His eyes slowly moved to mine. He nodded and disappeared in the back of the store. He came back out with a bag. He pulled two ring boxes out, opening them.
I nodded, studying the rings again. I’d bought them when I’d first arrived in town. I’d been passing by the window, and my feet stopped me.
Two bands glistening underneath the lights had caught my attention.
When I went inside, the man who owned the shop, the fucking space cadet, was in a chatty mood that day. He’d told me the two rings had a history. The ring guard was shaped in a heart with diamonds around it. I knew it would fit around the blood diamond when I passed fate’s test for her. The other band was simple, delicate, an alternating pattern of round and marquise diamonds.
The ring guard was designed and created in Florence, Italy. The year it was created was unknown, but it was apparent it was vintage. The band was from Wyoming and vintage as well. He had never found anyone to buy them, since they were the priciest rings for sale in the store, though he nudged the air between us with his arm and said conspiratorially, “The rings have been here since I was a kid.” Meaning, he was going to make a nice profit on them.
I’d bought both bands that day, one for each of mine’s hands. My old man started the tradition; my brothers and I were following it. Matteo had.I would too.
One hand wasn’t fucking enough.
The jeweler thanked me for my business, and after we stepped out of the shop, the old man was waiting outside. His eyes darted around for a second before landing on me.
My eyes went instinctually to the diner. Remo had sent me a text. Mine and her cousin were in the middle of brunch.
We were set to meet at sunset for our wedding.
The man stepped next to me, tipped his hat to me as he said, “Brooks tells good tales when he’s in the mood—but you men enjoy tales, you come talk to me. I have a tale to tell of a coldDecember night, whererattlerswere on the move.” His eyes darted around again, before they came back to mine. He tipped his hat to me once more, gave me his name from the side of his mouth, and continued to walk down the sidewalk.
Chapter 22
Sistine
Iwent with light colors that complimented the cream dress I had decided on. It was mostly all tulle with dramatic sleeves. A slight breeze would carry the fabric without issue, making the dress billow around me. The top was corset style, but it was not overly done. It only enhanced, cinching my waist in and lifting my breasts some. My hair was done in waves, left down, pulled up on the sides. A veil flowed over my shoulders.
Perhaps we would not have a church full of guests, but this was still our wedding, and I wanted Mariano to see me this way.
I took a deep breath and released it. I trusted Mariano. Trusted that he would see this through.
Iwould see this through.
The woman in the mirror staring back at me vowed it.
The world would know that Mariano Fausti was mine, even my stubborn family, and that I was his.
A shuddering breath left my mouth.
The thought of the world knowing we belonged to each other caused a swirl of strong emotions inside of me—mostly made me stand taller, proud to become his wife. It made me tingle all over as well. Tingle in places that ached because it felt as if wehad been apart for centuries, and we were about to reconnect in irrevocable ways.
Ways that were traditional and new.
This tradition covered both at once.
My last name.
Sistine EvitaFausti,aka,hisAnnie.
It was not customary for an Italian woman to exchange her last name for her husband’s. I would. I wanted my name next to his as much as Mariano wanted it. I longed to be his in all ways.
I smiled a little at myself, ran a hand down the soft, willowy fabric. All these romantic notions from a woman who would have married for duty, not caring about love and all it detailed. It was easier this way. I could go through life as my mamma had. Being connected to someone only out of loyalty to the jewelers who created claims for the Fausti family to hand out. Claims to their lineage that we knew so well, because we had lived it with them over the years.
My heels tapped on the wooden floor as I grabbed for a bouquet of red roses and red buttercups on the table. My favorite flowers. The fabric keeping the bouquet together had my great-grandmother’s cross necklace wrapped around it.ZiaBianca had given it to me years ago. She said my grandfather had always claimed he had not gotten anything from her, however, every so often, he would come up with things.
My hands stilled before taking the bouquet.
I hoped, for the umpteenth time, that Mariano’s family would not be upset with us over this. The only souls attending were Atta, Angelo, and a priest.
