Page 64 of Marry Me Not
Mother sat in the front row beside my brothers, her head held high and her hands folded demurely in her lap. There was no way I could’ve kept her from showing up today. Rescinding the invite of a late don’s wife—to her own son’s wedding—was unthinkable. There were certain rules of respect when it came to family that had to be observed.
Until I became don, I had to tread carefully.
Mother met my gaze, and a small smirk pulled on her lips. She was so confident she finally had me cornered.
I should’ve seen it coming.
The wedding was the perfect opportunity for Mother to try to land a blow, and she wouldn’t be Vita if she didn’t take advantage of it. I didn’t doubt she was the one who’d sent that photo to Fabiana.
She would love it if Fabiana ran today, on the day of the ceremony. If she left me standing alone at the altar. It would turn the wedding into my personal humiliation.
How can a man who can’t even control his fiancée control the Ferraros?I could hear her taunt.
Much to Mother’s disappointment, that wasn’t going to happen. Fabiana wouldn’t walk away from the promise of freedom over a single photo.
I’d outmaneuvered Mother by making a deal with Fabiana.
That should’ve calmed me. But I didn’t feel all that fucking calm as I stood at the altar waiting for my bride to appear. Instead, a strange weight throbbed inside my chest.
Fabiana said she didn’t care about the photo, but she was as transparent as cellophane. She cared. She cared so much she’d tried the oldest trick in my own book—to shove all those feelings deep, deep down and let them fester.
So what if she was pissed? For once, I hadn’t done anything wrong. I hadn’t cheated on her. I kissed Rosa once when we first started our charade, and that was long before I even knew Fabiana existed. I told myself I cared because we needed to maintain an image of unity, and a pissed-off bride on her wedding day wasn’t exactly in line with that, but deep down, I knew it was more than that.
I’d already learned I couldn’t stay angry at her when she was drunk and vulnerable. Now, I was learning I really didn’t fucking like it when she was quietly furious with me.
I tugged on my sleeves and rolled my shoulders. The priest shifted beside me, the Bible clutched in his hands. I glanced at my watch. Fabiana was a minute late.
I’d told her as much as I could. Telling her more would have meant sharing one of my most closely held secrets.
Yet, something gnawed at me like a starving dog worrying a bone.
I hadn’t cheated on her. But it bothered me that she thought I did.
The audience hushed as the organ began to play “Ave Maria.” The sound rose through the air, and my breath hitched.
Momentarily, every thought about politics and succession evaporated.
I’d seen her in that dress already. I had a moment to come to terms with how magnificent she looked. I thought I could handle it.
But I hadn’t prepared for the veil.
It caught the light from the open door behind her and softened her outline so that she looked like an angelic apparition.
She and Messero walked toward me. Well, Messero walked. She floated. Light snagged on the embroidery of her dress, making her shimmer like something divine—a kind of mirage one might see when praying for salvation from their sins.
My heartbeat was everywhere—in my throat, in my palms, at the base of my skull.
When they reached me, Messero squeezed her hand and stepped aside.
I lifted the veil.
The tulle fell back, and her face appeared—radiant and so fucking beautiful it made it difficult to breathe.
But her eyes were pure ice.
Inside me, something withered and squirmed. I looked down at her from my height and wondered how someone as small as her could have so much power over me.
The priest began the ceremony.
