Dressed For The Devil
1127 Words
Arianna
Sit still, tesoro. You keep wrinkling the dress.”
Arianna tried, really. But the satin stuck to her thighs, and her nerves made it impossible to stay still. She shifted again on the stool as her mother fussed with the bodice, muttering about posture and how expensive the gown was.
Her sister, **Bianca**, lounged on the couch nearby, already sipping something fizzy out of a crystal flute. Her hair was pinned perfectly, lips a deep red. Married at eighteen, bitter at twenty-one, and already looking like she couldn't take one moment of it anymore.
“You’d think you were being crowned Queen of Italy, not just married off,” Bianca said dryly, crossing one leg over the other.
Arianna rolled her eyes, but her mother, Lucia, glared sharply. “Don’t ruin this for her.”
Bianca lifted her hands. “Fine. I’m silent. Just here for moral support.”
Arianna smoothed the front of her dress. It was beautifuloff-white with a subtle shimmer, the kind of thing she’d dreamed of once, when she was young enough to believe in fairytales. It hugged her waist, dipped just enough at the neckline to feel daring. They’d done her makeup soft, romantic. Her hair was pinned up, a few strands left loose around her face.
She looked… older.
Not like herself. But maybe that was the point.
“Just remember,” her mother said, securing the final clasp at the back, “you belong to him now. From tonight on, your life is with him.”
Arianna didn’t answer. Her eyes drifted to the mirror. He’d see her in this dress.
*Enzo.*
She tried not to smile, but her lips betrayed her. Everyone assumed she was some sheltered girl being tossed into the lion’s den, but they didn’t know the half of it.
She’d *seen* Enzo Romano. Not just glimpsed him at formal events or family meetings, but *watched* him, listened to the way people spoke his name. The Reaper. Antonio’s right hand. Deadly, respected, feared. And devastatingly handsome.
That part no one ever said aloud but she’d noticed.
The broad shoulders. The sharp jaw. That calm, quiet way he carried himself, like he didn’t need to raise his voice to dominate a room. He was the kind of man women whispered about behind closed doors and never dared approach.
And now he was going to be her husband.
Would he like her? That was the question that kept echoing in her head. Would he even look at her, really look at her, or would she just be a transaction?
Lucia pulled her face back into focus with two fingers, pressing powder under her eyes.
“You must please him, Arianna. That’s your only job now. Make him happy and give him sons.”
Bianca groaned. “Don’t start with the sons already.”
Lucia ignored her. “A man like Enzo doesn’t want drama. You must be soft. Obedient. Presentable in public, generous in private. You understand?”
Arianna nodded, but her thoughts were already wandering.
Obedient.
Sure.
She wasn’t naive. She might have played the part for years quiet, delicate, the good daughter but her mind had wandered places her mother would probably faint over. And when it came to Enzo… she’d imagined more than once what it would be like to kneel for him. Not in shame. Not in submission. But out of *want*.
She’d never even kissed a man. But that didn’t mean she hadn’t *thought* about it. Fantasized, late at night when everyone else was asleep. Not about candlelit romance and roses, but about strong masculine hands.
“Your wedding night might hurt,” Lucia added carefully, brushing a curl from Arianna’s face. “It’s normal. But you endure it. It’s your duty.”
Bianca scoffed. “Duty,” she repeated bitterly. “Mine lasted six minutes and smelled like whiskey and cigars.”
Lucia shot her a look. “You’re not helping.”
“I *am* helping,” Bianca said. “I’m telling her the truth.”
Arianna looked between them, her heart thudding too loud in her chest. “You’re all terrible at pep talks.”
Bianca smirked. “You want a pep talk? Fine. Here it is: even if he doesn’t love you which, let’s be honest, he probably won’t you can still enjoy the sex.”
“Bianca!” their mother snapped.
“I’m just saying,” she said, raising her glass. “Reaper or not, he’s hot. There are worse ways to lose your virginity.”
Arianna blushed, but only slightly. Deep down, she knew Bianca was right but she didn’t just want duty. She didn’t even want *just* good s*x. She wanted Enzo to like her. She wanted Enzo to fall in love with her
“I don’t care what anyone says,” Bianca continued. “He’s not like my husband. Enzo’s cold, yes, but he might not be heartless yet. You saw the way he looked at you when they called you in the room?”
Arianna bit the inside of her cheek, trying not to smile. She had seen it. Just a flicker of something behind his eyes. A pause.
“He loved his first wife,” Bianca added.
Lucia huffed. “Men like that don’t love.”
“People said he went crazy when she died.”
“Of course he did,” their mother said flatly. “He had a reputation to protect. Someone kills your wife, you retaliate. You don’t go mad with grief. You go mad for revenge. You don't know what went on in their marriage.”
Silence settled over the room.
Then Arianna sighed. “You two are terrible at cheering me up.”
Bianca laughed and leaned in, brushing a smudge from her cheek. “You’ll be fine. Just remember: if it hurts, close your eyes and pretend it’s not you, and that you’re not there. Works like a charm.”
Lucia clucked her tongue in disapproval, but didn’t correct her.
“Oh,” Bianca added with a wink, “and moan. Loudly. They like that.”
Arianna burst out laughing despite herself, hiding her face in her hands.
A knock at the door interrupted them. A voice from the hallway: “It’s time.”
Her breath caught.
Lucia straightened her shoulders. “You’re ready, tesoro.”
Bianca stood, smoothing her dress. “Come on, let’s get you married to the Devil.”
Arianna rose slowly, her gown cascading like water down her legs. She turned toward the mirror. For a second, she didn’t recognize the girl staring back.
Was she ready?
No. But she was willing.
She took one last deep breath, fixed her veil, and whispered under her breath:
“It’s time to marry Enzo Romano.”
- Writer
