Stefan
The wedding ceremony, as fraudulent as it feels, is legally binding.
The small room is pretty enough, with high ceilings and large windows. Blue drapes with little yellow flowers on them match the carpet and the upholstery of the chairs situated to face the large antique table at the front.
It’s all old and a little dusty but it will serve its purpose.
Gabriela doesn’t walk down the aisle toward me. I walk her, her arm tucked into mine, the small bouquet of flowers something someone must have handed her on her way in because I’ve never seen them before. She holds them absently, her eyes locked on the front of the room.
It’s like she’s not here.
Like she’s blocking this out.
At least she’s not crying. Not fighting. She won’t, though. There’s too much at stake.
If she doesn’t do this, she will lose her brother.
If she does, she’ll gain guardianship of him. Well, I will, technically but I don’t have any interest in Gabe Marchese apart from using him to screw his father especially when he thought he’d screw me in the process.
He cut Gabriela out of the will entirely. Reverted to the old family rule of inheritance to the first-born. She doesn’t know this yet. If she did, she’d only accuse me of taking guardianship of her brother for the inheritance, and she’d be right. But that’s not solely my reason. I meant it when I said I didn’t want her to be sad.
Did Marchese think I’d give her back when he changed the will? That I’d call it quits and tuck tail? No. He’s too clever to believe that.
But when it comes to Gabriela, Gabriel Marchese is odd. He lets his emotions get in the way of his thinking. No, not emotions, exactly. How he is with her is strange, to say the least. It’s more possession than fatherly love that rules him.
And I don’t think that possession has anything to do with me.
The memory of how he looked at her at our engagement party returns and I find myself tugging her a little closer.
She turns to look at me.
Sad little thing.
Collateral damage. Remember Antonio. Remember your father. Remember why you’re doing this.
We reach the front of the room and stand before the mayor who will be the officiant of this sham marriage. Rafa stands at my side and Millie at hers. The only other guests are a handful of soldiers and the mayor’s family.
Gabriela doesn’t deserve what she’s getting. I know it. I’ve known it from day one. But she is choosing how this goes. I mean it when I say I don’t want to be her enemy, but she makes it impossible.
Collateral damage.
The mayor signals for the few witnesses to sit down and he begins the ceremony. Gabriela answers for her part with little nudging from me and I wonder if anyone’s noticed she understands the Italian just fine, only she answers in English.
When the time comes for the rings, Rafa takes two out of his pocket and hands them to me.
I take Gabriela’s hand and repeat the mayor’s words as I slide the ring—a wide platinum band that matches her engagement ring—onto her already crowded finger.
She looks down at it as I do it. Down at our two hands. Mine big, hers so small, so delicate, it disappears inside my palm.
I can crush her. It wouldn’t take much.
When it’s her turn to place the ring on my finger, she meekly takes the ring I offer her, a matching band of platinum, and repeats the mayor’s words, pledging her obedience to me, as she slides it onto my finger.
She doesn’t look at me once.
And when we’re pronounced husband and wife and the ceremony is over, I pull her to me and kiss her, a chaste kiss on her pretty, resistant mouth.
One of the mayor’s staff enters the room carrying a tray filled with glasses of champagne for each of us. His wife and family are oblivious to Gabriela’s mood, her mental absence. The mayor isn’t, but that doesn’t matter. I pay him enough and he’ll do what he’s told. If I brought her here in chains, kicking and screaming, he’d still do what he was told and marry us.
Once the champagne is drunk and everyone has kissed Gabriela’s cheeks and offered us their congratulations, we’re left alone in the room with the mayor. Two soldiers stand outside and Rafa and Millie are on their way to the restaurant for our small reception.
“Just a few signatures and you can be on your way,” the mayor says.
This one is the certificate of marriage. I’ll make sure her father has a copy before the end of the day.
I watch Gabriela and wonder if she hears anything at all as she takes the pen offered to her. She glances to me and I nod once. She looks back at the certificate on the desk and, a moment later, she signs.
I doubt the next signature I’ll need from her back at the house will be given as easily.
When she’s finished, I take the pen and sign my name and it’s done.
Gabriela is my wife.
I set the pen on the desk and turn to her. She’s looking up at me, her expression that of someone beaten.
“Congratulations, once again,” the mayor says, standing, extending his hand to me.
I shake it, thank him.
Gabriela, too, shakes his hand, and we’re on our way to the reception.
“I’m tired,” Gabriela complains when we’re in the car. “Do we have to do this?”
“Are you in a hurry to get home?”
“Your house is not my home.”
“You called it that a few days ago.”
“You were a different man a few days ago.”
“Same man. Same intentions.”
“That’s right. Bury all things Marchese.”
I lean toward her, lift her chin with one finger. “It’s a good thing you’re not a Marchese anymore then.”
She tugs her head away and watches out the window for the twenty-minute ride.
The small restaurant is set just for our party with tables decorated formally, everything white, flowers, tablecloths, napkins. Champagne corks are popped, and my wife takes her flute when I hand it to her, and she swallows the contents.
“What are you doing?” I ask her when she holds the empty glass out to me.
“Celebrating.” When I don’t take her glass, she stops a waiter who is passing and swaps her empty glass out for a full one.
“Take care, sweetheart,” I tell her as she downs her second glass.
“Stefan,” it’s Rafa.
I turn away from my bride. “Yes?”
“My father’s here. Had some trouble on the road. Flat tire.”
“Did he?”
As a sign of good will, I invited Rafa’s father. He’s brought Clara with him and is followed in by a man carrying a large gift covered in white silk cloth.
I glance at Gabriela as he approaches. For as well as she guards her features, I see recognition flit across her face when she sees him.
He smiles. “Stefan,” he says, dragging his gaze to mine. “Congratulations.” He leans in to hug me, patting my back.
“Thank you, Uncle,” I say.
He turns to Gabriela and smiles wide. I study him for a moment, watch the way he looks at her. See from the corner of my eye the way Rafa shifts his gaze between his father and Clara.
“Gabriela, this is Francesco Catalano. My uncle and Rafa’s father.”