Chapter 3

Dante stares at Bianca.

"Bianca?"

Bianca lets out a soft sigh, her gaze distant, as if none of this matters to her.

"Being the Heir's wife has never meant much to me. Money, power, status... it's all temporary. I've never cared about any of it."

Then she turns to me, her expression full of sisterly concern.

"But Zoe has always been different. She's ambitious. She wants to be the best at everything. She's been looking forward to the Choosing for so long, praying day and night that the falcon would pick her."

"I thought if it landed on her glove, she'd finally get the one thing she wanted most. I never meant for things to turn out this way."

Dante listens, his shock slowly giving way to something softer, more complicated.

"Bianca," he says, his voice thick with affection. "Why do you always have to sacrifice yourself for everyone else?"

Then he turns to me, suddenly looking like a man burdened by guilt.

"I was wrong about you, Zoe."

Dante lifts his chin, as if he's about to do me some grand favor.

"Since you're so devoted to me, I won't leave you with nothing. I'll take you as my mistress. Not my wife, of course, but you'll have all the status and privileges a mistress of mine could ask for."

He pauses, looking almost pleased with himself.

"Two sisters sharing one man. People will call it a love story."

Margherita jabs me in the ribs with her elbow.

"Thank him," she hisses. "Now."

I just smile. "Bianca has it wrong."

Every head turns toward me.

"Yes, I've been looking forward to today. Every single day. But the man I was waiting for was never the Heir."

Dante's expression shifts.

"You..."

Margherita stamps her foot.

"You stupid girl! Do you even hear yourself?"

I don't bother answering either of them. Instead, I turn to Donna Isabella.

"I'd like to enter the second round with the other women who weren't chosen."

One eyebrow lifts. Donna Isabella knows exactly what I'm asking for.

The Choosing isn’t only for the Heir. After he picks, the rest of us move on to round two.

Every young man in the Carrano family raises a bird of his own, and so do the men of allied families.

Each man trains the bird his skill and temper can handle, so no two are alike: a falcon, a hawk, an owl, even an eagle.

The rule is simple: The women line up on the stage. The men wait below, birds on their fists. When the birds are released, each one flies to the woman its owner is meant to marry.

Donna Isabella studies me for a moment.

"Are you sure about this? The Heir has just offered you a place at his side. If you enter the second round and no one chooses you, you'll walk away with nothing."

Dante can't take it anymore. He strides across the lawn and stops right in front of me.

"What the hell are you trying to prove?" he demands through clenched teeth. "I’ve already agreed to keep you. What more could you possibly want?"

Then he lowers his voice so only I can hear him.

"I know you've come back, too. I wronged you in our last life, and I know that. But Bianca spent her whole life alone for my sake."

"She never married because she was waiting for me. I can't let her down again. So stop pushing this. Know when to quit."

I look him in the eye and smile.

"If you don't want to let my sister down, then marry her properly. What does any of that have to do with me?"

I turn back to Donna Isabella.

"I've made up my mind."

Donna Isabella looks from Dante to me. She takes her time, letting the silence stretch.

At last, she nods.

"Very well. Everyone has the right to choose their own path. Bianca Rinaldi will be the Heir's bride. We'll take a short break before the second round begins."

The crowd breaks into smaller groups, people talking as they move away.

I head toward the staging tent to wait for my turn.

I barely make it a few steps before Margherita catches up with me.

Her hand flies up.

SMACK!

The slap cracks across my cheek.