Chapter 85: You’re engaged?!

"We aren’t hiding," Isabella answers.

She takes a sip from her champagne flute, looking far too comfortable for someone standing behind a collection of decorative palms like a fugitive avoiding the police.

"We’re just shielding ourselves from people. I’m not really in the mood to talk to anyone tonight."

Victoria snorts beside her.

"What she means is that she’s hiding from her fiancé."

I turn so quickly I nearly step on the hem of my dress.

I stare at Isabella, then at Victoria, then back at Isabella.

"YOU’RE ENGAGED?!"

My voice comes out somewhere between a whisper and a shout.

Isabella’s eyes widen in horror.

"Oh, for the love of God!"

She lunges at me, grabs me around the neck, then clamps her other hand over my mouth.

"SSSSHHHH!"

I freeze.

Not because she has covered my mouth, but because I am suddenly reminded of how much I hate having anyone’s hands near my throat.

For one terrifying second, my body reacts before my mind can catch up. My shoulders stiffen, my stomach twists, and I have to fight the instinct to wrench myself away.

But then Isabella loosens her hold.

I take her hands away from my lips and give her a look that promises she will regret this conversation if she doesn’t explain herself.

"Isabella," I whisper slowly. "You’re engaged?"

She releases me completely and returns to her former position, smoothing her dress as though she hasn’t just attempted to silence me like a witness in a criminal trial.

"Yes, I’m engaged." She looks down at her now empty champagne flute and sighs. "To some grizzly idiot."

I blink.

"Grizzly?"

"Big, hairy, unpleasant. Smells like he bathes in cologne because he’s trying to cover up the fact that his personality stinks."

Victoria nods solemnly. "A very accurate description, actually."

I look between them.

"Who is he?"

"Nico."

The name means nothing to me, but the way Victoria’s expression changes tells me it should.

She presses her lips together and glances at Isabella, who immediately shoots her a warning look.

Interesting.

I fold my arms.

"Should I know who Nico is?"

"No," Isabella answers quickly. "And if you ever meet him, I strongly advise you to forget his face and his existence."

"That sounds suspiciously like something a criminal would say."

"Then I suppose I have excellent instincts."

"Isabella!"

"What? You married into the mafia. You should appreciate good instincts."

I open my mouth, then close it. Annoyingly, she has a point.

I glance at Victoria. "It’s an arranged marriage, isn’t it?"

Isabella’s shoulders drop.

"Yes."

The word comes out quietly, without her usual playful bite.

For a moment, I don’t know what to say.

I understand arranged marriages. I understand families making decisions about their children’s futures without asking what those children want, I understand being handed a life you never chose and being expected to smile while everyone congratulates you.

I am living proof of it.

I glance at my wedding ring, remembering the day I exchanged my freedom for a peace agreement neither family entirely trusts.

"When did this happen?" I ask.

"A while ago."

"A while ago?" I repeat, horrified. "And you didn’t tell me?"

"I was going to!"

"When? At your wedding?"

Victoria coughs into her hand.

I point at both of them. "You two are terrible friends."

"We’re excellent friends," Victoria argues. "We’re simply terrible at delivering distressing news."

"That’s not a defense."

"I wasn’t defending myself."

Isabella exhales and leans against the wall behind her.

"So, yes. I’m hiding from my fiancé. He’s an old fuck, and he likes to be really touchy with me. I can’t deal with that now."

My amusement fades.

"How old is he?"

"Old enough to know better."

"Isabella."

She rolls her eyes. "Fine. He’s twenty-two years older than me."

I stare at her.

"Twenty-two?"

"Please don’t shout again. I beg you."

I lower my voice, although my expression probably does enough shouting for both of us.

"Why would your family agree to that?"

"Politics, money, power. Pick your poison."

Her fingers tighten around the stem of her empty glass.

"He thinks that because we’re engaged, he can put his hands wherever he wants. He holds my waist when we’re in public, kisses my hand and my body when I haven’t even offered it, and keeps touching my face like I’m some doll he bought at a shop."

Her lips twist in disgust.

"And whenever I move away, he laughs. He actually laughs, Nerissa. As though I’m being adorable instead of telling him to get his filthy hands off me."

My jaw tightens.

I know that kind of man. The kind who mistakes a woman’s discomfort for an invitation. The kind who hears no and decides it is merely the beginning of a negotiation.

"And your family is allowing this?" I ask.

Isabella looks away.

"It’s complicated."

Of course it is.

Everything in our world is complicated when the people making the decisions have money, power, and absolutely no interest in the consequences for anyone else.

"Does Lysander know?"

Her gaze snaps back to mine.

"Yes."

"And?"

"And he’s handling it."

Victoria’s expression shifts for half a second before she looks away.

"What does handling it mean?" I ask.

"It means you should stop asking questions before I start regretting having you as a friend."

I raise both hands in surrender.

"Fine. I’ll leave it alone."

I won’t, obviously...but she doesn’t need to know that yet.

I feel sorry for her, but I know pity is the last thing Isabella wants from me. Besides, I have enough problems of my own without adding another arranged marriage to my collection.

So I glance at the empty champagne flute in her hand.

"You want another drink?"

She looks down at the glass as though she has only just remembered it exists.

"Yes, please. Something strong, please."

"Good. Stay here. I’ll go get it."

"And Nerissa?"

I turn.

"Don’t bring me champagne. I want something that burns on the way down."

I grin.

"Rogger that captain."

I leave the two women tucked away behind their leafy little hiding place and head toward the main ballroom.

A waiter passes with a tray of drinks and I consider taking the entire thing.

One glass for Isabella, one for Victoria, onne for me.

Perhaps two for Isabella.

Considering the evening she’s having, she deserves it