Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 111537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
I look at her with tears in my eyes. My mother is dead, and it means so much to me to have a family on this special occasion. I never thought I would ever experience the bond of blood relatives again. Other than Brandon, I thought my family tree had been chopped down. But now, halfway around the world, I’ve found my tribe again. It’s amazing that even though I’ve just met these people, I feel comfortable around them. They’ve sworn to protect me, and that’s something I would never have asked them to do. They don’t care. I’m one of them, and that’s all that matters.
I take the hair clip gently. It’s polished and oiled so that even though it’s clearly very old, it hasn’t rusted. I wonder if my great-grandmother used it for her wedding. Daniela takes it from me, sets the box down, and deftly collects my hair behind my head. I feel the pinch as she fits the barrette in place. Next comes the bracelet, a delicate silver thing that fits my wrist perfectly.
“What’s this?” I ask, looking into the box to examine the photo.
“That’s her,” Daniela says, removing the photo so I can see better.
There’s a young woman eating an apple in the middle of a country road. The photo is blurred at the edges, proving just how old it is. The subject of the photo is gorgeous, with her eyes sparkling warmly from beneath dark brown lashes. Her hair is tied up in a messy bun, and the clothes she wears hide most of her figure. But the smooth curve of her chin and the impish way she holds the apple tells me a lot about her personality. I think we could have been good friends, if only she were still alive today.
“She’s beautiful,” I say reverently.
“And so are you,” Daniela responds.
There’s a knock on the door, and a teenage girl pokes her head in. She says something in Italian to Daniela, who nods.
“Five minutes,” Daniela translates.
I nod. I’m ready for this. I try to quell the rising storm threatening to overtake my stomach. This is worse than butterflies. It’s like a swarm of locusts. I press my eyes shut, willing myself to relax. It’s not a big deal. I’m just going to walk down the aisle and promise my entire life to a man I barely know. No sweat.
“Should we go?” Daniela asks.
I nod, too afraid to speak. This is it, the moment I’ve been waiting for my entire life. Though I wasn’t one to fantasize too much about my wedding, what girl doesn’t wonder when and how and who she’ll eventually tie the knot with? My knees feel weak, and it’s a struggle to remain upright. I force myself to put one foot in front of the other. This has to happen. I have to be brave and see it through. I can’t back out now because Brandon’s life is on the line.
Daniela walks me all the way to the chapel doors. She gives me a pat on the shoulder before slipping inside to take her place with the rest of the guests. I’m on my own with no one to walk me down the aisle.
I draw a deep breath. It’s game time. There’s no way out but through. I push my way inside and am shocked by the number of people in attendance. I thought this would be a small ceremony with only a handful of Carmine’s closest friends. But it looks like he invited the whole village.
I center my gaze on the altar. Francisco is standing there, and the moment our eyes meet, all my insecurities fly out the window. This is where I’m meant to be. His career path doesn’t matter, nor do my father’s crimes. There’s more to this marriage than a simple arrangement, and that’s obvious. He looks proud of me, and proud of himself for bringing me to this place. I give him a brave smile and begin my walk.
The organ begins playing by an older woman who is either a member of the church or a member of the family. Next to Francisco, there is a man who looks familiar. He’s obviously a relative, but someone I haven’t met before.
Carmine stands at the altar, dressed in a jet black business suit. He’s officiating the ceremony, but he’s not a priest. I put one foot in front of the other, concentrating on my walk. We haven’t practiced this. Unlike most weddings, there wasn’t a lot of fanfare beforehand. But I trust myself enough to move at the right pace, to keep my eyes focused ahead and to hold my bouquet in sweaty hands.
My heart is pounding by the time I cross the room. Francisco loops one hand beneath my elbow, steadying me. I give him a grateful nod before turning to my cousin.