“What about it? I don’t have a choice.”
“I know, but it’s so messed up that you have to go along with this. What if you said no? I mean, Giovanni would be mad, but it’s not like he can make you marry him. Father Michaels wouldn’t pronounce you husband and wife if you don’t say ‘I do.’”
Father Michaels
is the priest who officiates most of the family’s ceremonies. He has a larger church in Vegas proper, but for a private family affair like this one, he’ll use the chapel that’s on the property. He baptized me and gave me my first communion. I never had much love for the man or the hypocrisy of strict religious rules in a family of monsters, but he had to be past eighty-five.
Last night I held Giovanni’s body while he shot a man in cold blood, felt the complete lack of reaction. He’s capable of anything.
“No. I’m not going to risk anything happening at the wedding. If I was going to put up a fight, I’d do it here, in this room…” I look over at the dress. Fairy tale. “But I don’t really see the point in that either. He’ll get what he wants either way.”
Her eyes are troubled. “I feel bad I can’t do more.”
“You’ve already done plenty.” The phone call is a huge weight off my mind. I know that Kip will keep Honor safe once he understands the nature of the threat. Not some random psycho on campus but a targeted kidnapping connected to our past.
For that matter Honor has done plenty too. She protected me the best that she could, and in my own way, I protected her back. There were things she didn’t need to know, things that would only have endangered her. Things my father did. And now this.
It seems that my father and Giovanni are alike after all.
* * *
Juliette walks with me from the mansion, helping me keep the hem of the gorgeous dress off the dirt path. I’m not sure why it matters, but that’s how the family operates—propriety first, consent second. The blue compact is tucked into my garter belt, snug and secure. I figure it counts for both borrowed and blue. The dress and everything else are new. I don’t have anything exactly old, but three out of four isn’t bad.
We’re escorted by Romero, who spends most of the walk pretending not to look at Juliette. He waits outside as we go in.
I expected the crowd to be small. What I didn’t expected was to see only three people in the chapel. Giovanni stands halfway down the aisle, still and almost contemplative. Behind him I can see Father Michaels between the pews. Beside him stands a man I vaguely recognize as Lorenzo, Giovanni’s cousin. I remember that they were close even though Lorenzo’s parents weren’t officially in the life.
Giovanni comes down the aisle to meet me. “You look beautiful,” he says soberly.
I nod my thanks. “So do you.”
His lips quirk. “I know this isn’t what you dreamed of.”
This isn’t what any woman would dream of. No matter how beautiful the chapel or the dress or even the man himself, the wedding feels cold. “Is that your way of letting me off the hook?”
He shakes his head slowly. “I didn’t dream of this at all, bella. It presumed too much, more than I deserved. But now that I have you, I can’t let you go.”
His words move me more than they should. In the clear light of day, in this dress, with this man in front of me, I want more than anything to forgive and forget. To give us a real marriage, no matter how it started. But I can still see the mottled flesh of that man’s knees, still smell blood in the air. Even if I can somehow forget the kidnapping, I can’t forget death. It hangs over the ceremony like a shroud, the worst possible omen to a lifetime together.
Giovanni reaches into his pocket and pulls something out. “I should have given you this earlier.”
The small antique ring takes my breath away, the diamonds glittering, the setting both stately and demure. It’s exactly the kind of ring I would have dreamed about.
“You picked this out?” I ask, my voice wavery.
“It was my mother’s.” He looks unspeakably earnest and young in that moment. “Something old. For good luck.”
It feels like there’s a massive weight on my chest. I can’t draw in enough air to respond, but I wouldn’t know what to say anyway. I love that he feels there’s hope for us, even while I know there isn’t. I love him, even knowing the monster he’s become.
In the end I don’t have to say anything. He takes my hand and we walk down the aisle together to where the others are waiting. Juliette looks nervous, but she tries to cover it up with a smile. Even Lorenzo seems concerned, looking me over as if checking for injuries.
Only the priest seems oblivious to the tension. With his thick glasses and squinted eyes, I’m not sure how well he can see us.
Giovanni holds my hand while Father Michaels speaks. Maybe he thinks I’ll bolt if he doesn’t hold me. But the way he brushes his thumb across my palm, back and forth, feels more reassuring than confining.
“Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
Giovanni doesn’t hesitate. “I do.”