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“I am not running away, Ella.” She laughs and nudges me in the ribs. I pretend to be hurt and hurry out of the room to avoid her mother’s scrutiny.
My escape into the hallway of the hotel room leads me to the lobby, where the other bridesmaids are reuniting with the groomsmen. I search the crowd before seeing him through the glass doors. Antonio Deluca stands with his back to me, but when his hands feel his cuffs, I know without a doubt that it’s him. My stomach tightens, and my belly flutters. He rocks on his feet and swings his head to the left and then to the right. Perhaps he is looking for me.
Then he moves aside to reveal that he is not alone. A dark-haired lady is standing dangerously close to him. She smiles and brushes his chest. She smirks, and I wish to slap that smirk right off her lips. Anger, regret and guilt consume me instantly for even thinking Antonio and I could be more than a weekend getaway.
Antonio takes a step forward and says something only she can hear. Frown lines crease her forehead. This deepened my interest, and I released my knuckles. Whoever she is, she isn't delighted to be in his company. She glares at him before strutting off into a limousine. She leaves behind an air of scorn as the limousine fleets down the sand-covered path. I am utterly transfixed by the scene that just played out. When I look toward the fountain, I find Antonio on a phone call. He doesn’t appear happy and I feel it best to stay away. Whatever that lady wanted with him, he did not find pleasing.
I am beginning to have second thoughts about my plans with this man. My feet lead me back into the hotel, where I pretend to be unbothered by the scene I just witnessed.
***
It's not your typical Italian wedding full of noise, merry, and loud music that has the drunken assholes dancing around the altar. Maria Parisi and my father plague my night. It was bad enough that Maria had left the hotel the way she did. Only to return later with my father to convince me of a life I did not desire.
I can see them hovering around like vultures ready to feed off my flesh. They are not here for negotiations. Maria prides herself as my fiancée, trying to loop her arm in mine at any opportunity. As for my father, he does not wish to let me off the hook that easily. He never accepts a “no.” It is obvious that he is not here for the wedding. Only for me. Time flies, but somethings never change. My father is a tall man with the strength of ten men who likes to walk around like a peacock and is stubborn as hell. We all know the anthem down here in Italy, ‘Deluca always gets what he wants,’ constitutes the last line.
Now he is shaking hands and sucking up to Lorenzo, Lorenzo is a loud tycoon since my childhood and the sole owner of a wine factory just a few kilometers away from ours. These two men refuse to let me, and all of Italy for that matter, know that I am betrothed to his daughter and that they will be damned if don’t agree to the wedding arrangements.
When I notice my father walking toward me, I mix with the crowd and dash closer to where the doors have been left open to invite fresh air in. I must commend the wedding coordinator later for putting everything in place. He must have prescribed a thousand antidotes to any problem that may arise as the ceremony progressed. Many people in the crowd recognize me and give a greeting, while some stare in interest- standing on the verge of letting their curiosity lead them to gossip. After my boring admiration for the decorations and the crowd, I cast my eyes upon the couple for whom we are all gathered. Sergio is all smiles and chatter. He finds me looking their way and waves a hand to me. Grace gaze follows his hands and glances at my partner, Ella.
She is the best form of distraction I must face tonight.
Father and Maria Parisi have excelled in making my life here in Tuscany a living hell, but Ella Miller is the definition of making hell a nice place to live in. She tempts me still in that silk dress. This time, it is blue, and does an excellent job of exposing her toned legs as she strides around the reception hall. She is hardly able to stay in a spot. She sits at the same round table as the bride and the groom, but occasionally escapes my view and irritates my jaw.
That is something I don’t enjoy. I hate to search for my prey. I stay in my nest, cautious of every familiar face in the hall. When it gets to the bridal dance, I finally sit beside Sergio, and he slides me a drink. “Finally, my friend. You have decided to join in on the fun. Drink as much as you want, and we can both find our way home!” He says above the loud band playing in the hall.
“You are a married man now, Sergio. No one needs to carry you home tonight. Don’t shame all of Tuscany!” He doesn’t hear my response because he is distracted by the couple singing on stage and throwing flowers all over the floors. This does not surprise me. Italian weddings are characterized by loud music and so much dancing. After what seemed like a lifetime of responding to Sergio’s drunken state and ensuring that Grace didn't lose her calm over it, I finally see Miss Ella Miller walking to the table where I was sitting. I cross one leg over the other, support my elbow on the armchair, tilt my head to the side and watch her approach with my fingers tapping my chin.
I smirk and she smiles back. She doesn’t stop walking until she moves past me, stops beside me, taps my shoulder, and crouches close to my ears. “Hello, partner,” She dips her hands down my jacket and fiddles with my tie before heading into the crowd again. Adjusting myself in my seat, I begin to count the seconds before I rise and go after her. Still, the moment my feet meet the ground, and I stand, I notice father walking toward me with mother by his side and Maria Parisi in all her glory joining the train.
“Antonio, I am sorry, my friend. He asked and I couldn’t say no to Mr. Deluca.” With guilt ridden all over his features Sergio pleads for forgiveness.
“Shit,” I mutter when mother calls my name in her sing-song voice. “Antonio! Come here, son.”
***
I have so much anxiety I can't deny. At the top of that list is the fact that I am disgusted and embarrassed of my family’s countenance in public. My father walks and talks like a proud man, but the moment he finds a potential buyer for his products or a man who could succeed in his business more than he has, pride becomes a thing of the past. He gets down on all fours and is ready to crawl, in order to get a partnership. No self-respecting person would like themselves to do something like that. But my father did.
It was twenty years ago. On a day when the golden sun blessed the farms with its rays, and the fields were green and full of juicy ripe grapes all calling to my little hands. My father had forgotten to send me with a hat to shield me from the sun that day. So, when I heard him calling out from a distance to me I had to squint as I tried to understand what he needed of me. When he was close enough, I found that he was not alone. There was a shy girl behind him. She was a beauty with fair skin and freckles across her face.
“Come, Antonio. You have a new friend,” he said, while pulling and dragging my arms towards this girl. I wrenched free of his hold and kept my distance. She may be a beauty, but I wanted nothing to do with her. Father is not a patient man. He loves to be in control of his family. He calls me closer. “Don’t be scared, my boy. She will be your wife someday.” He laughs.
Back then I could have blamed it on the fact that I was afraid of women, and I was not getting any closer to Maria. She smelled like roses and oil while I stunk of sweat and grass. “I do not need a wife,” I said to him before disappearing into the vines. Anger seethed through him as he yelled my name. That day wasn't the last time I would see the likes of Maria Parisi. She visited our home countless times, always smelling of flowersand oil. When I grew old enough and brave enough, I confronted father and forbade him to ever bring her before me. It didn't go as smoothly as planned. The rules were the rules. Either I accepted her, or I left his home to build my life from scratch. Obviously, I chose the latter.
Now, here we are once again, repeating the past with only us to tell the tale. No one truly understood what happened or why I left Italy, except Sergio. I am sure they all assume that the only son and heir to the Deluca family’s wealth has returned to continue his father’s business and build a new empire in Tuscany.
“Hello, mother. It's nice to see you are having a pleasant evening.” I turn to my father and give him a cold hard stare. He has aged well, still as handsome as ever. I wouldn't blame my mum for clinging to him.
“Antonio, I have been searching for you. You were wonderful in the church. I wish to see you accept a woman at the altar, too, someday. I am not getting any younger. The grandkids must come.”
“Ah, yes. The little boys would run around the farm and pick up the good harvest for their grandfather.”
My mother cackles and adds, “or daughters too,” she adds with less confidence. She fiddles with the edges of her dress. She is still his dog. She has never been one to speak for herself since I grew my first tooth.
“We would have had more boys, Bianca.” My father reminds her, and she stiffens.
“Of course. The boys are always better at running the hilly paths than the girls,” she chirps. She is terrible at making jokes and quiets herself instantly if she feels rebuked by my father.My stare returns to her and she clears her throat, patting her bunched-up hair, trying to look anywhere but my face.
“Hello, Antonio,” Maria speaks. She moves closer to me. “It's good to see you again. The dinner was wonderful, but it's even more exciting to be a guest at your best friend’s wedding.” She sounds mechanical. This is one of the reasons why I never really liked her. She is always conforming to the rules of others, like she can’t think for herself. Despite this flaw of hers, it’s hard to deny that her beauty has grown with her. She is a dark, lovely woman with a slender form. She has the same elegance as Grace but doesn't bat her lashes or look down when a man addresses her. She is so different Ella, the woman who captivated almost all my thoughts.
