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Dante turned away from the mirror. “I better go to the chapel before I strangle you,” he said.
“Before we leave, I want to make a toast.” The words rushed from Emilio’s mouth.
The venue had provided a table filled with snacks, bottled water, and chilled champagne. His brother handed out the glasses and then opened the champagne with a loud pop. He poured them each a glass of the sparkling wine and took a deep breath.
“I know I have made some jokes, but I believe you and Annabelle will have a successful marriage this time. She is good for you, I believe. She is no—as they say in English—push over.”
“No, she is not,” Dante conceded.
“And I know you have not told us half of what you went through when you moved to this country. Thank you for all you have done, Dante. I wish you and Annabelle many years of happiness together. You deserve it.”
The moment became charged with emotion. Dante had achieved his objectives in the United States, and the disrespect and struggles he went through as a teen and young man were worth the sacrifice to see his family thrive.
He gripped his younger brother’s shoulder and pulled him into a one-armed hug. Kissing his temple, he whispered, “Te amo, hermanito.”
Emilio squeezed him back. When he pulled away, he ducked his head and wiped a finger across his eye. He then looked expectantly at Sebastian, who squared his shoulders and cleared his throat.
“I, er, I don’t have much to say, except I’m honored to stand beside you again, and I wish you the best. I hope you get everything you want out of this marriage,” he said with a meaningful look.
The three men touched their glasses together and then tipped them to their lips. A few minutes later, they left the groom’s suite.
When Dante and Annabelle married the first time, Clifton hadn’t spared any expense giving his daughter a lavish ceremony. This time was no less grand, but the guest list was much shorter. The engagement party had included over two hundred people, but there were fewer than one hundred people in attendance today. The smaller, more intimate gathering consisted of mostly family and friends.
Dante went to stand at the front of the chapel and spotted the rest of his family in the front row. His sister smiled, and he smiled back. Beside her, his mother was the picture of effortless grace, her hands folded in her lap. She glanced briefly at him, her face full of pride and excitement about his future and those grandchildren she’d hinted about when both families ate dinner together.
Guilt ate at him, something he seldom allowed himself to feel. Deceiving family was different from getting over on business rivals. He hated lying to his parents and siblings and didn’t look forward to having to tell them in a year that he and Annabelle had split again. But he’d have the one object he wanted more than anything in the world. The Hilderbrandt Plaza. The discomfort, the guilt, and the resulting conversations with his family a year from now would all be worth it to have the iconic building in his portfolio.
It would prove the poor kid from Venezuela had arrived. He had succeeded when others doubted. Anticipation thrummed in his veins for the moment when he achieved his goal.
Soft music piped in through speakers signaled the beginning of the ceremony. The daughters of Annabelle’s cousin on her father’s side came down the aisle, adorable little blondes in powder-blue dresses with gold sashes. They dropped the flowers onto the white runner to theoohsandahhsof the guests. Then the ring bearer came down the aisle dressed in a suit, his brown face smiling bashfully before taking his place in the audience.
There was a lull before Sebastian and Emilio escorted Lacey and another of Annabelle’s friends down the aisle. Each of them took their place on the dais along with Dante and the priest.
The double doors closed for several minutes and then opened again. Music filled the air, and Dante lifted his gaze to the back of the church. Annabelle and her father appeared and started the march down the aisle. Some of the guests stood to watch their progression, while others whispered furiously to each other. There were no phones allowed, which meant only the videographer and photographer captured the moment.
“Damn,” Sebastian murmured beside him.
Damn indeed. Dante held his breath. Annabelle was a vision in a pearl-white dress.
Like déjà vu, he watched her come toward him, a stunning bride on her father’s arm. Over the course of their short-lived relationship, he’d called her several things—mi amor, mi princesa,querida, but no endearment fit her better thanmi reina. Queen was the most apt description for a woman who moved with the grace of royalty. That was Annabelle every day and certainly today.
His stomach contracted, but not in fear or dread. No, this was something else altogether. Excitement. Fervent anticipation. He looked forward to their union in a way he hadn’t expected—all because of the vision coming toward him in a dress with an off-the-shoulder lace top and see through sleeves. The floral pattern and beadwork made the dress shimmer and shine. The long, elaborate train floated behind her as she herself seemed to float beside her father down the aisle.
“Who presents this woman to be joined with this man?” the priest asked.
“I do, her father,” Clifton said. He kissed his daughter’s cheek and then placed her hand in Dante’s.
Annabelle then joined Dante on the dais, and the ceremony began with a prayer.
When they first married, Dante and Annabelle had read unique vows to each other. Not this time. Because this time wasn’t real. They both had an ulterior motive for entering into this marriage.
One year. Then it would be over. At this moment, he wasn’t sure that’s what he wanted.
The conversation about grandchildren earlier in the week came back to him, and he suddenly imagined himself and Annabelle with a family. Three or four little ones—a thought he had never experienced with any other woman. It seemed right that, if he did have children, she should be their mother.
What if…?
A surge of regret filled him, and a heavy weight spread throughout his chest cavity.
