Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 144979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
It could have been Genevieve Wilkes standing here instead. She might not be Italian, but she’s perfect in every other way. There also would have been the added benefit of sticking it to Ares Stavros, since Genevieve’s family was supposed to strike a marriage deal with him.
As I revisit that part of our past, a heavy weight settles over me. I forgot how exhausting it was to be caught up in Angelo’s orbit. My younger self always felt like if I let my guard down for a moment, someone would try to take him from me. My mother told me repeatedly, as she tried to hide her tears, that men tire of their wives. She tried to normalize it, not to hurt me, but to prepare me for what would be my inevitable future.
With maturity, I’ve outgrown those beliefs, and I’ve come to realize nothing can truly be stolen from you. It can only be given freely by the man who took the vow to remain faithful in the first place. Temptation will always exist. But ultimately, I believe if a man can take an oath of loyalty to the Cosa Nostra and keep it, he should be able to keep his marriage vows too.
As I consider my future, it should bring me some semblance of peace that Angelo’s always been a man of his word. But I also know that his duty to fulfill the treaty will require him to break the vows he made today.
As if he can sense my turmoil, he turns to face me, eyes narrowing when he sees the expression on my face.
“Cheer up,” he says blandly. “It’s only a whole lifetime.”
My sister catches the tail-end of that remark and shoots me an apologetic glance as she interrupts us.
“The photographer’s ready for you.”
Angelo’s palm settles on the base of my neck, holding me hostage as he leans in. “Don’t forget to smile, Abella. This is the happiest day of your life.”
His words are meant to sting, and they do. He thinks I’m an actress. A liar. A cheater. I should be so lucky to have only cold indifference from him. But as it turns out, I do still have a heart, and he still has the power to wound me.
For the next thirty minutes, I pretend otherwise as the photographer directs us around the gardens, positioning us together in displays of forced intimacy. We hold hands. We kiss. He cradles my face in his palms during painfully long minutes of eye contact. And all the while, he remains unbothered by any of it, while I feel like I’m half-drunk and too hot.
When the photographer finally calls in the bridal party for some shots, I’m relieved to have backup…for all of two seconds.
“Well, that was fucking dramatic,” Mariella says, clearly referencing her brother’s return as she shoots him a look. “Nice to see you, Angelo. Like, seriously, what the—”
“We’ll discuss this later,” he cuts her off with a clipped tone, never taking his eyes from the camera.
“Oh my god,” Gabi whispers beside me as we pose. “Did that really just happen?”
“Abella, I don’t know how to tell you this, but all the reception decorations have been changed,” Valentina blurts.
“Please.” I press my fingers to my temples and groan. “Let’s just get through this.”
Angelo turns his icy gaze on me. “And here I thought you were so good at pretending.”
“That’s not—” He doesn’t care to hear my response because he tells the photographer it’s time to wrap this up.
She summons Angelo’s brothers and their nonna for a few shots before we do one huge group photo and call it good. I haven’t missed the fact that both my father and Matteo are absent, but nobody else seems bothered by it. After putting my foot in my mouth once already, I know now certainly isn’t the time to bring it up.
We all walk to the banquet hall together and pause just outside the door. My bridesmaids help me remove my veil while the men talk amongst themselves. Then, in keeping with tradition, Nonna holds open a big velvet box, revealing a diamond-studded tiara. It’s the heirloom Silvio presented to his wife, Rosa, when he made her his Vitale queen.
The significance of this gift weighs heavily on me, and it’s mirrored by the emotion in Nonna’s eyes. I’m all too aware how much she misses her son and daughter-in-law. Even in the best of circumstances, Rosa Vitale would be a tough act to follow. She was, in many ways, like a second mother to me when I was growing up. I still feel her loss deeply, but I know it’s not nearly as profound as they’ve all felt it.
“I’ll do my best to make them proud,” I whisper.
“It’s not often life gives you second chances.” Nonna pats my cheek. “Take care of each other, tesoro.”