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I’m a coward, denying my responsibility for the whole thing. Regardless of how or why we got to Italy, to this wedding, or when she told me she loved me, the fact is she did tell me.
She loves me…
She wants me. And I denied her. And now, it’s up to me to make it right.
My heart thrums in my ears, sweat beads at my brow. I stare at the old man, my gaze locked on his mouth, breathing in his every word. He begins. “Dearly beloved, we have come here today in the presence of God and the church.” Father goes on with his speech, welcoming the crowd.
He has to say it.
Everything hinges on him saying it.
My entire future… my world—it’s dancing on a wire, one strung tight from his lips to my ear.
Father Thomas will say the words—my fingertips drum against the silk wool covering my thighs—won’t he?
It’s an old-fashioned notion, but this place, a Gothic church on a hill in Italy, this family, stoic and dark like the thick woods of the mountains that surround them, all seem to be cut from another century. No internet, no phone lines. Her new home is to be the massive castle that looms over the church, behind us a grassy field that falls into soft hills as they roll down to meet a river.
It’s another world, one lost in time.
Meaning…
He… very possibly… could say it.
I tug at the tie knotted around my neck. Can’t breathe. I can’t even look at her.
I’d implode.
His words drone on. It’s an Episcopalian ceremony. Does that matter?
Our family would never allow such a thing. The priest never says it at our ceremonies. We Bachmans wouldn’t allow for the risk and the possible chaos that could ensue. But this isn’t New York.
And this isn’t our family.
Not yet at least.
This marriage was arranged to solidify our union. The Russos of Italy, the Bachmans of New York. We have our own branch of the family here, headed up by Liam. He and his wife Emilia live in a white stone estate on the shore of a blue-green lake. In fact, they’re here today, seated behind me.
I wonder what they’ll think of what I’m about to do.
I glance over my shoulder and Emilia gives a wave, her blonde curls bobbing.
I force myself to lift my head. To look up at that altar. To finally look… at her.
I owe her this.
She’s staring straight ahead, her pale skin alabaster. Her full rosebud bottom lip trembles. She’s wearing a white gown, lace sleeves reaching her wrists, a matching veil cascading over her dark hair. She’s so beautiful just looking at her draws my heart to my throat.
She takes a breath, brave and controlled, and keeps her gaze trained on him.
Loosening the tie hasn’t helped. My finger goes to the collar of my starched shirt, forming a crook as it pulls the damp material away from my skin. I think of our last moment alone together, behind the church, just before her maid of honor pulled her away. Her whispered words haunt my memory.
But I love you… what do I do?
And my curt answer.
Two words that brought a stunning rose blush to her already beautiful cheeks. Two words that made my gut wrench as I watched tears form in the corners of her suck-you-in-and-cleanse-your-soul beautiful blue eyes. Two words that ended everything between us.
Erasing my very existence from her life.
