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I feel uncomfortable, laid bare, and I’m perfectly aware Pavone knows what kind of impact this dress is having on me. He probably thinks it’s because of his actions alone, but I can almost feel Victor’s touch ghosting over me.
I adjust the sleeve, fiddling with it, then try to stop fidgeting. The rehearsal should be starting any minute, and I have to put on a calm facade and pretend that everything isjust finewhen that couldn’t be further from the truth.
I jump when a hand touches my shoulder, and I spin around to find Vanessa standing next to me. Our mother stands beside her, already looking like she’s gotten into the liquor cabinet, and I can’t say I blame her. I wish I could go through this drunk, too.
I’m not sure what to tell either of them. I’m still upset that my mother watched Pavone choke me without saying a single word, although I rationally know she couldn’t have stopped him. Every time I remember my fight with Vanessa, my stomach roils with anxiety and regret.
I’m sorryis on the tip of my tongue.
Not for our fight. I’m sorry that I probably ruined our chances of escape. The fight with Victor, Angelo, and Saint hasn’t left my mind, and I’m torn between hoping they’ll show up to murder Pavone anyway and praying that they get into a horrible car accident that takes them all out.
But there was no guarantee that their “help” would improve our situation. There would be no reason for any of them to honor their word. I know from experience how quick Victor is to bend things to his advantage. Maybe Saint would decide to share a few drinks with Vanessa. Maybe Angelo would enjoy chasing her through the gardens. Maybe Victor would love having a second woman to lick his boots.
I can’t risk it. I did the right thing in driving them away.
“You need to stand more in the center,” Vanessa says quietly. “Or it’ll look like you’re trying to escape into the pews.”
She looks over her shoulder, to where Pavone is chatting with Damien. The wedding planner is trying to get their attention and failing—I guess she doesn’t dare interrupt Pavone either.
“It won’t matter on the day,” my mother says. “You could walk drunk down the aisle and nobody will notice.”
Pavone would notice, and he’d be pissed. I’m not allowed to try to escape him, even for the oblivion of a drunken haze for just a little while. “No, Vanessa’s right,” I say, taking a step to the left. “It won’t matter for long, though.”
Vanessa nods. She’s quiet for a moment, and she looks as uncomfortable as I feel. “Lucia…”
“Don’t,” I quickly say, shaking my head. “I don’t want to talk about that.”
Hurt flickers across her expression. “I was going to apologize.”
I blink at her. “Why? You weren’t wrong.”
“I was being unfair,” she says. “I did some reading, and…”
But I don’t want to know what advice the internet gave her, so I shake my head. “Not now. Let’s just get this all over with.”
I step around her and wave at Pavone and Rossi. “I’m ready to start.”
I expected them to give the go-ahead immediately, or even yell at me for being slow, but Pavone’s expression darkens. “Well, where the fuck is he?” he asks Rossi.
Rossi looks down at his phone. “Stuck in traffic, apparently.”
“On a Saturday? In this dead town?” Pavone makes a frustrated noise. “Whatever, let’s get started.”
Miranda squeaks when Pavone glares at her, then nods quickly. “Of course! Starting now.” She gives the DJ the go ahead, and we all go to our positions as the music starts up.
It’s so easy that I’m not sure why we’re bothering with the rehearsal in the first place. Just walk down the aisle. My mother walks me, since my father… can’t.
The whole time, I half-expect gunfire to erupt, for Angelo to come in guns blazing with Victor and Saint there to support him. I don’t know what I’ll do if they show up, but at the same time… I don’t know what I’ll do if they don’t.
I don’t really pay attention to the words the priest says. A Catholic priest, of course, and I wonder what he thinks about officiating Pavone’s fourth wedding. But I suppose he wouldn’t dare deny a man like Pavone either.
“And after you’ve both repeated the vows,” the priest says, “you will be allowed to share your first kiss as husband and wife.”
“Maybe we should practice that bit, babe.” Pavone smirks and grabs my waist. “We wouldn’t want to screw it up at the wedding proper.”
The last thing I want to do is practice making out with Pavone, but he’s already pulling me closer. I’m bracing myself for his kiss when the door to the church opens and a man strolls through like he’s on a leisurely walk.
This has to be the man we’d been waiting on.
