Vow of Hell by Clara Elroy
Ariadne
Was I in heaven?
I couldn’t take my eyes off the striking fabrics surrounding me. Red, lilac, gold, blue, any color you could imagine, I was surrounded by it. Some were shiny, reflecting the artificial light of the room, and filling the space with luster, others delicate like spun silk.
I was running my fingers through soft velvet when a voice spoke up from behind. “Are we going to be here long? I’m bored to death.”
With my heart in my throat, I turned around, relaxing when my sister’s face filled my view. “You insisted on coming, Irena, no one forced you.”
“Duh, you were going to Italy a.k.a. pasta, pizza, gelato, gondola rides… need I go on?” She spun a finger through a strawberry blonde lock.
At sixteen, Irena was already a head taller than me, with long lashes framing aqua blue eyes. It should be illegal to look this good at her age, but she was one of the lucky ones that skipped through the awkward teenage phase. Her bone structure was enviable, all sharp cheekbones and plump lips. At least we had that last thing in common.
Ina had gotten the best of both worlds.
A French princess with a south European flare.
“We came for business.” I rubbed my face, repeating the same sentence for the thousandth time.
“The only business I’ve seen you do so far is feel up fabric pieces to the point where I’m starting to get uncomfortable.”
She might’ve not gone through an awkward teenage phase, but she sure as hell didn’t skip the bitchy one.
“We’re at Antonietta Tasutti’s, one of the biggest fabric distributors in the world. They have everything from wool to sea silk. Do you know how rare that is to find?”
The place didn’t look luxurious from the outside or the inside, with its warehouse-like architecture, but it certainly was iconic. A designer’s dream, nestled in the countryside of Milan, Italy.
She rolled her eyes at me, adjusting the Rayban’s on her head and crossing her arms over the red sundress she stole from my suitcase. “No, but I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”
“I sure am.” I smiled as I spun around in my Aquazzura pumps.
Excitement bubbled inside me as I walked over to the small display of sea silk, checking if Irena was following me. She was, albeit the pep in her step wasn’t as pronounced as mine.
“It comes from some type of endangered Mediterranean clam, hence the name. There are very few people left in the world that know how to harvest it. Weaving sea silk is an art form that’s slowly dying in a way. Most won’t ever get to see or touch it in person.”
“Well, why don’t they pass the knowledge along? I bet a lot would be interested. Everyone loves rare stuff, it’s like a status symbol. People in Astropolis would pay gold for this stuff.”
I nodded. There was nothing money couldn’t buy, and when you had more than you could spend, impulsive purchases were the least of your worries.
“You see, that’s exactly the reason why. They keep it a secret for fear of environmental damage because if there’s anything we humans excel at, it’s ruining the planet.”
We both stopped when we reached the table that held the small patch of copper cloth. It was mesmerizing really, half of it was dark, and the other half that was exposed to the light flowing in from some overhead windows glowed gold.
“Wow, that is really pretty.” Irena exhaled next to me, reaching to touch the threads.
“It is, isn’t it? When I first saw it, I thought it would definitely be something mermaids would wear. Cause it’s sea silk, get it?”
That got a snort out of her. “My god, you’re such a nerd.”
“Hey!” I slapped her arm, slightly offended.
“Have you been reading another one of your faerie porn books? Is that where you keep getting all these ideas from?”
My cheeks heated up remembering how I’d once forgotten my kindle at my parent’s house, and Irena called me up the next morning ready to learn all about fae male wingspans.
“It’s called being creative. Maybe you should try it sometime.”
Irena laughed good-naturedly, prompting me to do the same until she tilted her head, seriousness glazing over the humor in her eyes.
“I don’t think I tell you this often enough, Aria, but I really admire your passion for your work. I might make fun of you, but I sometimes wish I was more like you.”
“What do you mean?” My laugh got stuck in my throat.
If anything, there had been plenty of times where I wished I was more like my little sister. Fiercer, more confident, unbothered by anyone’s opinion of her.
I was brave behind a phone screen. Social media was like a playground I’d mastered. That was what happened when you went viral at sixteen. But real life was different. You couldn’t hide your flaws behind filters, and you couldn’t edit out weak or unflattering moments.
“I wish I had something I was passionate about too. Wish I was as capable as you. You didn't get a single dime from Mom and Dad after you turned eighteen; paid for college out of your own pocket.”
“You like ice-skating, plus you’re still sixteen, honey. You’ve got so much time ahead of you. I went to college with kids that changed their majors like three times. Trust me, no one has their shit together until they’re at least well into their thirties.”
Her eyes widened, and I cursed under my breath.
I was making it worse.
“Their thirties?” She cocked her head, looking at me as if I’d grown two heads.
“What I meant to say is that what you’re feeling is normal and something even adults experience. And a little advice from your big sister; enjoy this period of your life, be carefree while you still can.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re Ariadne Fleur, fashion expert extraordinaire.” She snorted, rolling her eyes at my online title.
I was a busy girl with a booming social media presence, and an internship at Fleur. My niche was sharing fashion tips and advice, and so far, it was going great. Four years in the industry had gotten me enough brand sponsorships to secure an apartment in the East Village with a nice view of the ocean and an exclusive interview with Marcello Bolzano.
I’d almost fainted when I got the email saying he’d love to be interviewed by me.
“Hey, don’t be so glum. If push comes to shove, you can always be the Venus to my Serena Williams.” I bumped Ina’s shoulder with mine, wiggling my brows. “The Solange to my Beyonce.”
“Why thank you for being so generous as to share the spotlight.”
“What’s having a famous sister good for?” I winked.
Silent footsteps from behind alerted us of a third presence, and we spun around just as soon as dad spoke up. “What are my two favorite girls talking about?”
Darian Fleur had an imposing presence. He could make a room stop with a single word. He didn’t demand respect, he owned it. When he spoke everyone listened, but when he was around his girls, he melted. There was something so endearing about watching a powerful man turn into a puddle around his wife and kids.
“Ari’s faerie porn,” my sister blurted out of nowhere, and I felt my cheeks warm up under Dad’s blue gaze.
I elbowed her just as Dad asked me, “What are you teaching your sister?”
“Nothing, I swear! If anything, she’s the one corrupting me.”
“Yes, blame the little guy.”
I glared at her, and she threw a devilish smile my way as Dad came to stand between us, throwing an arm over both our shoulders and guiding us further inside the warehouse.
“Come on, you two can fight later. I have something I would like to show you.”
“What is it?” Irena quipped as we came to stand in front of a wall filled with racks of white lace.
Bile rushed up my throat at the sight of all the white. I had to use some similar Venetian lace when we were tasked with making a wedding dress in class. It was probably one of the worst projects I’d ever presented.
They say you attract what you fear.
No wonder church bells played on loop in my mind like haunting lullabies.
Dad felt me stiffening against him and rubbed his palm down my arm in a comforting manner. I glanced up, gluing my eyes to his blond hair. I didn’t want to know what I’d find if I gazed into his eyes.
Expectations. So many of them wrapped around me, sinking my heart to the bottom of my stomach like an anchor.
I didn’t want Saint. I didn’t want to marry someone that didn’t love me and never would. We could be real. A guy like Saint would never settle for a girl like me.
We came from the same class, but we couldn’t be more different.
I made clothes, and he stripped them off supermodels.
“It’s not what you think,” Dad whispered, kissing the crown of my head. Irena didn’t know. No one did, but Mom, Dad, Grandma, and Saint’s family, since they were the ones setting the pace of our story.
“So.” He straightened up. “While we are here for business per se, I also wanted to get your mother a little something. If she asks though, we only came to check on a fabric supplier because they were lagging behind on production, alright?”
“You want us to lie to Mom?” Ina asked.
“I want you to help me surprise her. Our anniversary is coming up next month.” He rubbed his hands. “And I was thinking of renewing our vows, a little intimate ceremony just the two of us. We never really got to enjoy our wedding day when we were young.”
A saccharine sweet taste bloomed in the back of my throat as Irena gushed over dad’s words. I fucking adored my dad. Growing up, he’d go the extra mile every day by bringing my mom roses or chocolates and taking her on spontaneous trips every few months. Dad was a good person and a devoted husband in a way most men weren’t.
Was it too much to ask for a relationship like that?
“You’re working hard to win the husband of the year award, I see,” I murmured.
“I like being consistent.” He laughed, dropping his arms from around us, and strutted forward to palm the lace. “Lydia is going to need a dress.”
“Don’t you think it would be best if she picked one herself?” I knew where he was going with this.
He slid his gaze my way, hitting the nail straight in the head and confirming my thoughts. “I think she’d love it if her daughter designed one for her.”
“I’m down,” Irena inserted herself in the conversation.
“You’d probably wrap her up with the lace like a burrito and secure the fabric with two pins,” I snarked, taking my blood back for exposing my questionable reading preferences to Dad.
She flashed her tongue at me.
Dad was accustomed to our bickering, so he didn’t pay it any mind, just scanned me carefully before continuing. “Honey, Grandma Chloe and I have been talking, and we think it would be great if you took on a more permanent role in the company. Alessandro would love to have you on his team. He was very impressed by some of the sketches you submitted for the last spring collection.”
“He was?” I quirked a brow. “He didn’t use any of them.”
“Maybe he was intimidated that you’d sweep the creative director position off his feet.” My sister mused.
“That’s not true. Alessandro has years of experience on me.”
“Is it not? There’s a reason why you have such a huge following on social media, and no, it’s not only because you have a perky butt.”
“Irena!” My god, she was set on embarrassing me in front of Dad today. My fingers ventured to the hem of my white mini dress and pulled down on the edges.
“What? It’s true.” She shrugged. “But anyway, your DIY looks are amazing. My friends always bug the shit out of me about how they’d love to buy one of your dresses, especially that Cinderella-inspired ball gown you made with the lights, which I’m gonna be wearing to prom this year.” She batted her lashes as if to say, pretty please.
An influx of pride made me puff out my chest. Putting your art out there for people to judge was a vulnerable process, and while you couldn’t please everyone, it felt fucking amazing when all your hard work was validated. Hours in front of a phone screen to build an audience, sleepless nights to sketch and sew, thousands of dollars spent on getting the right material and equipment.
Talent was only one-half of the equation.
“You can have it under one condition,” I offered, and she raised a silky brow in question. “Be a good errand girl and fetch me some water. I forgot my bottle in the car.”
She eyed me with defiance in her eyes, but after a hair toss, she spun around. “All right, but I’m getting your matching heels too!”
I shook my head, watching her skip to the door. Irena was talented, and she didn’t even know it. She could pull the tension from a room with a single word.
I almost forgot about the weight of Dad’s words until we were left alone.
As much as I craved to believe that they wanted me around because they believed in my artistic vision, I knew that wasn’t the case. I wasn’t born yesterday. I was my mother’s daughter, and Lydia Karanikolaou-Fleur wasn't easily fooled.
Once the coast was clear, I turned to Dad who was looking at me expectantly. My throat felt as if someone had force-fed me a packet of dry rice cakes, and the words refused to flow out. I’d dreamt of working at Fleur ever since I was a kid. God had a funny way of granting wishes, though. He gave you what you wanted, but there was always a cost.
One I wasn’t willing to pay this time around.
“Daddy, I’m honored that you want me to make Mom’s wedding dress, I would love to, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to pass on the permanent position at Fleur.”
He blinked at me differently and took a step back as if rewinding my words in his mind. “What are you talking about, Ariadne? Why?”
“Grandma Chloe doesn’t want me there because she thinks I’m talented, she wants to control me. It would be so much easier to marry me off if my life also depended on the success of Fleur.”
I could tell he got my point but had a hard time digesting my thought process. We both knew what Chloe was capable of though, I wouldn’t put this past her.
“You’re really set on this, huh? You won’t even meet the boy, get to know him? I will support whatever decision you make, but giving this a try wouldn’t be so bad.”
If only he knew I had met him, and it had ended disastrously.
“Why do you even care so much? You’ll be perfectly fine. Fleur is not your only source of income anyway.”
“It’s not just us that will be affected, Ari. We have thousands of employees around the world.”
A pang of guilt made a mess of my insides. “Great, add that to my conscience too.” I retreated when Dad reached out to hold my shoulders. They had no right to put the blame for their past mistakes on me. “No. How about instead of talking to me, you talk to your own mother? She’s the one responsible for this. Chloe is the one that used the company's funds to buy herself private islands and villas in the Caribbean. And now, all of a sudden she’s the savior, and I’m the bad guy because I don’t want to be sold?”
Dad scrubbed a hand down his face in exasperation. Duty and loyalty crackled in him like a fiery whip, setting his thoughts ablaze. He couldn’t put himself in my shoes though, after all, what harm could come from giving it a go once?
Most girls would kill to marry someone like Saint Astor, but he wasn’t for me. His attitude and his past made us an impossible match.
Or more accurately, a match made in hell.
“I know. I know. You’re completely right, Aria, but I can’t change the past, only the future. Like I said, I will support whatever decision you make.” I stayed put when Dad reached out once more and let him take me in his hug. “You’re my kid, darling. Your happiness comes first.”
I embraced the peace that washed over me like a soothing balm and held it close, knowing it would be brief. Dad was a minuscule step on my way to freedom. It was the stubborn women in my life I had to be worried about.
“Thank you, Daddy. Besides, I already have a good thing going online, and I’m going to be setting up an online shop soon. Who knows, someday we might even get to have Fleur two point O.”
I’d been working on having my own side-hustle a year before graduating, sponging up as much information as I could about the whole process, and I was finally ready to take the plunge.
I hung on to the optimism, using hope as a steppingstone.