Page 137 of Ruthless Vow
I’m crying now. Can’t stop. Don’t want to.
Permission to belong. That’s what she’s giving me. Not a compliment. Permission to take their Mama’s place, not as a replacement, but as a continuation. Permission to be the sister Giada never had.
“I never had a sister either,” I manage. “Elena and I were never close. She was the one everyone noticed. I was just there.”
“You’re not just there anymore.” Giada squeezes my hand harder. “You’re here. You’re family. And you’re wearing that dress to your reception if I have to wrestle you into it myself.”
I laugh. It comes out wet and broken and real.
“Deal.”
We buy both dresses. The guards load the garment bags into the SUV with careful hands, treating them like they contain state secrets instead of silk and beading. Giada gives the boutique owner her card, and I don’t flinch at the total. Dante’s money. Our money. I’m still learning to think of it that way.
We’re pulling away from the curb when my phone buzzes.
The screen shows a name I haven’t seen in weeks.
Mom.
My thumb hovers over the accept button. Giada notices, raises an eyebrow.
“My mother,” I say.
“Do you want me to?—”
“No.It’s fine.” I press accept. “Hello?”
“Cassia.” My mother’s voice is careful. Measured. The way it always is with me, like she’s never sure what to say. “Your father and I will be there. Sunday.”
“Okay.” The word comes out flat. I don’t know how to make it warmer.
Silence stretches between us, thick with everything we’ve never said. All the years she looked through me while Elena glowed.
“What you did. For the Santoros.” She stops. Starts again. “We heard. Dante told us.”
I wait. My pulse drums in my ears. My free hand grips my knee.
“You could have run,” my mother says. “When Elena came back. You could have let her take your place. But you didn’t.”
“No.” My voice is steady. “I didn’t.”
Another pause. Then, so low I almost miss it:
“I’m glad.”
My chest seizes. I press my fist against my sternum and breathe through it.
Silence. I think she’s done. I’m reaching for the words to end this call when she speaks again.
“I failed you, Cassia.”
My breath stops.
“Elena was so loud. She needed so much. And you were always so steady.” Her voice shakes. “I told myself that meant you were fine. That you didn’t need me the same way.”
I can’t speak. My hand is white-knuckled around the phone.
“You needed me. And I looked right past you.” A wet sound. A breath pulled through tears. “I can’t take that back. I know I can’t. But I see you now. What you did. What you’ve always done.”
