The next day, I arrive at the church in my sister’s wedding dress.
Gemma has impeccable taste, so the ivory gown is perfection. It’s strapless with a built-in corset and an A-line skirt with a train. No embroidery, no complicated details. Just minimalist and classic and a perfect complement to the over-the-top diamonds that hang around my neck and sparkle on my wrists and ears.
When I climb out of the limo with the help of the bodyguards, my brother is smoking a cigarette as he waits for me at the bottom of the church steps.
I frown. I don’t remember Vince being a smoker. The stress of having his three sisters pissed at him must be getting to him.
I haven’t forgiven him for the part he played in brokering this entire deal with Rafaele. Because Vince didn’t want to become Papà’s successor, they had the bright idea of offering the position to Rafaele. Rafaele wouldn’t have agreed to get Papà out of jail for anything less than that. But a successor can’t be just some outsider, which is why Rafaele has to marry into our family.
I stomp toward Vince, grateful that I’m wearing flats beneath the dress instead of heels. The skirt was tailored for Gemma, so it would be too short on me if I added a few inches of height.
Vince watches me approach and takes another puff of his cig.
Nervous?
I stop in front of him and knock the cigarette out of his hand. It falls to the ground, the red cherry flashing against the concrete before it turns to ash.
“I’m not doing this so that you can die from lung cancer.”
His lips twitch, even as something pained flashes in his eyes. “Never change, Cleo.”
Vince is on my shit list at the moment, but he’s not all bad like Papà. Until this whole thing with Rafaele, I saw my brother as a kindred spirit. He hated living at home, and he found a way out, something I admire about him.
Of course, it was far easier for him to convince Papà to let him work for the family from abroad because he’s a man. That opportunity would have never been offered to me.
He scans me. “Are you all right?”
“What do you think? Feels like I’m walking to my funeral.”
He frowns. “I wish it didn’t have to come to this.”
“Whatever. Can you tell me if Gem made it to Ras? I’ve been asking everybody, and no one’s been able to give me an answer.”
“She did.”
I close my eyes and let out a relieved breath. Thank fuck. “How?”
“Ras was in New York when the engagement was called off. She rang Vale and managed to find him quickly. She wanted to be here but…” He glances inside the church. “You know how it is.”
Don’t I ever. Will Rafaele let me see my sister again? I don’t imagine it will be anytime soon.
I drag my palm over the satin fabric of Gemma’s dress. The important thing is that she’s safe and her baby is safe. We’ll figure out the rest later.
The music inside the cathedral changes.
“I think that’s our cue,” Vince says.
I blink at him, my thoughts still on Gemma. Then it dawns on me what he means. It’s time for us to walk down the aisle. Suddenly, my lungs seize. This is it. My face plummets, and Vince pales.
“I know there’s no excuse for what I’ve done,” he says, his voice harsh. “I was… Fuck, I don’t know what I was thinking. There are things you don’t know about my life in Switzerland. I’ll explain it all to you one day if you’ll let me.”
The remorse in his eyes seems genuine, but I’m not like Gemma. I don’t forgive easily. Still, he’s my brother, and even though he’s an ass, I love him.
“Okay,” I croak. “We’ll talk later. Help me with the damn veil.”
The music gets louder, as if imploring us to move or else. A man appears behind us—one of Rafaele’s—and nods toward the entrance of the church. “Go.”
“Jesus, we’re going,” I snap.
Veil in place, I take Vince’s arm. We climb the dozen or so steps, moving slowly because of my dress. Someone lifts the train behind me, probably the same guy who rushed us along, but I don’t even bother looking to check.
My pulse is racing. I can’t believe I’m about to get married.
The massive doors to the cathedral are propped open. Inside are rows and rows of people I’ve never met with the occasional flash of a familiar face. My family is somewhere here, but I don’t seek them out.
The sheer volume of witnesses to my downfall is staggering. I keep my gaze focused on the ground and count my breaths.
The world is a blur, and I’m a tiny speck being propelled through it. Sweat collects at the small of my back, seeping into the fabric of Gemma’s wedding dress. My mouth is bone dry. I wish I’d asked for some water on the ride over instead of spending it silently pondering my bleak future as a married woman.
I clutch Vince’s arm tighter, and he shoots me a worried look. He can’t see my expression beneath the veil. If he could, he’d look far more worried.
My horror builds with every step I take. This is what I’ve always feared. The complete surrender of my autonomy to a stranger.
I’m living through my own personal nightmare, and there’s a demon waiting for me at the end of the aisle, ready to tear the thing I’ve always held most dear to me—my freedom—to shreds.
I might throw up.
Maybe it doesn’t have to be forever. I have to hold out hope that somehow I’ll convince Rafaele to eventually let me out of my cage. But how long will that take? Weeks? Months? Years? Years of living with the enemy.
Rafaele may have helped Gemma, but he’s still my enemy. He’s looking forward to owning me. I could see it in his eyes last night when he looked at me like I was another one of his possessions.
What will he do to me? Whatever he wants, I suppose. That’s the point, isn’t it? Starting with our wedding night. Whatever I don’t give to him willingly, he’ll take by force.
My breaths are coming quickly now. A pressure appears on my forearm. I look down to see it’s Vince’s hand.
“Cleo, you’re shaking,” he says in a low voice.
Yes, I’m about to have a panic attack, I want to say to him, but I can’t speak.
Dark spots appear in my eyes.
And that’s when I notice the flowers. Bouquets of blue lilies at the end of every aisle.
Gem’s favorites.
I was at the meeting with the wedding planner when she picked out that exact arrangement.
Something about the flowers cuts through the panic, and I manage to suck in a single deep breath. Then another.
Gem isn’t here, but there are glimpses of her everywhere in this cathedral. She planned this wedding. She chose the flowers, and the music, and this dress, and this veil, and all the other little details that used to be so insignificant to me.
Now, I latch onto them. I claw my way out of my panic and remember that I’m doing this for my sister.
She’d want me to walk down this aisle with my head held high. She wouldn’t want me to fall apart in front of all of these fucking Messeros. I won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing my misery.
The tightness in my throat loosens. “I’m good,” I say to Vince.
When he and I are mere steps away from the altar, I come to a halt.
Everyone in the church quiets, and I can practically sense them salivating. They’re waiting for a sign of weakness, the fucking vultures. But they won’t get one.
I straighten my spine and pull back my shoulders. I let go of my brother’s arm, signaling I’ve got it from here. He gives my arm a squeeze and moves aside.
I take the last few steps toward the altar on my own.
When I’m standing before him, Rafaele reaches over and lifts my veil.
It’s funny how you can hate someone and still find them attractive. Rafaele’s high cheekbones and strong jaw feel like an affront. I don’t want to like a single thing about this horrible man, but I can’t help appreciating the sharp angles of his face, his broad shoulders, and the way his muscular body fills out that bespoke tux.
His jaw clenches. He sweeps his gaze over me, and when he returns to my face, there’s heat in his eyes that burns across my skin.
I look away, disturbed by the intensity. For the first time, I allow myself to face the audience. I find my oldest sister, Vale, standing in the front row beside her husband Damiano De Rossi.
She gives me a broken smile, her eyes swimming with tears. Those aren’t tears of happiness. My heart squeezes.
In the fourth row, I spot Sabina in a gray dress and drab black hat. I guess I’m not the only one who thinks of this wedding as more of a funeral.
A flicker of satisfaction appears in the pit of my belly at the outraged expression on her face. She must have registered that I’m wearing her old mistress’s diamonds. I lift my hand and pretend to brush a strand of hair behind my ear, making sure she also sees the bangles.
Her eyes narrow, and she slowly shakes her head as if in warning.
Does she really think she can scare me?
She’s wrong.
After all, there’s a far bigger monster in this church, and I’m about to marry him.
