She holds up her hands as if in surrender. “I’m not here to argue or rage against the Morelli family. It’s not my fight. I agreed to be Francesca’s bridesmaid. I’m merely sharing an observation. I thought maybe you’d want to talk about it.”
As my sister, my closest relative, tries to lend an ear to listen to things I can’t share, I come up against yet another wall I’ve had to build around myself. Unlike Ma, I don’t blame Francesca or even Mateo—I don’t blame her family for being fucked up and difficult, because they’ve always been fucked up and difficult. They were that way before I knew them, and they’d continue to be that way if I ever walked away.
The fault is mine, because I won’t. Because I’ve had to make changes in order to assimilate to them, to hold onto Francesca—who was christened in the Morelli fountain of fuckery as an infant, and shows no signs of drying out anytime soon. Ma says she doesn’t like what Francesca’s turned me into, and I realize she’s not completely wrong; it just doesn’t matter. What’s done is done, and whatever I have to do to keep that woman, I will do. Maybe it will irrevocably alter the life I lived before her, but when has anyone ever got entangled with a Morelli and not had their life ruined as a result? Those people are fucking lethal, and every last one of us would sell our last breaths to buy one more hit.
I didn’t know what I was getting into, but I should’ve. And like the most hopelessly ruined, I don’t even regret it.
Shaking my head, I tell Maddie, “There’s nothing to talk about.”
She watches me for a moment, then she sighs and steps away from my car door. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
“Don’t worry about me,” I tell her. “Keep workin’ on Ma.”
“I mean, I’ll try, but that woman knows how to hold a grudge. She’s been hating on Willow for almost 20 years, and all she did was emerge from her mother’s birth canal.”
Grudge-holding is, unfortunately, a long-standing skill of every Castellanos I’ve ever met. If you grab a toy out of our hands in kindergarten, we’ll remember it at your wedding.
“For what it’s worth, even if I think your wedding could’ve waited a few more months, I really am happy for you. I know how much you wanted a life with Francesca. I’m glad it all worked out for you. Maybe it’s not the classical fairytale ending, but it’s close enough.”
I scoff lightly, shaking my head. “Sure it is. Fairytales are fucked up—you ever actually read one? Dark shit.”
Cracking a smile, she says, “Fine, then I’m glad you got the fairytale.”
I nod wordlessly, offering her a shadow of a smile before I drop into the driver’s seat and start up my car.
I want to tell Maddie fairytales aren’t as simple as good prevailing over evil, the hero getting the girl, and everyone living happily ever after. Everyone can’t live happily ever after. For one person to win, someone else has to lose. In the fairy tale I stepped into, sacrifices had to be made, compromises struck; the good guy did some very bad things, and the bad guy ultimately won. I may have followed the road to happily ever after, but the path is paved with blood and secrets.
In this fairytale, no one who makes it to the end remains a hero.
Sometimes Prince Charming has a hit list. Sometimes the princess has a soul-deep emotional attachment to the dragon who keeps her locked away in the castle, torching every rope bridge that might allow her to escape.
The main thing no one ever tells you about fairytales is sometimes you can’t slay the dragon. Sometimes you just gotta make a deal with him so he’ll let you have your princess.
Chapter Forty Four
Francesca
The summer sun beats down on me as I lounge by the pool. Despite the whole family gathered around, it’s pretty quiet; occasionally Meg makes a racket with the ice as she mixes drinks for everyone at the poolside bar, and Cherie’s feet gently slice through the water as she chills by the pool with Vince. I wonder how much longer Adrian and Mateo will keep Sal in the study.
“All right, who wants a serving of Meg’s pink ladies?”
I let my head fall to the side, opening my eyes to look over at Mia on the lounger to my left. “Why does that sound like something that would definitely be drugged?”
Mia grins. “I think because it has her name in it, and Meg seems like someone who would cheerfully drug a person.”
“Vince,” Meg calls out, since no one is approaching her. Then, her tone a little more whiny, she says, “No one will drink my alcoholic beverages. Bring your sexy self over here and help a girl out.”