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After what we paid him to officiate our wedding today, he better be willing to stand up here and wait all night if that’s what I want.
Tia turns to pass her bouquet to the younger teenage girl behind her—Tia’s sister, by the looks of it, as the resemblance is uncanny. Then my bride turns back to face me, her composure unshakable as she prepares to marry me.
“I swear I didn’t forget,” I tease, trying to break the tense moment.
“My mother was starting to worry you got cold feet,” Tia jokes.
“But you weren’t?” I challenge, quirking an eyebrow as I unleash a cocky smile.
Rather than answer, Tia shifts her gaze from my face down to the collar of my shirt. Wordlessly, she reaches inside the breast of her white dress and pulls out a tissue. The material still feels warm as it brushes against my throat, her fingers working swiftly to clean up what I can only imagine is some gory remnant of my morning.
My lungs freeze at the lightness of her touch, the unexpected poise with which she handles me. I’m being an ass. I know it. And still, she’s the one unsettling me.
I catch a glimpse of the crimson-stained tissue before she tucks it away inside her dress once more. And my jaw nearly hits the floor. How is she this nonchalant? It doesn’t make sense to me.
Then she turns to look at the priest, offering me a perfect view of her elegant profile. “We’re ready,” she confirms with a gentle smile.
A moment later, Tia turns to face me. And for an instant, I’m lost in the dark depths of her rich brown eyes, unable to see my way free of their inexplicable power.
Then, the ceremony begins.
10
TIA
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate the union of two great families, the Guerras and the Morettis, as we sanctify the marriage of Tia and Leonardo before God. Thank you all for witnessing such a joyous occasion. Please be seated.”
Joyous occasion, my ass. As the congregation settles into their seats with a chorus of rustling and wooden creaks, I’m an utter wreck inside. Ripples of hot and cold anxiety flash through my body like a faucet in the hands of a four-year-old—scalding one second and ice-cold the next.
I can scarcely breathe, my vision slightly hazy before me, and I couldn’t say whether the corset of my wedding dress has anything to do with that or just the fact that I’m about to become the bride of Leonardo Moretti.
My heart is pounding so desperately against my ribcage, I’m certain Leo and the priest can hear it at the very least. The humiliation of being made to wait, paired with the blatant violence Leo must have been a part of before coming to our wedding, doesn’t even begin to describe the reasons for my tumultuous feelings.
My entire life feels like a cruel joke to be standing here like this, willingly handing over my freedom to a monster.
On the inside, I feel as though I’m screaming bloody murder. But on the outside, I keep my face a mask of serenity. Because I refuse to let Leo see how he affects me.
It gave me great pleasure to see the stunned and slightly baffled expression on his face when I managed to keep my cool through his grand entrance. In truth, I barely held it together, forced to stand at the altar and wait like I’m the one who wants this. Then to realize that he was probably late due to losing track of the time while he enjoyed inflicting horrible pain—or death—upon some poor, unfortunate soul. God only knows why.
I know it would have pleased him to see me lose it.
So I won’t.
The priest delivers a long, verbose speech about the sanctity of marriage, the oaths we give as man and wife, and the importance of keeping those promises—the promise of honesty, fidelity, and loyalty.
It takes every ounce of my self-discipline not to snort derisively. Because I have no intention of keeping any of them—and Leo broke every one of those vows the night we met.
We can’t possibly uphold the “sanctity of marriage.” Not to each other.
This wedding is a farce. But there’s no turning back now.
I study Leo’s features as the priest continues on to talk about how marriage is a gift from God—that as Leo’s wife, I will have the duty to honor and serve him, to bear his children. A slow smile curves one side of Leo’s lips as his hazel eyes search mine.
And I wonder, does he smile because he thinks that’s what I’m signing up for? To be subservient? Submissive? Meak? I’ll do what’s necessary to lull him into a false sense of security. But he’ll come to rue the day he ever mistook me for weak.
My caustic thoughts are all that get me through the agonizingly long Catholic ceremony without collapsing. And thankfully, I don’t have much part to play. And I wonder how many women have had to endure this same torture for the Church to realize it’s best if we don’t have to speak.
Finally, we come to the moment I’ve truly been dreading.
