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I envision her walking down the aisle of the church toward me, dressed in white, her beautiful face just glimpsed through her veil and her eyes full of pure hatred.
* * *
“You may now kiss the bride.”
At the front of the church, Antonio sweeps Ginevra into his arms and presses his mouth to hers. All around me, people break into applause and smiles for the happy couple.
Beside me, Chiara’s face is blank and she stares straight ahead. Her hands remain folded in her lap and she’s as closed off as she was the day of her mother’s funeral. When I kissed her cheek in greeting, she wouldn’t even look at me.
The deal is unfolding the way it needs to, but I couldn’t predict how the girl in the center of this was going to throw a whole toolbox worth of spanners into it. I could call the whole thing off and go back to the other three…
But this is the only way for me to get what I want. I’ve waited years. I can’t wait any longer.
At the reception, Chiara eats a little of her dinner and sips water. She doesn’t say a word to me until it’s time for the couple’s first dance. Antonio leads Ginevra around the dance floor, and Chiara finally speaks.
“What happened when Ginevra first met Antonio?”
“Ginevra always knew I’d arrange her marriage for her. There was a dinner at home and I told her the man who’d be her husband was coming. She was a little scared, but mostly she was excited. When she and Antonio saw each other, they were…” I recall the impulsive kiss I gave Chiara when we first met. “Instantly attracted to each other. That first kiss will tell you everything.”
Chiara is silent for a long time. “I’m happy for her. She’s found a kind man who’ll love and protect her.”
“He’s not kind. He’s violent and dangerous, but that doesn’t mean he won’t love and protecther.” I reach for Chiara’s hand and thread my fingers through hers. For a moment she lets me, her face softening.
Then she takes a shuddering breath and pulls away from me. “Then she’s wrong to accept the love and protection of a man like that. He could turn on her at any moment.”
“Chiara!”
Chiara turns around at the sound of her name, just as something comes hurtling toward her. She catches it automatically, and her face falls as she realizes what she’s done. She turns the object in her hands slowly until it’s the right way up.
The pale yellow and white blooms of Ginevra’s bridal bouquet.
Ginevra smiles broadly at my promised bride. “You’re next.”
12
Chiara
Ten months later
“Yes, yes, yes,” Candace breathes, her face alight with wonder. “The satin. The lace. It’sperfect.”
I glance between her face and mine in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors. We’re standing on the plush cream carpet of Coldlake’s most prestigious bridal boutique. Sophia and a store assistant are fanning out my skirt while Candace flutters about us in excitement. Anyone would think she was the one getting married. Come to think of it, she should be the one marrying Salvatore. Her family practically worships him.
Rosaline is reclined on a chaise lounge in a cloud of lilac tulle and sipping free champagne. I guess no one cares that we’re all barely or not quite eighteen when I’m marrying Salvatore Fiore. All three girls are wearing their bridesmaid gowns, midi dresses in pastel colors. This is the final fitting before the wedding next week.
“Babe, you look amazing,” Rosaline says after another mouthful of champagne. “Mr. Fiore is going to fall even harder the moment he lays eyes on you.”
Only I know that Salvatore can’t stand to look at me. He made all the wedding arrangements, including choosing this dress, without even one phone call to me. I suspect that Ginevra made most of the decisions as she’s been the one coming to see me, radiantly happy with her six-month baby bump.
“Is Mr. Fiore excited?” Sophia asks.
A pang goes through me. I swallow, feeling strangely desolate as I confess, “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him in months.”
Ten months, to be exact. I haven’t seen Salvatore in the flesh since Ginevra’s wedding. I suppose he was so disgusted that I was going to give my virginity away to a stranger that he can’t bear to be near me. At first I was so angry with him that I didn’t care, but as the months dragged on…
I missed him.
I shouldn’t yearn for Salvatore Fiore, or search for him in the news or in expensive cars as they drive by. But I do.
