CHAPTER EIGHT
>RESURRECTION DAY
...Muse Headstone, Cemetery
The drive to the Cemetery was quiet except for the soft hum of the engine.
Muse watched the city pass by through the tinted windows of the Mercesdes.
She felt as if she was seeing everything for the first time after all.
Freedom had a different taste on her lips than what m she had remembered.
Pierre watched her as she leaned back away from the window and closed her eyes.
She sighed softly.
Her chestnut hair pooled behind her head as she tried to be comfortable.
Her lips which looked soft and tempting drew into a thin line at her discomfort.
She grumbled something under her breath and abruptly opened her eyes.
Muse felt his gaze on her.
Her long lashes fluttered prettily as she turned and met his gaze.
Their eyes locked in that moment.
Pierre cleared his throat, his eyes dancing in circles after being caught staring.
"There is something that I need you to know before we arrive," Pierre said.
His words broke the silence.
"The media will be there."
Her eyes widened.
"The medi?" She asked.
He nodded.
Muse stared straight at him.
"What do you mean?"
"I may have mentioned the fact that you would be visiting your own grave today to a few top journalist," he confessed
Muse groaned.
"No you didn't," she whispered.
Pierre shrugged.
"I did Muse, and they seem to have found the story rather compelling."
"You really called the press?"
Muse felt a surge of panic.
"But I am not ready for that."
"You are more ready than you think," he said to her with a smug smile.
His voice was steady and reassuring.
"This is your moment to control the narrative Muse," he began.
She sat up properly.
"They buried you thinking you were weak. Show them how wrong they were."
Muse closed her eyes.
She inhaled deeply and then slowly exhaled the warm air out of her lungs.
She would survive.
When they pulled through the cemetery gates, Muse saw the small crowd.
There were reporters and photographers waiting near the Vitale family plot.
Her stomach twisted into knots.
"I can't do this," she whispered to Pierre who reached over to her.
He took her hand.
"Yes, you can do this Muse," he told her as he rubbed her hands with his thumb.
Muse swallowed softly.
"Do you rmember what they did to you? Do you recall the headstone with your name?"
She nodded.
"Do you remember Reed announcing his engagement at your funeral?"
Rage instantly swallowed her whole.
The betrayal came rushing back and instantly she was ready for them.
"I will make them pay," she said as the car stopped about fifty yards from her grave.
"And I will help you," Pierre smirked.
The doors were opened by the driver who had run around to do that.
The cameras had already begun flashing even before Pierre got out.
He then helped her out.
The moment she stepped out, the flashing cameras instantly focused on her.
"Muse! Muse! How does it feel to be free?" One of the reporters shouted.
"Are the rumors about your marriage to Pierre Donovan true?" called another.
Muse eyes widened.
How had words about the wedding gotten out so quickly?
But when she looked at Pierre and saw that he was not bothered, she knew.
He was using the press for publicity.
He must have given them the news.
Pierre drew her close to him and placed a protective hand on the small of her back.
They walked toward the headstone.
The marble of the stone was pristine white with gold lettering that read:
MUSE VITALE - BELOVED DAUGHTER - MAY SHE CONTINUALLY FIND PEACE.
Muse stared at the engraving.
Anger swiftly coursed through her body until her hands began to shake.
"They really did bury me," she pointed out through gritted teeth.
Pierre made a tsk sound.
"And now, Muse, you will be rising from the dead," Pierre murmured close to her ear.
His hot breath famned her skin.
"Pay your respects and give the paparazzi I hired a chance to earn their keep."
She heard the amusement in his voice.
She shook her head.
"Pathetic," she told him.
"As long as it brings results," he educated her. "I always will never play fair."
She knelt down.
She placed her hand on the cold stone.
"This feels so surreal."
"Miss Vitale!"
One of the reporters pushed closer.
"What is your response to your family's statement that you were mentally unstable?" She asked her.
Muse instantly looked up and her eyes directly met the lens of the camera.
"My reply is that as I am standing here, I am very much alive and very much sane."
Silence reigned.
"The real question should be exactly what kind of family holds a funeral for their living daughter?" She chipped in.
"How do you feel about your family's reaction to your release?"
This time it was a young female reporter who asked her the question.
"I haven't heard from my family," Muse replied to her with a cool tone.
An evil smirk curved her lips.
"But I imagine that they might be quite surprised to see me up and about."
Another reporter called out, "Is it true that you are engaged to Pierre Donovan?"
Pierre stepped forward, his arm sliding around Muse's waist possessively.
"Whatever you heard," he began to say in a jussive voice, "is definitely true."
Someone gasped in the crowd.
One of the reporters turned to Muse and asked her with shock, " Is this true?"
"Hmm, it's true," she answered lazily.
"Isn't this marriage a quick one? What are you getting married in a crisis?"
But before Muse could react, Pierre beat her to it with a satisfactory response.
"I was the love struck one who asked Muse to marry me, and she said yes."
He looked down at her.
Muse smiled up at him, playing her part of wanted wife to perfection.
The crowd of reporters erupted with questions all around them.
But Pierre raised his hand for silence.
"We shall hold a proper press conference later to address all of your questions."
Muse raised a brow.
"For now, you all should please respect that this is a private moment for us."
Muse regained her strength and confidence as the reporters took more photos.
She stood up straighter and lifted her chin with her newfound confidence.
She was no longer the adopted heiress who was diacarded unfairly.
She had a new path now.
Her resurrection was complete.