earn my keep, but I’m just not comfortable using that little black credit card Aldo gave me when I first arrived. It’s tucked in the back of my underwear drawer.

Briar slips a note in my hand and perches on the arm of the chair beside me. “Got something for you.”

“What is it?” The paper is thick and smooth between my fingers.

She smirks a little secret smile. “Read it.”

I flip the paper open. Elegant black ink calligraphy letters swirl across the page. I read them out loud. “Santo Russo requests your attendance at the annual Russo Gala. Come dressed in your ballroom finest. Dinner, drinks, and dancing will ensue.”

“A ball? How fun.” My stomach sinks. But what will I wear? I look down at my old dusty dress.

Briar stands. As if reading my thoughts, she says, “I’m taking Posie shopping now. Come with us. We’ll find the perfect dress.”

It’s fine for Briar. I’m happy for Posie. But I’ll make do. “I’m good. I’ve got plenty.” Surely with a little creativity I can turn my rose gown into something special. Maybe I could add lace to the bodice?

“Suit yourself, sis.” She hops up from her chair, that secret smile still on her pretty face. She blows me a kiss as she walks out the door. “We’ll be back in a few hours. Text us if you change your mind.”

“Have fun!” I make my voice bright, but I’m worrying over the dress. As soon as Briar’s gone, I close the door, going to my wardrobe to take inventory. There’s the rose dress. I pull it from the rack, holding it in my hands.

It’s more faded than I remember it being. But it’ll have to do. I pull out my sewing basket, getting to work. I’m just snipping at the bodice, cutting it lower to show a bit more cleavage, when there’s a knock at my door.

“Come in.”

But no one comes.

“Come in!” I call louder. Still no one. I go to the door. I open it, expecting a visitor, but no one’s in the hall. I’m just closing the door when I see a large white box sitting on the floor.

There’s a card on top, its paper the same as the invitation I received to the ball. I pick it up, unfolding it. “For Willow. From a secret admirer.”

Santo.

A big grin splashes across my face as I pick up the box. I peek down the hall just to see if he’s here. But he’s not.

I sneak back in my room, closing the door behind me. What could be in the box? I lift the lid, white tissue paper crinkling beneath it, gold letters printed on the thin paper, reading Daughtry’s, a name I recognize as a boutique in New York I’ve heard the girls talking about. Aldo’s bought a few gowns for Briar from there and each one of them is more breathtaking than the last.

Gorgeous. That’s what Daughtry’s means. Gorgeous and expensive. I don’t know how I feel about Santo spending this kind of money on me but when I pull back the paper, the worry leaves my mind.

“Oh my gosh.” I’m almost scared to touch the fabric, it’s so beautiful. The dress is white with thick straps and a sweetheart neckline. Silvery beads dance over the bodice of the dress, swooping down to a gathered waist. I lift the dress from the box, holding it against me.

My eyes meet my image in the mirror. I’m someone else. Who is that girl, her eyes shining with excitement?

I don’t know what to do with the gown. I’m terrified of it, that I’ll mess it up in some way, so I hang it carefully in the wardrobe. I go to fold the paper back up in the box and my hand brushes against something. I pull the paper away.

Inside is a pair of Louboutins. The heels are clear; they look like glass, with tiny diamonds lining the peep-toe cutouts. The soles are that shiny, enviable red.

“He didn’t.”

But he did. I slide off my cozy house slippers and step into the elegant heels. I take a few wobbly steps, getting the hang of them, but I quickly tuck those too back in the wardrobe.

The night of the gala arrives. Briar and Posie look so pretty in their blue and teal silk gowns, I get up the nerve to try on mine. The cool silk slips over my head and the dress glides into place like it has a mind of its own.

A perfect fit.

I put on the shoes and stand in front of the mirror. I look…stunning. I feel overconfident for thinking such a thing, but I search the mirror for that shy, bread-baking virgin in the faded dress and I can’t find her.

I glide on some lipstick, a bit of mascara. I curl my hair in big loose curls and spray a puff of perfume on my décolletage. I look…I feel like a princess.

My sisters flank me as we make our way to the ballroom. Staff in suits swing open the doors for us, welcoming us to the gala. The room’s been transformed. Blush pink and gold decorations hang from the rafters. The regular lights are off, thousands of twinkling white lights sparkle overhead.

The room is filled with friendly faces, the guests dressed in elegant suits and dresses. The Russos and Romanos and their guests from the village mingle happily. Their eyes turn to us, taking us in.

Santo glides over to us and my sisters disappear. His eyes slide over my body, taking in my curves. “I knew that dress would look good on you, but damn. I didn’t know that dress would look like this.”

I flush under his compliments, his attentive stare. “Thank you.”

He kisses me on the cheek. He looks over the crowd. “What do you think of all this?”

I look up, taking it all in. “It’s amazing.”

“It’s all for you, you know.” He catches my eye and I lose my breath.

“What do you mean?” I stare up at him, wanting him to explain.

He drops to one knee. My heart drops with him, landing with a thud in the soles of my red-bottomed heels.

He flips open the lid of a little red leather box with the word Bachman scrolled in gold letters across its top. Nestled in black velvet is a huge, glittering, bright white round diamond on a simple platinum band. The light hits the diamond, sending rainbows over my dress.

“What do you mean, Santo?” I ask, my fingers trembling.

“It’s all for you.” One dark brow cocks sky high. “Willow Rosa, will you marry me?”

He’s asking me to marry him? Right here? Right now? His knee pressed into the hardwood floor, his eyes staring up at me, wanting me, waiting for my answer.

Yes.

I look him right in the eyes and I answer loudly and clearly so every teary-eyed girl in this room, wishing she were me, can hear me. My words ring out sure and true through the ballroom. “Yes. Of course I’ll marry you.”

“Good.” He gives me that wicked, panty-melting grin of his. “One more question. Will you marry me right now?”

“What?” I look around the room. “Now?”

There’s a circle of gala guests formed around us, smiling and dabbing at their eyes. Some of the girls are just outright bawling that Santo’s off the market. Behind them the staff in black suits are moving around. They’re rolling a wooden archway toward us, its trellis covered in pale pink roses and baby’s breath.

“You want us to get married now?” I ask.

“Why not? Everyone is here.” He rises to his feet, taking the ring from its box. I hold my left ring finger out and he slides the ring onto my finger. I hold my hand up, tilting it right and left, watching the light dance off the diamond. He takes my face in his hands, locking on my gaze. “And I don’t want to wait another minute to make you my wife.”

I want nothing more than to be married to this man. Right here. Right now. “Yes! Oh my God, yes.”

And we kiss. And the crowd breaks out in catcalls.

Briar and Posie return to my side, their smiles letting me know they were in on this little secret. Posie hands me a bouquet of beautiful, shaggy, blush pink peonies while Briar attaches a veil to the back of my hair.

Briar kisses my cheek and whispers in my ear, “We didn’t think you’d mind. Some brides like to plan every detail of their weddings. Others, like you, well, we thought you’d like the surprise.”

Briar knows me so well. I’m easily overwhelmed by planning and decisions and large crowds. Being thrown in like this, I can really enjoy the moment. I grab her hand. “I love it.”

Posie puts a hand on her hip. “And the arbor was my idea. You’ve got too much daddy drama going on to worry about having someone walking you down the aisle.”

My funny Posie, wise beyond her years. I lean down, putting my hand on her shoulder. “You were very right about that. This arbor is gorgeous. Thank you.”

She cocks a brow. “I also made sure Sophia made you the vanilla cake with the chocolate buttercream. I know it’s your favorite.”

“Come on, Posie. Let’s let these two get hitched. Willow will get to see all the things we planned after.” Briar takes Posie’s hand, tugging her to the side.

The archway makes its way to us and hand in hand we step up onto the platform. Panic sets in as I realize we need to exchange rings. “But I don’t have a ring for you.”

“I’ve planned everything.” He slips a silver band from his pocket and hands it to me. “Just relax and enjoy.”

A string quartet appears, four women dressed in long red evening gowns, their hair twisted up in intricate braids. The two violin players bring their instruments to their shoulders, bringing a gentle melody to the room.

A warm glow of euphoria spreads over my face. I stare up at Santo and my heart wells with a fullness I didn’t know was possible. “I can’t believe you did all this for me.”

“There’s more. But first, I want to make you my wife. Then the fun begins.”

What does he have planned? I can’t tear the smile from my face as I turn my attention to the priest. He makes a short speech, welcoming the guests of the gala to our wedding.

We exchange vows, slipping silver wedding bands on one another’s fingers. When the priest tells Santo to kiss me, Santo slips his hands up either side of my face and kisses me thoroughly and deeply till I’m blushing. When he pulls away, my husband leaves my whole body tingling.

He grabs my hand, lifting it in the air, and the crowd cheers. A few girls run from the back of the room, distraught that Santo’s playboy days are officially over. A lock of dark hair hangs over his eyes; his gaze is only for me, and I feel sorry for those girls.

Because he’s handsome as hell, and he’s all mine.

We’re swept up in a whirlpool of congratulations, shaking hands and hugging our guests. While we celebrate our ceremony, workers are moving about. Within the span of ten minutes, they’ve turned the arbor into a fully functioning open bar.

Guest line up, ordering drinks. Silver trays of bacon-wrapped scallops, caprese skewers with balsamic glaze, and bruschetta are served around the room as people mingle around the ballroom for a cocktail hour.

“Come, I want to show you the dining room before we get swarmed.” Santo takes my elbow, guiding me into the dark wood room. The big table has been moved out; dozens of round tables each seating eight guests fill the room.

The colors are dusty rose pink, complemented by a soft gold. I tighten my hold on his arm, taking a breath. “I love it.”

He pats my arm. “We thought you would. Esme did all this.”

My hand goes to my heart. “For me?”

“Of course.” He walks me around the room, and I take it all in.

The tablecloths, the folded napkins, the paper decorations strung from the ceiling are all pink. Each place is set just so. A gold charger under a white china plate, gold silverware laid on pink cloth napkins, a crystal wine goblet. The only thing out of place is that every setting has a different china teacup and saucer. Some are brightly colored, others white, spattered with flowers or garden designs. I carefully lift one, a pale pink with the furry white ears of a rabbit painted on it. “Where did you get these?”

“Cecily has been scouring flea markets for weeks. Lance made her take an armed guard with her, but she was not to be deterred. She wanted each guest to have a special takeaway that would remind them of you, and she said that when she’d visited you girls’ cabin, she remembered how you had tea in real teacups. I guess the memory stuck with her.”

“Sweet Cecily. How thoughtful.” I love that Santo arranged this wedding, that he planned this surprise. What’s even more touching is how everyone came together to make this wedding so special, so perfect…for me.

He leads me to the far side of the room where a three-tiered cake stands in the corner, the chocolate buttercream overlaid with a crisscross design made from thin pink lines of icing. “Sophia’s gift.”

The scent of butter and chocolate and sugar reach me, and I almost ask him if we can skip the dinner and go straight to the cake cutting. But I can wait. I think.

Sophia scurries over, her hand out like she’s ready to smack any taste testers away. “Don’t you touch that cake, Santo.”

Santo laughs. “I wouldn’t dare.”

I go to Sophia, hugging her tightly. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.”

“It’s fine. It’s fine. People have to eat, no? There has to be cake.” She shoos me away, but I don’t miss the tears in her eyes and the softness in her voice.

We join our guests.

Aldo brings me the signature cocktail of the evening, a pink champagne margarita. “Made with pink lemonade, triple sec, tequila, champagne, and lime juice. Careful, you’re only going to need one of these bad boys to unwind, little sis.”

I hold my glass to his in a cheer.

I giggle as I watch the big, tattooed man sip on a blush pink drink. “Ah—delicious!” he roars. I laugh harder when I see the pink foam the drink has left behind on his mustache.

“Come here, babe. You got a little something in your beard.” Briar comes to Aldo’s aid, dabbing his face with a cocktail napkin.

Posie walks by, her hips sashaying sassily in jeans and boots. She sure didn’t last long in her dress. Briar and I made bets and Briar lost. Briar thought the dress would make it at least till we cut the cake.

I catch a flash of pink in the glass in my little sister’s hand. She’s thirteen now and demands to be treated like an adult. She’s not sneaking drinks, is she?

Excusing myself from the group, I rush over to her, pulling her aside. I lean down, trying to catch a whiff from her glass. Lemons and sugar. Still…I lock my eyes on hers, using my sternest big sister voice. “Please tell me that’s a virginmargarita.”

Her brows raise to the heavens as she focuses on me. She waits a beat to answer, making me sweat it out. She takes a long sip of her drink, making me want to snatch it from her hand.

“After seeing you and Santo in the cabin that day?” A smile curls her shining lips, her brow shoots up and she says, “I’d say this drink is one hundred percent more virgin than you.”

“Posie…” She turns on her boot heel and sashays away.

One point for Posie. Big sis…zero. Game, set, match. Let her have her sassy win. I have to hand it to her—she’s quick. Laughing to myself, I go find my husband.

He’s waiting for me at the head table, his hands on the back of my seat. He pulls out the chair for me. “Here she is. Here’s my wife.”

I slip into my seat, admiring the table. Red wine sparkles in my glass, fresh salad on a small plate waits for me. Baskets of bread I didn’t have to bake are passed around. We eat and drink and talk and laugh. Dinner is served, and I manage a few bites despite my excitement.

A live band takes a makeshift stage. They quickly introduce themselves and waste little time breaking into their upbeat tempo. Santo grabs my hand to dance, but instead, he leads me from the room.

He pulls me down a hall off the ballroom. “I have something to show you.”