The morning has been a soft blur of satin and champagne. The house smells like roses andwarm marble, and the air buzzes with the excited chatter of a dozen women floating around me like butterflies.
Gigi, my maid of honor, is fussing with my veil, trying not to cry. She’s cried twice already, and we haven’t even made it down the stairs. Izzy and Cammie are there too, matching dresses, matching laughter, the same mischievous glint in their eyes as they used to have when we snuck out the back of clubs and dared each other to flirt with soldiers.
I thought I’d lost them. But I didn’t.
That’s been one of the unexpected gifts of this engagement; these last few weeks have been… good. Not perfect. But simple. Soft.
Like coming up for air after months underwater.
Roberto has been kind. Polite. Charming even. He takes me to dinners, talks to me about art and politics, and lets me speak without interruption. He brings me coffee in the morning when he knows I haven’t slept well, and he touches me only when I allow it. He’s never forced anything.
And no, I don’t love him. But maybe one day… I might.
Affection, at least, seems… possible. Warmth. Companionship. Somethinglikelove, if I squint. It’s not the dream I had when I was younger. But I’m not that girl anymore.
Still… sometimes, when it’s quiet—when I close my eyes to sleep—I seehim.
Raffael.
Ihaven’t seen him in months. Not since the night he disappeared like smoke from the edges of my life. No goodbye. No warning. No explanation. Just… gone.
And yet, I still can’t stop thinking about him. Not in the way I used to. Not like some teenage fantasy. It’s worse now. Deeper. Like a splinter buried in bone.
I don't dare ask my father or Angelo where he went. I’m not stupid. The questions alone could get me or him punished. But in the silence, my mind turns over a thousand possibilities.
Did he run?
Was he killed?
The not-knowing drives me mad.
I force myself to breathe. To think about Roberto. To conjure his face and calm, steady smile. To recall the way he listens when I speak, and the safety of his hands when he touches me like I’m made of something breakable.
No good will come from pining after a ghost—especially one who clearly forgot me. Raffael left me in the rearview of his life.
And I’m about to walk down the aisle with another man—one who actually sees and acknowledges me. No, I'm not that girl anymore. I glance in the mirror and see someone else staring back at me. A woman. Bare shoulders, pale silk. Eyes lined with quiet resolve.
"Time to go," Gigi says gently, brushing an invisible speck from my dress.
I nod. My smile holds. My spine straightens.
Cammie is wringing her hands like she's done a lot lately, throwing worried glances my way whenever she thinks I'm not looking. It's sweet of her to worry about me, but I think she just greatly exaggerated some sibling rivalry between her and Roberto. I've looked these past months—not that there would be any help for it if I found what Cammie is worried about—but there is nothing. He's never even been cross with me.
My maid of honor and my ten bridesmaids file out. My father stands at the other side of the door, ready to give me away. A smile curves his lips while the girls walk by him, greeting him and giggling. The smile dies the moment the last one moves past him. His eyes turn to stone when he enters and closes the door behind him.
"You know how to behave today?" He ensures.
I bite the inside of my cheek. Only a few more hours, and I will be away from him and my brother. I won't ever have to be alone with either one of them if I don't want to. Funny, that this thought has never occurred to me before. I've been looking at this marriage like walking into another cage; instead, I'm walkingoutof one. No matter if I ever love Roberto or not, I will forever be grateful to him for getting me away from my family.
"Yes, Papa," I force out.
He studies me, searching for rebellion in my tone, weakness in my posture. I give him neither.
"You’ll smile when you’re supposed to," he says, keeping his voice low and sharp enough so I won't mistake his words for anything other than a command. "You’ll speak only when spoken to. And you’ll remember who made this day happen."
I nod again, the perfect picture of submission, but inside, something curls, and I hope he won't read the disgust on my face. He walks over and straightens my veil with a rough flick of his fingers. His touch scrapes my temple like he’s erasing fingerprints. His mouth drops near my ear. "You’re still mine,alwayswill be. You’d better remember that."
My throat tightens, but I say nothing.
