Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 118245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
It was then I realized we were actually under Antonia’s bedroom.
Through my research, I’d learned that only Ella played. According to my report, Antonia wasn’t the least bit musically inclined. She didn’t have the patience or discipline for it, apparently.
I had noticed yet ignored the instrument in the bedroom's corner earlier.
It was odd, but I was too focused on confronting her over her earlier behavior to ask questions.
The sorrowful melody carried over the chilled night air. We all fell silent and listened. It took me a moment, but it finally clicked that she wasn’t playing a classical piece as I’d have expected.
She was playing an instrumental version of Guns N' Roses' "Don’t Cry."
And playing it very well.
Extraordinarily well.
Bianca frowned at me as she leaned forward and whispered, just in case Antonia’s window was open. “I didn’t know Antonia played the cello.”
My gaze remained steady on the soft light of my bride’s bedroom window. “She doesn’t.”
CHAPTER 27
ELLA
“Yes, I do,” insisted Antonia.
I could practically hear the childish stamp of her foot over the phone.
With a grunt, I lifted the suitcase onto the sofa. As I leaned over the top to unzip it, I fired back at her. “No, you don’t.”
The idea that my twin sister took the tiniest bit of responsibility for her actions was laughable under normal circumstances, let alone now.
After lifting the lid, I groaned. Not a single item was neatly folded. “Are you fucking kidding me, Toni?”
“What?”
I flipped the phone to speaker and tossed it onto the cushion next to the sofa as I rifled through the mess. “This suitcase looks like a squirrel on cocaine packed it.”
She made a dismissive huff. “Sorry I didn’t follow your majesty’s packing rules. I was in a rush.”
With my own angry huff, I tossed several dresses over the back of the sofa as I rummaged through the pile looking for something halfway decent to wear. “I’m so sorry if you having that thug ex-boyfriend of yours drug and kidnap me made you pressed for time. And don’t call me your majesty.”
I hated when she called me that. “It’s just common adulting decency to know how to pack a suitcase properly.”
“Tomasso is not my boyfriend.”
My back straightened as I snatched the phone back up. Pressing it to my ear before remembering I had it on speaker, I pressed the "phone" button and raised my voice. “That is what you have an issue with? Not the drugging and kidnapping me part?”
“How much longer are you going to harp on me about that?”
My gaze narrowed as I wrapped my arm around my middle and propped my other elbow on it. “Well, considering it’s been less than a week, I’m pretty sure it’s going to come up in conversation at least a few more times,” I snapped back.
I hated the person Antonia turned me into. Even when we were little, I never talked or shared things with her. It was as if every interaction with her was just a string of negative reactions. My father was to blame. If he hadn’t murdered my mother, then it wouldn’t have forced me into the role of parent to my own twin. Prematurely ending my childhood, while apparently extending Antonia’s.
Life wasn’t fair, I knew that, but damn, it would have been nice if my patience and selflessness were rewarded just a little bit, like, say… me not being forced to impersonate my sister in a sham arranged marriage.
Or me not falling for her fiancé.
The unbidden thought shocked me to the core.
Noooooo.
This situation was already way too fucked up for me to suddenly think I was falling for Matteo Cavalieri.
My gaze wandered over to my cello. My only solace. My companion. My best friend in many slightly pathetic ways. I knew it was dangerous to play it. Everyone knew Antonia didn’t play the cello. I was lucky Matteo was so angry with me over how I treated Lucia that he didn’t comment on it last night. Still, I needed the consolation it provided. Like a hug from a friend.
It wasn’t my choice of music that was disturbing me.
It was how I had closed my eyes and imagined Matteo’s arms around me as he hugged me close and whispered the lyrics against my cheek.
It was the way my stomach flipped at the idea of him telling me everything was going to be okay, and that he loved me.
The fantasy that, for once, someone was watching over me, protecting me, instead of the other way around.
Afterward, I cried myself to sleep. Alone.
Because that was all it was… a fantasy.
Even if I once again dreamed of the moment we shared in the gazebo. The only time during this entire farce that he knew he was holding me, Ella, not my sister.
That he knew he was kissing me.
At least in my dreams, I left out the part where he immediately regretted it.