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“She won’t be walking tomorrow if things go well,” Zia says slyly.
I will pretend I didn’t hear that.” Mama says visibly annoyed.
“Well, I still said it,” Zia says and pours herself another large glass of champagne.
The door opens, and the room becomes silent as papa walks in. “Are you ready?” he says in a low voice, and I nod.
“How do I look?” I say nervously. “Papa?” I say again, worried he is displeased, but he looks at me for a second before lifting my veil up and kissing me softly on the forehead.
A thousand words flow between us, but neither of us utters one. So many things are left unsaid, but today isn’t the right time. He puts the veil back over my face as we walk out of the room and head to the small corridor approaching the church entrance. I smile, watching the flower girls running ahead of me as they leave rose petals down the aisle. My heart is racing as I wait for the cue to start the procession. I can’t seem to think, feel, or even breathe and I pray that my legs don’t fail me as the organ starts. I hold on to papa’s arm tightly and begin to walk. My breath hitches as a thousand faces turn towards me as I glide down the aisle.
I can’t see Rocco, only a silhouette and two men standing on either side. The end of the aisle feels so far away but Rocco’s face slowly comes into focus and my heart clenches when his eyes meet mine. Papa stops as we approach the end of the aisle, and he kisses Rocco twice on each cheek before shaking hands. He whispers something I can’t decipher, and Rocco gives him a nod before casting his eyes back to me. Papa lifts my veil and kisses me on the cheek before going to sit down.
My eyes can finally settle on the wonderous Rocco De Luca as I feel a thousand and one butterflies take flight within my stomach. He reaches out to take my hand and gives me a small smile.Maybe he is just as nervous as I am. Can somebody as confident and charismatic as Rocco be nervous? He is always so nonchalant and assured that it is hard to imagine him being anything else.
Today he is dressed in charcoal gray with a silver tie that makes his own gray eyes and olive skin even more pronounced. I seem to be wholly consumed in Rocco, and when it’s time for the ring exchange, I almost feel like my legs are going to give out like jelly. I’m sure he feels the clamminess of my palm, but his expression doesn’t indicate it. As he is about to slip my ring on, I hear the sound of a large bang and jump in nervousness, but his hands help steady me.
“Just a car backfiring, relax,” he whispers down at me gently, giving my hand a squeeze.
In the name of God, I, Sophia Azzura Falcone, take you,Croccifixio LorenzoDe Luca, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death. This is my solemn vow.” I say, my voice coming out in an audible whisper as my shaky hand pushes the ring down on him. Rocco recites his own vows to me as we exchange rings.
“You may kiss the bride,” the priest says with a smile, closing the book.
In my worry about tonight, I forgot about the kiss. Should I move closer? Stay still? Bob and weave? I needn’t worry as he bends down and kisses me, with applause echoing around the church as he pulls me closer to him. Although the kiss is chaste it’s also firm and possessive, when his eyes meet mine, they tell me I belong to him.
“To love is to burn, to be on fire.”
—Jane Austen
WHEN I SEE SOPHIA WALKING DOWN THE AISLE, TIME SEEMS TO PAUSE STILL.
Despite my determination that this is just a contractual obligation, I can’t deny that she is a vision of beauty.
She walks gracefully down to the pew, escorted by Paolo and when she reaches me, Paolo gives me the obligatory bone-crushing handshake and reluctant blessing in Italian, before kissing both of my cheeks.
Insatiable hunger seems to erupt within me as Paolo lifts her veil up before standing aside. Her dress suits her perfectly, the cut complimenting her silhouette in all the right ways. The diamond tiara making her look like a real-life princess as she smiles demurely at me. Her eyes meet mine, and I can’t detect any falter in her demeanor, but when a car backfires outside, I feel fear flood her as she jumps up. When she smiles at me gratefully, I feel a wave of possession consume me. I can’t imagine standing here in front of Angela Rossi, and I was glad that her little indiscretion had brought Sophia here instead, even though her lover was now dead or worse.
I recite the vows without taking my eyes off her once, and when it was time for the kiss, I take control when I feel her waiver for a second in hesitation. It wouldn’t be a flashy Hollywood kiss. After all, we’re in a church. It wasn’t romantic; it was business but nevertheless the softness of her lips will be imprinted on my mind forever. Sophia Falcone is now a De Luca and she belongs to me. I intertwine my fingers with hers, and when I look down at her wrist, the tattoo has been covered with make-up, barely noticeable. I make a mental note to ensure she lasered it off as soon as possible.
Hours later, I am at the wedding party with Sophia sitting by my side at the top table. In all honesty, I much rather have skipped all this bullshit andspent some alone timewith my now wife, but tradition is tradition. Sophia’s mother has spent almost half a million of my money on this reception, so I guess I ought to enjoy it in some capacity. The room is decorated in opulent gold and lavender, and massive crystal chandeliers fill the room. Bottles of magnum champagne adorn each table, and the centerpieces comprised of rare purple orchids.
“Firstly, I would like to toast my brother.” I inwardly groan at the insipid speech that my almost sloshed sister is giving. “He is the kindest, most loyal person I have been blessed to have in my life, not just as a brother but as a friend. I hope you cherish him as much as I do,” she says, hiccupping as she sits down.
I raise my glass lazily to my sister, and Sophia does the same. When I put the glass down, I place my hand over hers as it is the only sign of affection, I can show her right now. The night seems to drag on as we make our way through the wedding courses. The wedding envelopes also appear to keep growing, with every envelope seemingly fuller than the last.
“You must be popular,” Sophia says, whistling low at the growing stack of envelopes.
“Or unpopular. Perhaps people don’t want to displease me.”
“What does it take to get into your bad books?”
“Disloyalty or just being a complete asshole.”
“I’ll try to bear that in mind.” She smiles.
“Rocco,” a familiar voice purrs from my left side. “I almost thought you forgot my invite.”
My head snaps back, and Keira Kavanagh stands in front of me.
