Chapter 7

Hearing his words, Francesca felt the last remaining warmth in her heart extinguish completely. He thought he could replace her mother' s memory with money. He truly understood nothing.

Maybe it was all for the best. This cold, cruel man was a stranger. The boy she had loved, her Archer, had died a long time ago, and she just hadn't realized it.

He sighed, then bent down and lifted her back onto the bed as if she were a doll. The gentleness of his touch was a jarring contrast to the cruelty of his words.

"The engagement party is in two days," he said, his voice back to its cool, business-like tone. "The doctors say you'll be fine by then. I'll have your dress sent over."

She didn't respond. She just stared out the window, her eyes seeing nothing.

"Frankie?" he prompted.

"Fine," she said, her voice flat.

He seemed to relax. "Good. And Amelia will be helping you get ready. I want you two to get along." He saw the look on her face and quickly added, "She feels terribly guilty about what happened. She wants to make it up to you."

Another lie. Another performance.

"Fine," Francesca said again.

Her easy agreement seemed to unnerve him. He stared at her, a flicker of suspicion in his eyes. "You're not planning something, are you?"

"Planning what?" she asked, her voice tired. "You've already won, Archer."

She met his gaze. "I promise," she said, her voice devoid of emotion. "I won't lay a hand on your precious Amelia." Not when I can't even stand to be in the same room as her.

She saw the raw, ugly bruises on her arms, peeking out from the sleeve of her hospital gown. "Besides," she added, a hint of bitter irony in her voice, "I don't think I have the strength."

He seemed satisfied with that. He gave her a brisk nod and left. For the first time, she saw a flicker of unease in his eyes as he looked at her, as if he sensed that something within her had fundamentally broken. But he dismissed it and walked out.

Two days later, she was discharged and driven directly to a high-end bridal boutique. The moment she walked in, she saw them.

Archer and Amelia were standing in front of a three-way mirror. He was in a sharp, tailored tuxedo, and she was in a stunning white gown that looked suspiciously like a wedding dress. They looked like a perfectly matched couple.

A group of Archer's friends stood nearby, raising champagne glasses.

"A toast!" one of them shouted. "To Archer and Amelia! Has there ever been a more perfect couple?"

Amelia blushed prettily. "Oh, stop it, you guys. Don't you know Archer is engaged to Frankie?" She said it with a laugh, as if it were a silly little joke.

"We all know who he really loves," another friend said with a wink. "It's been obvious for years."

Archer didn't deny it. He just smiled and put a protective arm around Amelia, silencing his friends with a look. He didn't want the truth to come out. Not yet. Not until his revenge was complete.

Francesca watched them, a cold calm settling over her. She knew now what she had to do.

She walked forward, a brittle smile on her face. "Having fun? I almost feel like I'm crashing someone else's party. Perhaps we should change the invitations for the engagement dinner? 'The engagement of Archer Collins and Amelia Ball.'"

Amelia rushed over, linking her arm with Francesca's. "Frankie, don't be like that! We were just helping you pick out a style. You know how much I love fashion."

Her grip was surprisingly strong. Francesca tried to pull away, but Amelia held on tight.

"Oh, let me see your ring!" Amelia gushed, grabbing Francesca's hand. "It's so beautiful."

She held her own hand up next to Francesca's. On her finger was a ring that was identical to Francesca's, only the diamond was larger, clearer, and set more exquisitely.

Francesca stared at the two rings, a sudden, sick realization dawning on her. She remembered the day Archer proposed. He had told her the ring was a one-of-a-kind design, created just for her. 'The Eternal Heart,' he had called it.

"It's unique," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "He said it was the only one."

Amelia's smile was full of pity. "Oh, honey. Men say all sorts of things." She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "He gave this one to me a month ago. He said he was having a replica made for... you know. The ceremony."

A replica. For the ceremony. For the sham engagement.

The ring on Francesca's finger, the symbol of her ten-year love and her deepest dreams, was a fake.

The real ring, the real promise, had always been for Amelia.