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This would be our first opportunity to talk alone, I thought, but then Ma insisted on also traveling in the car with us. As Lorenzo drove us the very short distance to the Venetiville Country Club, Ma prattled on endlessly about how beautiful the service had been, not letting anyone else get a word in.
We reached the clubhouse, and as we walked inside, Lorenzo gave what sounded like a sigh of relief. “Thank God it’s not Mexican-themed and there’s not a fucking sombrero in sight.”
Ma shot him a dirty look.
Jesus, he could be a real Prince Charmless.
We made our way to the head table, where we were seated with our closest family members. Lorenzo’s mother, Cosima, was there, looking after the children.
Cosima got up as we approached, leading the children over by their hands. When they got nearer, Clara ran over to her father and Clemente followed her.
This was the first time that I was meeting the children. Although I’d been told that they had seen a photograph of me, Lorenzo had not brought them to the engagement party, thinking that it might have been too much, too soon. And, of course, my papà wouldn’t let me go anywhere near Chicago until I was married.
“Clara, Clemente,” Lorenzo said softly, “this is Annunciata.”
“But you can call me Anni,” I added quickly. Despite my long dress, I carefully crouched down to the height of the children. “Annunciata is such a long name to say, and most people call me Anni anyway.”
Clara clung to her father’s leg and used it to hide behind, peeking from behind it to get a glimpse of me. Even though she seemed to want to look at me, she only gazed at me briefly from the corner of her big, brown eyes—eyes that were the same color as her father’s. She tightened her grip on Lorenzo’s leg but said nothing.
“Say hello to your new mommy,” Cosima said. I saw Lorenzo wince as he heard her refer to me as their new mom.
Clara remained silent while Clemente chuckled and shouted, “Car! Vroom, vroom!” He pointed to a car outside the window. I could tell that Clemente didn’t really understand who I was.
Probably realizing that this was the best reaction we could expect from the children for now, Lorenzo gestured toward the table. “Why don’t we all sit down?” he suggested in an attempt to ease the awkwardness.
Lorenzo gently removed Clara’s hands from his legs and lifted her into a seat next to him, while I sat on his other side.
Soon after we sat, waiters arrived to serve champagne, along with antipasti consisting of a charcuterie board with Italian meats, cheeses, and breads. This was followed by the first course of seafood risotto. Each course was accompanied by fine wines and more champagne.
Cosima put food on the plates for the children, and Lorenzo encouraged them to eat, although they appeared to me to be a little overwhelmed by the occasion.
All too soon, it was time for the first dance, and as Lorenzo led me by my hand to the dancefloor, I thought to myself that this was the first opportunity I’d had today to talk to him without any of our family members around.
As the music started and he took me in his arms, his touch feeling too hot and my heart drumming too fast. He looked down at me. “You looked beautiful today, Anni.”
“Thank you,” I croaked out, slightly surprised to receive a compliment from him. Arranged marriages, by their very nature, were not a romantic scenario, particularly in the Mafia world.
The string quartet from the church was now accompanied by a pianist and was playing Hoppípolla by Sigur Rós. Fidella had chosen the music, saying that it was suitable for the occasion of our first dance as a married couple.
“You left your hair down,” he remarked, raking his rich brown eyes slowly from my lips upward.
“To remind you that I haven’t gotten, nor will I ever be getting, hair extensions.” My voice was soft and without aggression as I let my body sink into his hold. His aura was intoxicating, his scent suffused with masculinity and power. The music was beautiful and uplifting…and it was hopeful. It made me think that things were maybe going to turn out okay.
One side of his lips quirked upward. “Your short hair is actually quite sexy.” His words made my cheeks flush and my breasts heavy.
“Everything has gone well today.” I spoke quickly, deliberately changing the subject. “Though the children have been rather quiet,” I observed.
“It’s a big change for them obviously,” he said stiffly, “and it will take them a little while to adjust.”
We remained silent for the rest of the dance, the flash of intimacy from a few moments ago disappearing as our conversation turned to the children.
I didn’t find Lorenzo the easiest person to talk to—we hadn’t exactly gotten off on the right foot. Added to this, I felt uncomfortable, sensing that everyone in the room was watching me, their eyes burning into me. Not only were they watching our first dance, but they were probably also gossiping about what would happen tonight: I would be expected to bleed on my wedding night and, even worse, produce the bedsheets for everyone to see the following morning.
I knew that in line with the Sicilian tradition ofcunzata del letto, the bed would have been prepared with the ‘virgin sheet’. The virgin sheet could not be touched by married women; instead, just before the wedding, four unmarried girls would make up the bed with pure white, hand-embroidered sheets. They would also sprinkle rice between the sheets as good luck for the new bride’s fertility. I had been assigned this task a couple of times in the past for the weddings of relatives, undertaking it with my young female cousins among many giggles and blushes.
Tradition further dictated that on the morning after the wedding, the husband would hang the virgin sheet out on a balcony. This was insisted upon by the families to prove that the bride had been a virgin on her wedding night and that the marriage had been consummated.
If the marriage wasn’t consummated, then it could be annulled. And an annulment would be a disaster, given that the marriage was a strategic business arrangement between the two families.
