His Virgin Queen - MINK Page 0,1

ready.

I pick up my Kindle and hide it under my pillow before heading into the bathroom. I love my books. The only happily ever after I have to look forward to is one that I’ll read about, but my father tries to discourage my reading habit. Wouldn’t want me to get any “ideas” or anything like that.

I stop when I catch my own reflection in the mirror. It's as though my mom is staring back at me. I step closer to it, reaching out to touch it. It’s a reminder of how alike we looked. My heart aches that she won’t be here today. I know she wouldn't have been able to stop this wedding from happening, but I also know that I could have leaned on her. She would’ve made me feel better in some way. She always did, was always there for me.

Then one day she was gone without explanation. How long has it been? Five years ago almost to the day. I still haven’t accepted that she isn’t coming back.

I swallow, fighting back the tears. I won’t cry. I told myself I wouldn't, but these tears aren't because of the forced marriage I’m about to enter, but for everything else that will be forced upon me tonight. They are for my innocence that will be stripped from me by a man that I loathe, and for the mother who’s gone, the one I suspect was taken away from me. I keep the tears at bay, and I search for my anger. It always serves me better. It helps to keep me numb. I don’t know who took her from me, but I know it was someone within these walls. My grandfather or my own father. Neither of them seemed affected by her absence. They went on with life as if she never existed.

I couldn’t forget her, couldn’t toe the line and pretend her absence was normal. So I asked once. I still have the small scar on my forehead where my father had backhanded me. One of his gaudy rings left that little present right on the hairline. I can easily hide the mark with my hair. I often do. Other times I let it show because I know it makes my grandfather angry. Not that my dad had hit me, of course, but that he’d left a mark. Pasquale Scalingi didn’t want anyone damaging the goods and foiling his plan to sell me off to the highest bidder.

I turn when I hear the soft double knock. It’s my little brother’s signature. When I open the door, he looks about as excited as I am today. If it weren’t for him, I probably would’ve tried to make a run for it. I may not know what happened to my mom, but I do know that if she had the opportunity to have last words with me, she would have told me to protect my brother. She didn't have to say them for me to know. When it comes to loyalty and this family, mine falls with her even though she’s not here. Maybe one day I’ll get my chance to find out what happened to her. To get my own revenge in her name. That thought alone is the one that always reminds me I really am a Scalingi.

“How you holding up?” Marco asks.

I fake a smile. “I’m good.”

“Liar,” he says before pushing past me into my bedroom. For only being fifteen, he’s already bigger than our father. Hell, he’s bigger than my husband-to-be. I fear every day he’s going to turn into one of them, one of the hard men that doesn’t care about anything but power. It’s then that the lines will really start to blur for me. I love my brother, and he could probably do a lot of messed-up stuff and I’d keep on loving him. Still, I know in my heart that he’s different.

He frowns at my dress, then scrubs a hand down his face. “I hate this shit.”

“Don’t start.” I point my finger at him. “This has to be done. If it wasn't Antonio, it would have been someone else.”

“Fucking bullshit.” My brother paces back and forth in front of my bed. I grab his arm and school my expression, letting him know that I’m serious, showing him that this is what needs to be done.

“It’s fine.”

He stops pacing to look down at me, and I can easily see that it’s not ‘fine’ at all. Not for him. Not for me.