Page 49 of The Viper's Wife

She’s a little older than my parents and dressed in a deep emerald coat that matches her dangling earrings and thick-framed glasses. Her red hair is perfectly blown out, and the smile she offers me is blindingly white and ruby-lipped.

I feel like a human skid mark next to her.

“Hi, Valeria, I’m Ruth. You just missed your fiancé, but he had so many lovely things to tell me about you—I feel like we’ve already met.”

I manage to maintain my smile with a not-insignificant amount of effort. I’m not sure what Nico could tell her besides the fact that I don’t want to marry him and that I wear a lot of black.

And that apparently, I love being called a slut.

I flush warm and sit down, peeling off my outer coat.

“Nico said you met at a party, is that right?”

My face must be glowing red right now. I nod.

“He said you asked him to dance.” Ruth leans in conspiratorially. “I love a woman who takes charge.”

“He said that?”

“Among many other kind things. Oh, hi Nico, I didn’t realize you’d be joining us again.”

Nico sits, his long limbs folding to let him squeeze onto the tiny café chair next to mine. He has a ceramic coffee cup in one hand and a BLT sandwich in the other.

Of course, he’d fucking eat my favorite food just to mess with me?—

Nico places the items in front of me.

“Eat,” he says.

The order chafes.

“Oh, how sweet. What a gentleman,” Ruth coos.

I’m not sure how anyone could look at Nico and thinkgentleman, but I suppose this is verysweet.

“This isn’t poisoned, is it?”

Ruth chuckles like I’ve told a great joke, but her eyes flick between us, probably trying to gauge his reaction.

Welcome to the shit show, lady.

Nico smirks. “Guess you’ll have to find out.”

I’m hungry enough that I risk it, tearing into the bread like a hungry wolf.

Ruth claps her hands. “Well, this is as good a time as any to get started. Some details have already been decided by your father, Nico, but thankfully, he left the fun stuff to us! Do you have any themes or designs in mind?”

Half-way into my sandwich, I shake my head. My one design idea—shackles, chains, and upside down crosses to represent this unholy union—is probably too avant-garde for Ruth’s tastes.

“Whatever she wants,” Nico says. He rests his arm over the back of my chair.

I inch forward so he’s not touching me.

“No matter. We have plenty of time to decide. Let meshow you a few themes, and you can tell me if any speak to you.”

She pulls out a thick white binder from underneath the table and sets it on top of the surface, flipping the cover open to a full spread of collaged images. Pink and red flowers, a sun-bleached barn, a man on a horse. The word “Rustic” in heavy brown font sits at the top of the pages.

I poke at the barn. “That one.”