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On one side, where the bride’s family normally sits, there’s a dark-haired woman dressed and groomed beautifully, immaculate from head to toe. Is she supposed to be my mother? Something about the sight of her is enough to make me want to weep more than ever before. Both sides are pulling out all the stops to make this look legitimate. I wonder what my so-called father did to convince his wife to sit there like that and live out this lie.
Is Enzo going to have to talk me into something like this one day? Does she ever get to make her own choices? She won’t look at me, staring at her folded hands once she stands at the minister’s instruction.
On the other side, there’s a man dressed in black, who I vaguely recognize as one of Enzo’s grandfather’s guards. I remember him from that uncomfortable conversation in the kitchen, all of which he witnessed. He’s sitting directly in front of where good old Grandad is standing behind Enzo like he has to be close to his boss at all times.
We come to a stop at the end of the aisle, and the evil man at my side tucks my hand around his elbow. “Here we go. You’ll wish you had come clean with me by the time this is over.”
I wish the man would understand that I was already coming clean. What is it with these guys? Why do they find it impossible to listen to the truth? I guess it’s because the truth isn’t what they want to hear, not really. It doesn’t align with their purposes, so they want to ignore it like they can twist things however they want them.
Shit. This is happening. There’s no stopping it. My whole life flashes before my eyes while I weigh my options and find, once again, that there are none. Either Alvarez tells the truth when we reach the altar, and I have no doubt Enzo would put a bullet in my head in front of the minister and everybody in attendance.
Or he’ll go along with it, and I’m screwed anyway. Tied in marriage to a man I don’t really know and will never understand. No matter how I look at it, this is a shit sandwich. There’s no prettying it up.
Then Enzo smiles at me from where he’s waiting in front of the makeshift altar, and a very tiny part of me responds warmly, happily. It’s like he almost wants to be here, like he almost wants it to be me walking down the aisle. It’s so unfair. I can’t even completely dread saying my vows because something tells me that if we were left alone to live our lives in peace and privacy, we might actually end up being happy together. Without all these other influences and his grandfather in his ear all the time. Without him feeling like he has to show off or do the whole performative alpha male thing. If given the chance, I might actually end up liking him. Even loving him.
But there won’t be any such chance because that’s not the way life goes. At least not my life.
I draw a deep breath that does nothing to calm my nerves.
Time to get this over with.
28
ENZO
My god, she’s exquisite, floating down the aisle on her father’s arm. From the corner of my eye, I see him smiling from ear to ear, teeth gleaming in the sunlight, but the bulk of my attention is focused on his daughter.
I don’t care if it makes me look weak or besotted. I can’t take my eyes off her, drinking in every detail of the way her body looks in that dress and how she seems to float in it. I wonder how quickly we can get this whole ceremony over with. I would much rather have a repeat of our time in the dressing room, only this time, I won’t stop at eating her out. We’re far past that point now.
She barely meets my gaze, for the most part, staring straight ahead. Her eyes brush over her mother, but they dart away before she makes any meaningful eye contact. No doubt she feels just as betrayed by her as she does by her father, whose chest is puffed out so far I’m surprised his jacket can stay buttoned. I can’t imagine the sort of pain it must cause both women, knowing they have no control over anything happening today. Does Mrs. Alvarez see herself in her daughter? Does Elena see her future in her quiet, empty mother?
We can create our own future, can’t we? It doesn’t have to be that way for us. Why didn’t I tell her that upstairs? I should have. I should have told her we can make this work somehow together. That even though neither of us chose this, we can choose a future of our own. We can break the cycle and set our own path. It doesn’t have to be hopeless.
I’ll have to wait to tell her all of that after the ceremony. I wish I could have given her that bit of extra encouragement beforehand.
When they reach me, Josef turns to his daughter and gives her a big, smacking kiss on the cheek. She recoils from him, and all I want is to take hold of her and tell her she never has to see him again if she doesn’t want to. That I understand if she hates him. Starting today, we’re going to make things right.
When I make a move toward her, prepared to get between them, she gives me a wide-eyed look and takes hold of my arm. Silently, she turns me toward the minister and stands beside me, her chin lifted, her eyes staring straight ahead. She’s in a hurry to get this over with. I imagined she would cry, perhaps beg one last time to stop this. Now, it almost seems like she’s eager. I can only imagine her father reminded her of all the reasons this is necessary—and I don’t want to think about what he might have threatened her with up there when they were alone. I might have to kill him.
I understand why she would recoil from him when I look at it that way. He’s acting like this is all a big show, like something about all of this is amusing, while I have no doubt he threatened her with no less than murder if she doesn’t go through with this charade.
He backs away, standing beside his wife, and I turn my attention away from them and focus on Elena again. A light breeze teases strands from her elaborate hairstyle, framing her face. A face that is now a stony mask, the expression of someone who knows what must be done no matter how she feels about it. I should have said something more to her. I should have given her something to hold on to while she was no doubt being threatened by Josef. I’m going to find a way to make this up to her. I have to. I don’t know that I’ll be able to live with myself if I don’t.
“Dearly beloved,” the minister begins, an older man who smiles at both of us in a gentle, understanding sort of way. “We are gathered together to celebrate the union of these two souls. If there is anyone in attendance who believes they should not be united in marriage, let them speak now.”
When Grandfather chuckles at my right hand, I turn to him in surprise. “We’re past that point.”
Elena’s sharp intake of breath tells me she doesn’t appreciate the joke.
“Very well.” Still, the minister looks back and forth between her and me, almost as if he’s expecting one of us to protest. When neither of us does, he nods.
It’s the strangest feeling, this sense of both being in a dream and in reality. I understand now when she described an out-of-control train she knows is going to derail. I can relate, too. Even if I refused right now, the outcome would be violent. Even tragic. It would mean a declaration of war between the families, and how many lives would be lost as a result of that? How many of our people and theirs would be sacrificed? It brings to mind Grandfather’s description of gritting his teeth and shaking his fist at God.
I want to do that right now, but it wouldn’t make a difference. None of it would. I would still end up destroying my family. When I think about it that way, it seems only natural and wise to go along with this. It’s the responsible thing to do, no matter how much I hate knowing what this is doing to her.
I find her hand close to mine and catch her fingers, giving them the briefest, slightest bit of pressure.I’m here. I’m here with you. We’re in this together. I’m sorry for all of this. Sorry I ever took you. Sorry I hurt you, and sorry I’m hurting you now. I’ll find some way to make this up to you. I will take away the pain and rage and helplessness you feel right now and replace it with something better.Even if I was allowed to speak to her freely, I know the words would stick in my throat. I’ve never felt this useless.
“Will the two of you please turn to face each other?” We do as the minister instructs, then join our hands. Hers tremble, and I hold them tight, hoping against hope that some of my strength can go to her. She’s staring at my chin, refusing to meet my gaze. There’s no light in her eyes, either. The man needs to get through this ceremony fast because I’m not sure how much more I can take of watching her die a little bit with every passing moment.
