“Made me think I had to be someone unbearable. If the thought of marrying me was something that drove someone to kill themselves… well it was almost like a self-fulfilling prophecy.”
How sad. How achingly sad. I nod, encouraging him to continue.
“For a long time, seeing Orlando with Angelina made me jealous. So jealous. I have to admit, I was pretty mean to her when I first met her.”
I laugh a little. “Yeah, she wasn’t a big fan of any of you guys at first.”
“We have that effect on people.”
I smile sadly. “I’m sorry, Tavi. That’s terrible, though.”
“Yeah. I really got down for a while. Thought, you know, fuck this. I’ll never really have anything close with a woman. And what’s the point? Even if I did, they’d just leave me, you know?”
“Wow,” I say, shaking my head. “I really need to get you high more often.”
“Oh yeah?” he asks, tickling me a little. I squeal and writhe to get away.
“Oh yeah. I like this Ottavio.”
“Which one?” he asks. We’re sitting on a blanket with soft moss beneath us. A warm breeze ruffles my hair when he lays me on my back and pins me down. His dark blue eyes dance at me, challenging.
“The one who speaks about real things,” I whisper. “The one who makes himself vulnerable enough to trust me.”
Slowly, he shakes his head. His thumb presses against my wrist, as if checking the speed of my pulse. It’s such an Ottavio Rossi gesture—possessive and physical, but nothing sweet about it.
“I told you,” he whispers. “Don’t ever say I didn’t tell you, Elise.”
My heart beats rapidly. “Tell me what?”
He bends and brushes his lips to my cheek. “That we aren’t good men.”
If he knew what I’ve seen, what I’ve grown up with, he’d understand we have very different definitions of what it means to be good.
He arranges me so that I’m lying on the blanket and he’s up on an elbow beside me.
“I vow to love you, Elise.” And I don’t know if it’s because I’m high, or relieved from telling him the truth, or excited about the wedding, but the fears I had seem to evaporate.
We could have this, all of this. Devotion. Commitment. Family. Love.
“And I vow to love you,” I say back.
With a tenderness I didn’t know he was capable of, he traces a fingertip over my face, my eyebrows, my eyelids, the curve of my nose and my lips, as if memorizing me.
“There,” he whispers. “We said our vows.”
I don’t protest when he shimmies my dress up my thighs, or when he threads his fingers in my panties and drags them down my legs. “Now I get to make love to you.”
CHAPTER 13
Tavi
It should be a beautiful day. And by all accounts and reason, it is. The sun shines. My family surrounds us with love and support, everything a guy could want.
And my bride… God, my bride looks as if she stepped out of a bridal magazine, so beautiful it makes my heart ache.
The wait, the struggle, all of it… worth it. And that dress was worth every damn penny.
We take our vows under a flower-strung archway overlooking the ocean, Orlando and Angelina by our sides.
I mean every word of the vows I say to her, and I can see the sincerity in her eyes when she takes her vows as well.
“You may kiss the bride.” Father Richard pronounces us husband and wife amidst cheers, confetti, and sobs from Mama and Nonna. Cameras flash, my brothers slap my back and kiss my bride, and we line up for pictures Mama will have framed to within an inch of their lives.
Last night, we shared something between us, something that I won’t ever forget. Truth that had to be let out.
But she doesn’t know the whole truth. And it’s up to me to tell her.
I feel like a cheat. Like I’ve conned her into marrying only a shadow of me, and when she sees me in full light…
I couldn’t do it last night. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her that the man she once loved is dead because of me. And part of the reason I can’t tell her is because I don’t regret what I did. I can’t apologize for what I did, because I know that if I had it to do over again, I wouldn’t do anything differently.
He loved a woman that didn’t belong to him. He touched a woman that wasn’t his. In the laws of our world, that merits swift and severe punishment. Some might argue his death was a mercy.
I’d expect the same if I’d ever crossed a line—no, lines—like that.
But would Elise see it that way?
I bring myself back to the reason for our marriage, the conviction that’s driven me from the beginning, and I know… she’ll never forgive me when I tell her the truth.
I tell myself we didn’t marry for love. We married out of duty, and I’m determined to keep my vows.
I promised her an oath of fidelity, and I always keep my promises.
Our day is perfect, and by God, I’ll give her this day.
“Oh my God,” Marialena says, when they wheel out the wedding cake. “Elise!” She smacks Elise’s arm. “Did you pick out that cake?”
Elise turns to see the cake I had made for the occasion, and she gets that look that makes me melt, almost childlike in wonder. “Ooooh. Tavi!” She grabs my arm, pulling me closer to her. “Is that a cream cake I spy?”
I nod. “Of course.”
I had my bakers fashion an Italian cream wedding cake, laced with vanilla, coconut and pecans, frosted with generous mounds of whipped cream frosting, and decorated with delicate, petal-green spun sugar in the shape of flower petals with sugared raspberries for contrast.
“It’s too pretty to eat,” Rosa says, snapping a picture.
Natalia, adorable in her little flower girl dress, shakes her head. “Ah ah, Mama. There’s no such thing as a cake too pretty to eat.”
Orlando elbows his way up to the front. “Dude, I got scammed out of having a wedding cake like that. Hook a brother up, will you?”
“Already done.” I signal to the waitstaff. The double doors to the outdoor pavilion where our guests are gathered open, and the staff brings in trays and trays of pastries and cakes.
“I don’t want any Rossi brother beatdowns on my goddamn wedding day,” I tell Orlando. “I’m prepared.”
I’ve ordered chocolate mousse cake for the “groom’s cake,” a flower girl vanilla Chantilly cream, and platters of every pastry we sell.
“Mamma mia,” Elise says with a grin. “I need a nice, tall glass of milk for my after-school snack.”
Five minutes later, we’re sitting down to feast, and Nonna brings Elise a glass of milk, bends, and kisses her cheek. Elise squeals and claps her hands.
God, I might love this woman. She’s tough as nails and simply beautiful, but the way she delights in the ordinary makes her exquisite.
“You’re fuckin’ adorable,” I whisper in her ear. “But did you eat your dinner? No dessert without dinner first, young lady.”
I wag my finger at her. She flushes a little pink. “And what if I didn’t, Daddy?”