Saint Valentine

1

I have never looked this beautiful in my life. My make-up looks flawless — not a single pore visible on my face. The false lashes feel heavy, but they have the opposite effect on my eyes. My face has been chiseled to perfection. My cheekbones stand high and pronounced, and my nose looks straighter than it's ever been. My lips are painted a deep red and my eyelids have an unnatural glimmer to them.

This is how beautiful I wish I looked all the time.

"Ow!" I wince, my sister accidentally burning me with the curling iron.

"Sorry!" Aurora grabs the next clump of strands. "We're almost done."

"We're leaving in 5 minutes, girls," Dad instructs. It doesn't matter, though. I know we won't be leaving until my mum is satisfied. She eyes me with adoration. She's been looking forward to this night since the gala was announced. It's the one chance for her dream to come true — for her daughter to be chosen as the next Regina. It's all any parent could want in this family. Everyone hopes that either they or their child will be chosen to marry a Sainte. It's an honour. They're our equivalent of the royal family. Who wouldn't want to be a prince or princess?

And in this case, who wouldn't want to be a queen? It's our king that's looking for a wife. Our boss, or who we call il capo or il padrone. Valentino Sainte. He's in charge of our operation. He runs this family. He's who calls the shots and he's who we answer to. Before him, it was his father, and before him, it was his.

My family has been working under the Saintes for generations — running the financial side of their Californian operation.

Valentino took control of the family 2 years ago, on his 30th birthday. He was supposed to be married by then, but my father tells me he postponed it as long as he could. He was supposed to marry a Principessa from another family, but that didn't work out. No one knows why. The family wasn't told. We only found out when the Superiore family's, or the ones with the most influence, received an invitation in the mail, requesting they put forward possible suitors and attend tonight's gala. My family happens to be Superiore and I would be considered a possible suitor — 27 and unmarried. I, too, was supposed to have an arranged marriage. It was with another member of the family. He was the youngest son of the woman who runs the East Coat legal team. We started courting about a year ago, but it didn't last more than two months. I tried, but we were just too different. We could barely find anything to talk about. And that's not a recipe for a sustainable marriage.

Courting is our equivalent of dating, except it's supposed to be with the intention to marry. We have a say in who we court, too. Our parents will have arranged a partner for us, but if we choose differently, that's fine, too. We're not barbaric.

My sister adds a final layer of hairspray, making sure each strand is perfectly in place. The top layer of my hair is tied up and braided at the back for elegance. The rest drapes over my shoulders. My mum wanted me to lighten my hair for tonight, but I think it looks best natural, even if it is dark. She got to decide on the dress, anyway. I like it, but I would've preferred more of a ballgown or A-line. This dress is chiffon with an off-shoulder neckline flowing down to the floor in a column style. It's the same shade of red as my lipstick.

"You look beautiful," my mum smiles.

And I do. If I were Valentino, I would pick me.

*******

The venue we arrive at is grand. It looks like the MOMA with a large staircase leading up to the main entrance, and a curved arch in between a set of pillars. A black carpet is rolled out over the staircase, each one neatly lit. Hoards of people are already making their way inside.

The valet helps me out of the car, making sure I'm steady n my feet before letting go. This might be the hardest part of the night — walking up what looks like 100 steps in stilettos. I hope there's not much dancing scheduled for tonight.

"How are you feeling?" Aurora takes my hand. "Not too nervous, I hope."

"No, I'm okay," I tell her. "I just don't know what to expect."

"You'll be okay," she assures. "There's only a 1 in 4 chance that something comes of this. Or in other words, there's a 75% chance that nothing comes of this, in which case this is just another boring family dinner."

She's right. Thousands of people would have been invited tonight, but only a few hundred will show up. And even then, we all know there are probably only 4 family's Valentino will choose from — the only ones with unmarried women above 25. Most of us will either be married already, or be planning to soon. It's not uncommon. It's not frowned upon in the family, either. It just so happens that we had a shortage of girls born for a few years.

"But let's be honest. He's definitely choosing you," she grins.

"We don't know that," I deny.

"I do. I can feel it."

"Feel it?" I frown. "You're so weird, Aurora."

"Come," she takes my hand.

We start making out way up the stairs, my sister and I lifting our dresses off the floor to avoid stepping on them. Our parents are already ahead of us, socialising with their friends and colleagues. I see some people I recognise here, too, but I'm not in the mood to socialise. I'll chat with them inside.

The interior of the building looks like an old museum or a cathedral. It's Beaux-Arts style, with more arches spanning across the ballroom, fine detail along the architraves, artworks on the ceiling, decorative plaster, and frescoes. Round tables are set up around the dancefloor, neatly arranged with flowers, candles, and silverware. There's a podium set up at the front of the room. There's a long table on it, only set on one side, allowing the Sainte family to look across the floor.

An usher guides us to our designated table, right at the head of the dance floor. My aunts and uncles are already standing there, greeting us with a smile. They're just as excited as the rest of my family. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't excited myself, but it's an anxious excitement. I'm not particularly hopeful for tonight, but knowing it's a possibility is exhilarating.

The room fills up quickly, with more and more families arriving. They all gather around their tables. No one bothers to sit down yet. We know better than that.

A high-pitched ding sounds through the room. We all turn our attention to the podium. A man stands behind the microphone, a glass of champagne in his hand.

"Please all stand for the Sainte family," he says. Everyone finds their place, neatly standing behind their seat as we await their arrival. Only they could make a room of a hundred people fall to silence.