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A really old looking man.
At minimum, Salvatore Fontana is in his sixties, but given how many wrinkled he has, he could easily be in his seventies. Sunspots cover his hands and neck, and he’s balding at the top, with white hair circling his head.
This has to be joke.
There’s no way Antonio is marrying me to a man older than dad was when he passed away.
Even Mom looks surprised. “Salvatore Fontana?” she asks, standing up.
“The one and only,” he replies, giving a little bow. I almost want to laugh, but the stern way Antonio is looking at me keeps me quiet.
“Right,” Mom says, shaking his hand.
Salvatore sets his eyes on me. His eyes are rimmed with red, making him look that much older. “Cecilia, I presume?” He holds out one wrinkled, spotted hand.
I gulp. I can’t move. I can’t do anything. This has to be an elaborate, practical joke from Antonio. There’s no other explanation.
But when Antonio sternly says, “Cecilia,” I know he means business.
I force myself to shake Salvatore’s hand. It’s clammy. I let go as soon as it’s appropriate without being rude. My eyes find Theo’s over Salvatore’s head, and his frown makes me happy. At least Theo doesn’t like this either, though I’m not sure why. Maybe he just doesn’t like an old man like Salvatore preying on a younger woman like me.
Or maybe …
No. I can’t even consider Theo could like me. That’s not possible.
Antonio motions for Salvatore to sit down, and when the old man does, he groans like he might have a heart attack at anysecond. I know it’s incredibly petty, but the thought of him dying makes me relieved. If he’s dead, I won’t have to marry him.
Salvatore takes the spot on the couch next to me. I scoot over to make room, but he just scoots closer. Mom, on my other side, is getting wedged into the side of the couch.
“Could you move over?” she asks kindly to Salvatore.
“Oh.” He nods and gives me more room.
Mom and I share a look. At least she has my back.
Antonio sits down in a chair, acting like he’s the head of the household. But he can’t be. Not when he doesn’t live here and barely visits except for family dinner nights. Mom is the head of the household and should be given that respect.
“I wanted you two to meet,” Antonio says, not meeting my eyes. He knows he lied to me. Well, not exactly lied, but he kept the truth from me. He never told me Salvatore would be so old. He knew if he told me, I’d never have showed up for the meeting.
“I’m glad,” Salvatore says. “Such a young, pretty thing.”
I tense when I smell his breath. It’s like musty old candies. I’m expected to marry this man and make babies with him? I’d honestly rather die.
“Cecilia, say something,” Antonio says.
“What?” I ask.
The tension in the room is almost suffocating. Good. Then I might die and not have to go through with this wedding.
Antonio sighs, shifting in his seat. His displeasure at this moment makes me want to cry. How can he do this to me? All because he’s worried about his reputation with his men? Because he wants to expand?
“Talk to Salvatore,” Antonio encourages.
I force myself to turn slightly toward the old man. “Uh …”
“I know you probably didn’t expect to marry a man like me,” Salvatore says.
He’s right about that.
