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I nodded. "He's always been an asshole."
"That's why you left, right?"
"He was already trying to marry me off to some guy who would have given him a financial advantage at the time."
"Well, he won't see anything of the family fortune."
I snorted. "You guys have got it completely upside down for this wedding."
It was just a joke, and yet Vincenzo looked at me seriously. "This didn't cost even a fraction of what we have."
"Of course," I said, laughing nervously. I was good with numbers. And at imagining things. Even in more abstract patterns of thought. But the de Archards' fortune puzzled me. I just couldn't imagine how much they had.
Vincenzo finally let go of my long hair and focused on a dark spot on the white fabric. He obviously hadn't seen my father kick me – but now he could guess, and the dark clouds that flitted across his face told me a lot about him as a person. At least, that's what I wanted to believe, much more than that he was faking it to gain my trust.
"Who planned the wedding?" I asked to break the uncomfortable silence.
"My sister," he grumbled. "And she really went all out, you have to admit?"
"Would you have planned it differently?"
"Not at all, if it were actually up to me."
"But then why are you still here? You, of all people, should be in a position to do what you want."
"I'll keep my word. Besides, the alternative… wasn't quite as nice."
Was that a compliment? Or a simple comparison to my father's threat?
"I will not get on your nerves or anything. I will make myself invisible if you want. No problem at all. We don't even have to see each other regularly. Allow me to live somewhere else, and you'll never hear anything from me. No demands, not even for money or anything. I won't get on your nerves. I promise."
He smirked. "I know you'll behave and not be a burden to me. But that's a subject we should discuss once we're in private." Meaningfully, he glanced over his shoulder at the ajar door.
Of course.
A few minutes later, Vincenzo removed the stain from my dress. Nothing indicated that my father had just been violent.
"Is Emilio walking me down the aisle?" I asked because I had no idea what else to say.
Amused, he raised his eyebrows. "Of course not."
"Who then?"
"Me."
3
Vincenzo
It bordered on a miracle that I managed to control myself. The sight of Amedea lying on the floor, her father bent over her with his hand raised… it was one of those sights I couldn't unsee. The sight made the fuses in my brain blow and see red.
And that was certainly not because of my bride, but solely because I had enough experience with this kind of violence to say: men like Taddeo Santoro deserved a cruel, slow death that would show them all the wrong they had done.
As a distraction, I somehow managed to build a bridge with my future wife, even though it was extremely shaky, and Amedea didn't seem to care much about getting to know me.
It didn't bother me, on the contrary, it came in handy, but I was surprised. There were ladies out there who would have torn off a leg to get a chance like this. Amedea had been dealing with the family for years, so if there was one thing she should know, it was that she shouldn't expect any danger from us.
I wondered if she had gotten a chance to speak to anyone outside her father's household in the last few days. Emilio, for example, would have loved to explain my plan to her. From what I had seen from her so far, that had probably not been the case.
