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It’s my personal maid, my maid of honor.
And she’s wide-eyed and hysterical.
Frowning, I pull the door wide open and look out past the upset woman. I see through the anteroom into the garden and notice all the guests shifting uneasily in their seats, casting pitying glances in my direction as the priest fidgets up front, his face whiter than the Holy Spirit.
Because there’s no groom waiting at the altar.
“What . . . what’s happening?” My heart hammers, my breath catches. Streaks of hope are quickly cut to shreds by the sharp splinters of dread when I realize I’ve been stood up at the altar and immediately understand this was always the plan, always the play, always the move.
To publicly humiliate me.
Humiliate the Family.
Either permanently make us look like losers.
Or provoke Father into starting a war he can’t win.
“Keep her in there,” comes Carlo Giani’s voice from the door, speaking to the maids and my bodyguards. He’s striding towards the main house, where I already see Father going up the front steps followed by a throng of bodyguards, his face dark with rage but also peaked with a strange look of confusion, like maybe there’s something more going on, something darker, more dangerous.
Is this fate turning in our direction, I wonder as I slam the door shut and retreat to my white velvet bridal sofa. Destiny rearranging events just like I’ve prayed for every night for twenty-one days?
The flame of humiliation burns in me now as it sinks in, but so does a flicker of hope as I wonder what’s happened, wonder what’s happening, wonder what comes next.
12
ZEDD
The next turn almost kills me as my truck screeches around the corner way too fast. I’d made it back over the estate walls to my truck hidden in the woods, every ounce of willpower focused on taking the next step away from this wedding, far enough away that I couldn’t change my mind and thunder back with the suicidal-homicidal rage that Amelia just barely managed to stifle by going on her knees and bringing me to my damn knees.
I turn the wheel and just barely manage to bring the truck under control, but there’s an awful buzzing in my head and I shout out loud and try to shake it off.
Then I realize the buzzing is my phone on the seat beside me.
“What the fuck?” It’s Anthony Volini’s private number. Why the hell would the boss be calling me now? He should be walking Amelia down the aisle. Did something happen?
The truck swerves again as I grab the phone and swipe to answer.
It’s Carlo Giani.
“Boss wants you at the mansion now. Right fucking now.”
Carlo hangs up without waiting for a reply. It’s an order, not a request.
I slam on the brakes, turning the wheel hard, almost flipping my truck over in my desperation. My heart hammers so loud I can’t even think. I’m speeding dangerously fast, but I can’t slow down or else the paranoia about what’s happened will kill me.
Did Amelia do something to herself, comes the dreadful sinking thought.
But I pull myself back from that dark place when I remember that Amelia is the one who saved us both when I was out of my mind with jealous rage, about to do something that would have gotten me killed and destroyed Amelia’s life.
She’s too strong to give up hope.
She believes in our love too much to lose faith in our chance at forever.
The gates of the Volini Estate pop into view. They’re wide open, cars streaming out in a long line of Jaguars and Bentleys. Rolls-Royces and Maseratis. The wedding can’t possibly be over. Oh, God, please . . .
My heart hammers as I rip into the empty parking lot and screech to a halt just before driving into the duck pond.
Then I see the garden cottage with Amelia’s bridal room is surrounded by guards.
