Page 6 of Vows of Silence

“I thought your mother picked the dress?” My dad asked with some confusion, his eyes bouncing between the three of us.

I internally groaned, dropping my eyes to my phone.

Luca:Hard to believe he runs a multi-million-pound empire, isn’t it?

Isabelle:You leave him alone. He’s business savvy. Social interactions aren’t his strong suit.

Luca:You can say that again. Either that, or he’s wilfully ignorant of what’s going off around him. Especially as far as you’re concerned.

“We picked together,” I finally settled on saying.

“You will look stunning, sweetheart,” my mother purred, finally able to take the scorn out of her voice now that I was agreeing with her. “Adrien won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”

Lucky me.

“I didn’t realise it was such an important dress. Is the engagement party still going ahead, then?” Marco asked, pouring himself a large glass of wine.

I watched his movements, feeling as though I was missing out on something. He looked at my dad for a brief moment, and I caught my dad discreetly shaking his head.

“Of course. Isabelle is very excited,” our mother replied.

“I’m sure she is,” Marco muttered, sitting back in his chair and casting me one quick, concerning glance before his face transformed back into the joker.

Conversation flowed naturally from there. Marco detailed some of the other houses he had either shown or was in the process of selling, Dad discussed a new venture he was entering the business into, and Mum discussed her new jewellery designs, which had been commissioned for some American fashion show.

Truthfully, it all went over my head. I always had the feeling that they told me enough to make me feel like I was a member ofthis family, but never enough that I could incriminate them in a court of law.

Which was a weird thought to have, because I never got the impression that they were doing anything illegal—maybe slightly shady with their inflated prices, earning a whopping commission for doing very little—but certainly not illegal.

Yet the thought lingered anyway, and I couldn’t quite put my finger on why.

And then, of course, conversation steered back to my upcoming nuptials.

“I’m sure Mr Vescari will set a date when he’s ready. He’s a very busy man,” my mother announced, her tone lofty, as though she were in some sort of cahoots with the elusive Mr I-Cant-Find-My-Own-Woman Vescari.

“He said the end of summer, Sophie. You know this.”

“When men say the end of summer, it means something very different to them than it does to us, eh Isabelle?” she replied with a laugh, winking at me like we were sharing a small joke.

“I don’t see the harm in waiting,” Marco said. “Isabelle is still young. If you’re going to force her into this charade, I don’t see why—”

“Nobody is forcing her into anything!” our dad snapped, banging his fist on the table. “We have been over and over this. Isabelle knows she can say no. She knows she doesn’t have to do it. But she also knows how happy me and your mother are. She knows she’s doing something that will cement this family in history. So stop with the fucking nonsense!”

He slammed his fist on the table again, making the glasses of wine spill slightly. Marco and I bowed our heads, and I bit down on my inner cheek to stop myself from laughing.

An awkward silence fell over the table until Mum cleared her throat and tried to talk over the stillness.

“Have you given any thought to flowers, Isabelle?”

“Yes, I have,” I replied, nodding earnestly.

“Wonderful!” she clapped her hands together. “And what were you thinking?”

“That there should be some.”

Marco burst out laughing next to me, but quickly covered it with a cough.

“Isabelle, that isn’t helpful.”