My Dark Romeo: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance(40)

“Is it true that you’re pregnant?” Savannah had cried to me on the phone one evening. “People say that your daddy forced him to marry you after he found a pregnancy test in the trash.”

Emilie managed to be a little more refined. “Your parents sent me an invitation. Thank you for that. Would you mind very much if I skipped the wedding? I’m not saying that I will. I just need to make sure with my parents that it won’t ruin my…er…reputation. Please, don’t be mad at me, Dal. At least you’re getting married. And to Romeo Costa, no less. I still haven’t received one offer, and I don’t want to get a bad rep by being associated with the wrong people.”

In the end, the universe provided. Emilie showed up, escorted by her eagle-eyed parents. Sav was here, too, and even brought a date.

In fact, I heard that outside, in Oliver von Bismarck’s nineteenth-century-era garden, over eight hundred guests mingled, the Licht family among them.

My parents had invited them, offering the courtesy of saving face and proving there was no bad blood. No scandal between the two families.

Madison was here.

The thought made me want to crawl under the vanity and hide.

I felt so sorry and guilty for what I’d done. What had caused this chain reaction that spiraled everyone’s lives out of control.

“Dal! Oh, Dal, the cake!” Momma burst into the bridal suite, also known as Oliver’s twelfth guest room, fanning herself. She sagged against the door, her fingers trembling over her collarbone. “It’s an eight-tier cake. All white. The shape of your dress, with edible lifelike roses and custom calligraphy.”

Momma was thrilled.

Frankie and I had shielded her from the bitter truth about my marriage. I’d spent the past week waxing on about Romeo.

What else could I do?

Frankie said she’d stopped eating and talking to my father altogether in a bid to bring me back home.

No matter how much I loathed Daddy, I still couldn’t bear seeing Momma devastated.

“Oh, my.” I forced a grin. “Shame I’m probably going to inhale it before anyone takes a picture.”

“It’s showtime, ladies.” The wedding planner kicked the door open, sweating buckets under her designer garment. She wore an earpiece with a microphone hovered in front of her lips. “The groom is already waiting—and looking delicious doing so, I should add. All the guests are seated. It’s a go.”

Frankie shot me a desperate glance.

It’s now or never, it said.

And though I couldn’t imagine myself finding happiness with my cruel, beautiful fiancé, I also couldn’t return to Chapel Falls a damaged woman and risk Frankie’s future.

Besides, what kind of future awaited me?

No one else would have me. At least with Romeo Costa, I had financial safety, a roof above my head, and a future with children to look forward to.

“Come, my love.” Momma shooed away the hair and makeup stylists, pulling me up. Her smile died as soon as our fingers touched. “Your hands are ice cold.”

I swallowed. “It’s just the nerves.”

“Are you sure?” She peered into my face. “You would tell me if you were unhappy, right, Pickle?”

I almost collapsed at the sound of my childhood nickname. There was nothing I wanted more than to return home. Undo my mistake from a month ago.

“Everything is perfect, Momma. I’m the luckiest girl alive.”





Like all lies, my wedding was too beautiful, well-rehearsed, and above all—soulless.

My dress epitomized regality. Long lace sleeves with a deep-V neckline, clean column satin body, and a round train that covered the von Bismarck mansion’s entire grand stairway.

Three fashion magazines came to take photos. The profits went to charity—Friedreich’s Army. Romeo’s idea.

Just as with everything else, I didn’t have a voice.

The tabloids and local news had reported that the flower arrangement alone cost over 120K.

I didn’t doubt it.

My parents had spared no dime on the lavish event. Momma mentioned earlier that we’d long exceeded the million-dollar budget mark.

The reception—to be held in Oliver’s ivy-laced botanic second garden—included signature R&D cocktails after our names, hors d’oeuvres made on the premises by Michelin-starred Italian chefs, and five-figure goodie bags designed to make tongues wag.

I wilted inside the heavy garment, swimming in fabric that burrowed into my ribs.

I hadn’t eaten anything substantial in weeks. Not since Romeo cleaned the house of anything edible.

Hettie snuck me breakfast burritos and bread rolls under her clothes, so the cameras wouldn’t catch her defying Romeo’s order.

Otherwise, all the house had to offer was kale, chicken breasts, oatmeal, and misery.

When I reached the edge of the aisle, I stopped. A screen of hanging white orchids curtained me from view. Soon, I’d walk down the aisle and into the arms of a God of War and become a Costa.

Daddy materialized beside me, knotting his arm with mine. He tried to make eye contact as we stood on the long white carpet swathed across Oliver’s five-acre backyard.

I kept my eyes trained ahead on the orchids, my molars smashed together.

“Please, Dallas, can’t you see I’m devastated?”