206

Dear
The first time I met him, he was in disguise, dressed in a smart black suit made to look like one of us. But while the layers of fine fabric covered his many tattoos, they could not hide his true nature. It transpired , dangerous and chilling. I never thought at the time that I would get to know him and the monster inside me better than anyone else, and that it would disrupt my whole life. That it would change my whole being to the core.
“I can’t believe they let you go with them,” muttered Thalia . I turned away from the mirror to look at her. She sat cross-legged in my desk chair, dressed in her shabbiest jogging pants, and her long brown hair was pulled back on top of her head in a messy bun. Her T-shirt, a faded gray full of holes and stains, would have brought our mother down . Talia smiled darkly as she followed my gaze.
“It’s not like I have to dress nice for anyone, you know.”
“There’s a difference between not dressing well and what you’re doing,” I said with a hint of disapproval. I wasn’t really bothered by my sister wearing her shabbiest clothes, but I knew their only purpose was to irritate Mom, and that was a likely scenario given our mother’s tendency toward perfectionism and overreactions.
I really didn’t want her mood to deteriorate like this just before the dance. I would have been the one to suffer, since Dad was definitely out of the question when it came to becoming Mom’s favorite target. Mom had a tendency to take it personally if I or T alia were not perfect.
“I’m pointing something out,” Talia said with a small shrug.
I sighed. “No, you are mean and childish.”
“I’m a child, too small for a social gathering at the Falcone mansion,” intoned T alia in her best imitation of her mother’s scolding tone.
“This is an adult event. Most people will be over eighteen or much older. Mom is right. You would have no one to talk to and someone would have to watch you all night.”
“I’m fifteen, not six. And you’re only four years older than me, so don’t act like an adult,” she said indignantly, getting up from her desk chair, letting it spin around, and staggering toward me. She looked me straight in the eye, the challenge unequivocal. “You probably told Mom not to take me with you because you were worried about having to watch me and that I would embarrass you in front of your friends who are so perfect.”
I gave a grim look. “You’re overreacting.” But a glimmer of guilt ran through me at T alia’s words. I hadn’t convinced Mom to leave T alia at home, but I also hadn’t put up much of a fight for my sister to join us. T alia was right. I was worried about being stuck with her all evening. My friends tolerated her when we met at home, but to be seen with a girl four years younger at an official meeting would not go over well with them. A party at the Falcon was always the best chance to meet suitable people, and having to babysit your friend’s sister didn’t help much in that effort. I wanted that night to be special.
Something from the flow of my thoughts must have manifested on my face because Thalia huffed, “I knew it.”
She spun on her heels and left the room, slamming the door so hard I couldn’t help but shiver.
I let out a small breath, then turned back to my reflection, checking my makeup and hairstyle one last time.
I had watched countless beauty blogger tutorials to make sure I was getting the right smokey eyes effect. Everything had to be perfect. Mom was a harsh critic, but Trish and Anastasia were even worse. They would notice if I matched the wrong shade of eyeshadow to my dress or if my hand trembled while holding eyeliner, but their scrutiny had made my preparation meticulous. They were the reason I never relaxed. And that was what friends were for.
My dress was dark green and my eye shadow only a few shades lighter. Perfect. I checked my nails one last time for cracks, but even those looked immaculate in their dark green sheen. I smoothed the dress a few times until I was satisfied with the way the hemline grazed my knees, then I smoothed my hair again too, just in case, turning to see if the bobby pins were still all in place and holding up my light brown hair.
“Darling, are you ready? We have to go,” Mom called to me from downstairs.
I checked my reflection and smoothed my dress again, examined my stockings, then finally forced myself to rush out of the room before Mom lost her patience. I could have spent hours checking my dress for possible mistakes if I had the time.
Mom was standing in the doorway when I came downstairs, letting the cool autumn air into the house. She was checking her gold watch, but the moment she saw me, she grabbed her favorite winter coat, a gorgeous thing that had cost the lives of many a stoat, and put it on over her long dress.
Even with the unusually cold temperatures for Las Vegas in November, a fur coat was definitely overkill, but because Mom had bought it many years earlier in Russia and loved it to death, she took every opportunity to wear it , no matter how inappropriate.
I approached her, ignoring Thalia who was leaning against the staircase railing, a pout on her face. I felt sorry for her, but I didn’t want anyone or anything to ruin that evening for me. Father and Mother hardly ever allowed me to go to parties, and that evening was the most important event of the year in our social circles. Everyone who aspired to be somebody in Las Vegas had tried to get an invitation to Falcone’s Thanksgiving banquet. This was to be my first year attending. Trish and Anastasia had been lucky enough to be there last year, too, and if Dad had not forbidden me to go, I would have gone, too. I felt small and excluded whenever Trish and Anastasia talked about the party in the weeks before and after, and they did it nonstop, probably because it gave them a chance to gloat.
“Give your best wishes to Trish and Anastasia, and a kiss to Cosimo from me,” Talia said softly.
I blushed. Cosimo. He would be there, too.
I had met him only twice before and our interactions had been more than a little awkward.
“Talia, put those ugly rags in the trash.
I don’t want to find them anywhere in the house when we come back.”
Talia stubbornly thrust out her chin, but even from across the room I could see a hint of tears in her eyes.
Again guilt flooded me, but I remained tied up by the front door. Mother hesitated, as if she too realized how hurt Thalia was. “Maybe next year you will be allowed to come.” She made it sound as if it had not been her decision to exclude T alia from the party. Although, to be honest, I wasn’t sure the Falcone family would be very happy if people started bringing their younger children along, considering that Falcone was not known for his patience or sense of family.
Even his children had been sent to boarding schools in Switzerland and England, so they did not get on his nerves.
At least, if the rumors were to be believed.
“Put on a coat,” Mom said. I took one that wasn’t fur, which was no easy feat in Mom’s wardrobe, and followed her out of the house. I did not turn to look at T alia as I closed the door. Dad was already waiting in the driver’s seat of the black Mercedes in our driveway. Behind , another car was parked with our bodyguards. I wondered what it was like for people who were not always followed.
Mom opened her coat a little wider. This was Las Vegas, and not Russia, I wanted to tell her. But if she preferred to melt so she could walk around in her fur coat, then that was her problem. No pain, no gain, I suppose. Years of dance lessons had taught me that.
Mom dropped into the passenger seat as I slid into the back of the car. I took another quick look at my pantyhose for stretch marks, but they were immaculate. I thought companies should have put a notice on their luggage like “Standing Only, No Moving Allowed,” considering how easy it was to go running without doing anything but walking. That’s why I had stuffed two new pantyhose in my bag, just in case.
“Buckle up,” Dad said. Mom leaned over and gave him a tissue on his bald head, absorbing the drops of sweat that had accumulated there. I didn’t remember Dad ever having hair.
“Darling,” Dad said, with a hint of annoyance in his voice.
I quickly buckled up and he slid the car out of our driveway.
“Cosimo and I had a brief chat this afternoon,” he said in a practiced tone.
“Oh?” I said. A knot of worry formed in my stomach.
What if Cosimo had changed his mind? What if he hadn’t?
I wasn’t sure which option made my stomach tighten more. I strained to assume a neutral expression when I noticed Mom looking over my shoulder.
“What did she say?” I asked.
“She suggested that you get married next summer.”
I swallowed. “So soon?”
A small frown appeared between Father’s eyebrows, but Mother spoke first. “You are nineteen years old, Cara. You will be twenty next summer. That’s a good age to be a wife and mother.”
My head was spinning. While somehow I could understand what it meant to be someone’s wife, I felt too young to be someone’s mother. When would I have a chance to be myself? To find out who I really was and who I wanted to be?
“Cosimo is a good man, and that’s not an easy thing to find,” Father said. “He is responsible and has been Falcone’s financial adviser for almost five years. He is very smart.”
“I know,” I said softly. Cosimo was not a bad choice by any means. He wasn’t even ugly.
There simply wasn’t that excitement that I hoped to feel when I met the man I was supposed to marry. Maybe tonight. Weren’t occasions like a party the perfect place to fall hopelessly in love with someone?
I just needed to be open to the possibility.
We entered the premises of the Falcone mansion fifteen minutes later and drove for another two minutes until the driveway finally opened onto a majestic palace-like house and the huge fountain in front of it. The thing spewed blue, red and white water from its Roman statues.
Apparently, an Italian stonemason had created the thing for Falcone. It had cost more than Dad’s car. It was just one of the many reasons I didn’t like Falcone. From what Father had told me about the man, he was a sadistic exhibitionist. I was glad that my family and I were on his side. No one wanted to have Falcone as an enemy.
Everywhere I looked, there were expensive cars parked. From the number, I wondered how all the guests would get into the house without stepping on each other’s toes.
Several bellhops rushed toward the car the moment it stopped and opened the doors for us. A red carpet led up the stairs and through the front door. I shook my head, but stopped immediately at a glance from Mom. She and Dad made me walk between them as we made our way to the front door.
There, another servant was waiting for us with a professional smile on his face. Neither Falcone nor his wife were anywhere to greet us. Why was I surprised?
The entrance was larger than any I had ever seen. A myriad of crystal figures of all sizes hung on the walls and on the sideboards, and several huge portraits of Falcone and his wife papered the high walls.
“Be polite,” my mother whispered under her breath as we were led toward the double doors that opened onto the ballroom with crystal chandeliers and tall tables that lined the dance floor. One wall was lined with a long table filled with canapes, stacks of shrimp and lobster, bowls full of crushed ice topped with the largest oysters I had ever seen, tins of Ossetra caviar, and every piece of luxurious food I could imagine. The bellboy excused himself the moment we arrived in the ballroom and ran to the next guests.
Once inside, I let my gaze drift over the guests in search of my friends. I was eager to join them and let my parents look for their favorite company, but my mother did not give me a chance to search for long. She lightly touched my forearm and whispered in my ear, “Behave yourself . First we must thank Mr. Falcone for the invitation “. I looked past her, where my father was already talking to a tall man with black hair. My father kept his shoulders hunched as if he was trying to bow to his boss without really bowing. That sight left a bitter taste in my mouth. With my mother’s palm resting on my lower back, I stealthily approached my father and his boss. We stopped a couple of steps behind them, waiting for them to turn toward us. Falcone’s dark eyes found me first before my father noticed our presence. The coldness in their eyes made me shiver .
His brightly colored white shirt and black bow tie made him look even more intimidating, which was a metric in itself considering that bow ties usually let the wearer appear comical in my eyes. After the exchange of some unnecessary pleasantries, I was eventually dismissed and rushed toward one of the waiters who was balancing a tray full of champagne glasses in his palm. He wore a gleaming white tuxedo and shiny white shoes. At least the attire made it easy to spot them .
One of our bodyguards followed a few steps behind me as I walked away from my parents, the other positioned herself at the edge of the assembled guests and kept an eye on my parents. I wondered why it was necessary to have our bodyguards with us at a party of supposed friends. I put the thought aside, wanting to enjoy that evening, and took a glass of Champagne with a quick thank you, then took a long swig of the pungent liquid, grimacing at the sour taste. “How can you make a face like that while drinking Dom Perignon, the best drink in the world,” Trish said, appearing at my side out of nowhere and taking a glass of Champagne for herself. “It’s the water of kings,” intoned Anastasia, and it was unnerving that I wasn’t sure if she meant it as a joke or was completely sincere. “I’m trying to get used to it,” I admitted, lowering the flute from my lips. The alcohol was starting to work its magic, and for that I was grateful after the brief chat with Falcone. Both of my friends were dressed to perfection.