In the distance she saw her mother nod once. Saw Celeste’s smirk curl at the corner of her mouth. I—her voice cracked.
I do—Lucian tilted his head. He didn’t speak right away. Then almost instinctively he turned toward her, his voice low.
Why are you shaking? Are you afraid? I’ll see you. For one fleeting second Valeria knew he wasn’t joking, he had felt something. When the thunderous applause erupted, Valeria knew she’d gone too far to turn back.
She smiled, not out of joy, but because the camera was zooming in, and Celeste was watching from the back row, wearing the smug expression of someone who had just won a cruel bet. Valeria told herself it would only take a day, just enough time to fool the crowd, sign some papers, and disappear from the life of a man she wasn’t meant to marry, as if she had never existed. But those words echoed in her mind like a bad line from a poorly written roll.
They didn’t convince her. They didn’t soothe the tightness in her throat. The cold ring on her finger still felt new, and before she could even register the weight of her own hand, she was already in the car, sitting beside her legal husband, a man she’d never seen, but whose every breath she had memorized.
As the door shut behind them, Valeria glanced over her shoulder, St. Vincent’s Cathedral now just a faded smear of light behind tinted glass. Ahead of them was darkness. And in that darkness, Lusine didn’t need eyes to know she was trembling.
The Rolls-Royce Phantom pulled away slowly, gliding through quiet, dimly lit streets, toward the Drake Estate, tucked away in the northern outskirts of the city. Lusine sat straight, hands interlaced, eyes closed, as if sleeping, but Valeria knew better. He wasn’t sleeping.
He was listening. Not to the world outside, but to her breathing, the rustle of silk, the soft tap of her shoe against the floor. He was recording it all, like composing a silent symphony in his mind.
She stayed silent, trying to breathe evenly. In her head, images of her mother and Celeste loomed, faces tight with satisfaction, eyes like surveillance cameras, tracking her every move. From now on, she would live with Lusine as his wife.
No slips, no stumbles, no forgetting a single detail Celeste had ever shared about herself, and yet the moment she stepped into the Drake Estate, everything began to unravel. It didn’t feel like a home. It felt like a gallery curated by a blind architect, flawless but lifeless.
The lights were dim, the doors glided open on their own, the flowers were fresh but scentless, the walls were lined with black-and-white photographs, not a single portrait. The butler bowed. Congratulations, ma’am.
Lusine gently placed a hand on her back, guiding her into the dining-room. No words, no welcome toast, no celebration, just the quiet overhead lights casting shadows across a long endless dining-table, two white porcelain plates, no flowers, no candles, no music. Lusine took his seat.
Valeria sat across, hands resting lightly on her gown. Then he spoke. His voice, soft as smoke but sharp as glass.
Your voice, it’s different, she flinched. Different how? Softer, slower, a slight rasp at the end of your words. She didn’t have that.
Valeria steadied herself. Maybe I’m just tired. It’s been a long day, he nodded, then inhaled slowly, as if the air itself held secrets, and the perfume.
You’re wearing a different one, she winced. I forgot to put on the usual. Lusine nodded again, saying nothing this time, but the air between them thickened, like he was reading every molecule her words left behind.
Dinner passed in. Silence. Valeria forced herself to eat, but the food tasted bitter.
Lusine ate methodically, every motion rehearsed. When she tried to rise from her seat, his voice stopped her. Do you remember our first phone-call? She froze.
What did we talk about? He continued. I told you about Paris. You told me about your cellar.
She pressed her lips together. She had no idea. That was Celeste, before she lost patience with what she called this old school romantic nonsense.
Valeria had only stepped in halfway through. Oh, right. I said I wanted to open a bookstore by the lake.
Lusine tilted his head. No, she never said that. Valeria froze in place.
Lusine set down his fork, his fingers, brushing his napkin like ending the final note of a sombre song. It’s fine, he said. I have a very good memory.
Sometimes so good it makes people uncomfortable, she didn’t answer, just stared into her water-glass, wishing it was something stronger. She hadn’t expected the blind man to see so clearly. That night she entered the bedroom, wide, cold, immaculate, but no room for emotion.
The space between the two pillows felt endless. Lusine lay on his side, turned away. Valeria lay on the edge of the bed, afraid to move.
The wind slipped through the cracked window. She stared at the ceiling, tears falling silently. Then Lusine’s voice came, quiet, not directed at her, but piercing through every inch of space.