My Revenge Against My Fiancé Began at Our Wedding

To make me the most beautiful bride in every Family's memory, my mother pulled strings a full year in advance and paid a hundred thousand in tribute to secure Ottavia Marchetti, the bridal artist so sought after that even the daughters of the great houses waited seasons for her.

But on the day of the alliance union, the artist still hadn't shown, so my mother made the call herself to chase her down.

Ottavia sounded completely innocent.

"I arrived early. The groom sent a car and took me to his sister's place first. He told me the bride had already agreed to let me do the sister's face before hers."

I called Lorenzo, and he was breezy about the whole thing.

"Oh, that. Girls her age like to look pretty, you know how it is. You're the sister-in-law of the house now, just let it slide. The moment I'm finished with her I'll have a soldier drive the artist straight to you. Five minutes, cara. No trouble at all."

I could hardly believe what I was hearing.

"So on the day two Families bind their blood, behind my back, you took the artist my mother spent a hundred thousand to secure, and sent her to paint your sister's face first?"

His patience thinned.

"It's a joyful day. Do you have to turn everything into a sit-down? There's plenty of time anyway."

I checked my watch. Three hours until the bride was to be brought out before the assembled houses.

I swallowed the irritation and explained to him patiently.

"There isn't plenty of time. Bridal work is slow and delicate, and after that I still have the morning-robe portraits to sit for. It's tight as it is, and my mother and my two closest friends, my attendants, all need their faces done too."

"So what? You can all make do and manage it yourselves."

"Baby, even bare-faced you're the most beautiful woman in any territory to me."

Beep, beep, beep. He hung up.

I gripped the phone, my chest going tight,

and suddenly seven years of love felt like nothing at all. Was there even any point in going through with this union?

——

My two closest friends, who had heard the whole call, exchanged a look.

Francesca Bruno, the fierce one, dropped the ceremony script she'd rehearsed all night and blew up first. She cracked the knuckles of one hand, slow and deliberate.

"What is wrong with this Lorenzo Caruso? Doesn't he know the bride comes before everyone on the day her blood is bound?"

"Handing the artist your mother secured for a hundred thousand to that girl first? Who does she think she is?"

"That doesn't sound like a sister to me. Sounds more like a little something kept on the side."

Bianca, the gentle one, tugged at her sleeve, then quietly moved the untouched glass of water closer to my hand.

"Ease up. Right now what matters is fixing this."

My mother's smile, held in place all morning, faded, but she took my hand and spoke without a moment's hesitation.

"Don't worry, Adriana. I'll call the artist myself and tell her to come now."

"As long as she reaches you in time to do your face, it's fine. We can arrange the rest."

I looked out at the pitch-black sky and gave a numb nod.

But inside I was thinking, no wonder Lorenzo, who had never lifted a finger for any of this, had suddenly asked me yesterday for the artist's contact, and whether a woman favored by the great houses was truly so much better than an ordinary hand.

I'd thought he was asking after every small detail because he cared, and I'd even bragged to him, pleased.

"Of course she's better. She's beyond price, wanted in every territory. Without the right connections you couldn't secure her no matter how much tribute you threw down. Just wait. Tomorrow I'll leave every Family breathless."

What a joke, that this had been his plan all along, to take her from me and set his sister under her hands first.

The line rang a long while before anyone answered,

and then Gemma Rizzo's mother's careless voice came through the receiver, her chin all but audible in the lift of it.

"The artist? She's doing my Gemma's face right now. No time for calls."

My mother pressed down her anger and kept her voice as steady as she could.

"That is the artist I paid tribute to secure especially for my daughter. If she does not come now, it ruins the union. The young ones don't know better, but the elders should be reminding them, shouldn't they?"

"Oh, don't fret, we're practically one house already. Lorenzo and my Gemma have been close since they were small, there's nothing to be done, she absolutely insisted on going first. Says a hand this fine is one most people never get the chance to sit under."

My mother hung up, her face gone cold, and said,

"They have no intention of sending the artist."

My aunt, come to see the bride off, stared wide and swore under her breath.