He dropped his head as her words sank in. He’d lost it all. Acropolis. His dignity. And the woman he loved.
CHAPTER 17
We men may say more, swear more, but indeed
our shows are more than will, for still we prove
much in our vows, but little in our love.
William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night, act 2, scene 4
Torture. That’s what it’s called when you’re forced to spend time with your intuitive mother helping your overly concerned sister find the perfect wedding dress twenty-four hours after having your heart trampled on by the one person you thought knew the real you.
Portia glided out of the dressing room and stepped up on the platform to show off dress number nine. She placed a hand on her hip and performed a plié. “What do you think of this one?”
Lola burst out laughing. “Really? You know the part in Cinderella where her Fairy Godmother bippety-boppety-boos her a shimmering gown so she can go to the ball?”
“Yeah,” her sister said cautiously.
“You look like the carriage that took her there,” she said honestly, garnering a dirty look from the saleswoman.
An ex-professional dancer, her sister was tall, skinny, and flat-chested. In other words, the exact opposite of Lola. Portia could pull off most looks, but the dress she currently wore puffed out with layers of taffeta, creating the illusion she was round as a pumpkin.
“It can’t be that bad,” Portia stated and turned around to check in the mirror. “Hmm.” She spun back around and sighed. “I’ll go try on the next one. Lola, could you help me out of this thing?”
The sales lady stepped forward. “I can help you with that.”
Her sister gave Lola the ‘we’ve gotta talk’ look. “No, I’d like my sister to help. I’ll let you know if I need anything further.”
Having no say in the matter, Lola got up from her chair and followed her sister to the large dressing room. She plastered on her fake smile. “How’s the wedding planning going?”
Portia crossed her arms over her chest. “Cut it out. I can tell when you’re miserable. What’s wrong?”
Lola spun her finger in the air signaling her sister to turn around. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
Portia frowned and turned. “Did something happen with Braden? You haven’t mentioned him all day.”
Her throat grew dry. “Why would I mention him?” She worked on unbuttoning the dress, having a difficult time with her shaky hands.
Portia glanced over her shoulder. “You can drop the whole innocent act. I know you two are sleeping together.”
She froze. Portia knew? She took a deep breath and continued getting her sister out of the horrible dress as she regained her composure. “Slept together. Past tense. We’re over.”
Portia slipped her arms out of the sleeves and let the dress fall to the floor. The thing stood up by itself as if she still wore it. “What happened?”
She shrugged. “Nothing. We got it out of our systems and ended it amicably.”
Her sister frowned and took her hands. “Viola, I know you’re lying. You would’ve never moved back in with Mom if you’d had a choice. She told me you came home yesterday afternoon with your suitcase and your guitar and then stayed in your room until this morning. You didn’t play your sets last night, which tells me your split with Braden wasn’t amicable at all. You have bags under your eyes, you’re wearing black, and you haven’t ragged on Mom once. In fact, with the exception of the carriage comment, you’ve been awfully quiet.”
Either Portia was awfully observant, or Lola wasn’t pulling off her act of nonchalance as well as she’d thought. She hadn’t slept more than an hour the previous night, and when she had, she’d dreamed of Euterpe and Demetrius for the first time since she’d started sleeping with Braden. She eyed her sister who waited for an answer. “You wore that dress on purpose to get me talking, didn’t you?
Portia laughed and patted her shoulder. “Of course. You don’t think my taste is that hideous, do you? So tell me what happened. I know from Ryan that Braden really liked you.” She took another dress off the hanger and stepped into it.
“He might have liked me, but he didn’t trust me. The first challenge to face us, he threw me to the werewolves without listening to my side of the story.”
Her sister motioned for her to button her up into the new dress. “What happened?”
“Did you know about my pheromony manipulation?”
“Pheromone manipulation,” Portia corrected. “Yeah, Mom explained it the night the customers ate the moussaka and started arguing. I take it you and Braden had been fighting when you cooked?”