“I have no choice. You didn’t leave me with one. My brother’s well-being is at stake, Stefan, so don’t worry, I’ll do as I’m told.”
Does he feel my hate? Does it roll off me in icy waves because that’s what I feel like now. Ice. But maybe that’s not hate. Maybe that’s betrayal.
Stefan shifts his grip to my hand and walks me toward the door. Rafa and Miss Millie follow and a few minutes later, we’re loaded into the SUVs and our motorcade is driving into Palermo proper.
It’s surreal, this.
I look at my husband to be. He’s texting something into his phone.
Why does it matter if I’m married to him or not? Why does it matter if it’s now or two weeks from now? I’m his. I can be his prisoner and his wife. I am already the former. Because no matter what, he won’t let me go. And this, once we file those papers and he gains guardianship of my brother, it’s one more thing he’ll have to bind me to him.
What happens when he gets everything he wants?
What happens to Gabe? To me?
We arrive at City Hall in Palermo. It’s beautiful. Just what you’d expect in an Italian city with its ancient architecture, the fountains and sculptures outside, the tourists. The never-ending crowds of tourists.
The area that’s been cordoned off is opened to us and our motorcade passes through. We pull to a stop at an entrance blocked to tourists. I wonder if they rolled the red carpet out for us especially when Stefan comes to help me out. When he wraps his arm around my back and when I can’t move, he nudges me along.
This is happening. I know it. I don’t know why I’m dragging my feet.
A man comes to greet Stefan. He has his own entourage. I’m introduced to him. He’s the mayor. And the woman beside him is his wife. They brought their kids to the wedding.
I shake hands, smile, but it all feels strange. Like I’m standing in a bubble while they’re all here around me. While they’re living this day and I’m displaced. Out of time. A ghost.
“Gabriela?” Stefan asks, eyebrows raised, a warning in his eyes.
I blink, look around and realize they’re all watching me, waiting for something.
“I’m sorry. What?”
“Are you ready?” Stefan asks me.
I look at him. At them. I touch my forehead. It’s clammy even though I’m shuddering with cold. Sweat comes away and I feel lightheaded.
“Let’s get her out of the sun,” someone says and as if to prove some point, my knees give out and there’s a joint swelling of gasps as Stefan catches me before I fall.
He’s angry. I see it. He holds me close to him and I reach up to touch his arm, his chest. I want to push him away, but to those watching, it must look like a lover’s touch.
“It’s the heat,” someone says. “She’s too warm.”
Stefan cups my face to make me look at him. His eyes convey their warning. He leans in close and stubble tickles my ear. “Stand up.”
He pulls back and I nod. What can I do?
I stand but I’m unsteady.
Everyone walks into the air-conditioned building and I feel better. Maybe it was the heat. At least in part.
“Sit down here, dear,” Miss Millie says, and she takes the glass of water from one of the men and hands it to me.
I take it and sip. “I’m okay,” I tell her as I watch Stefan watching me even as he talks to the mayor.
I think about my mom and realize I’ve forgotten more of her face. I think about something else too. About memories vanishing. And I’m wrong. Only the good ones vanish. The bad ones, we live them over and over again in our minds.
I wish I could forget how she died and remember how she lived. I miss her so much, it hurts, and I let myself daydream for just a second about how things might have been if she’d lived. If he hadn’t killed her. Would my father be a different person? Would he have done what he did to Stefan’s family? Would Stefan be a stranger to me?
And what about Gabe? Would he be himself?
There’s a commotion and I realize, once again, that I was distracted. Stefan’s hazel eyes are still on me, though.
He says something to one of the men and a few minutes later, the room is cleared. He comes to sit beside me.
“Bad luck,” I say.
“What?” he asks, sliding his hand under my dress to rest it on my thigh. He traces one of the welts. Is this a reminder?
“To see the bride before the ceremony,” I say.
He just studies me. “All the luck I’ve ever had has been bad.”
“Maybe that’s because you’re bad.”
“Maybe. Are you ready?”
“No.”
“What’s the difference between now or a few weeks from now? You were always going to be mine, Gabriela. This was always going to happen.”