CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Sophia
The dress weighs more than it should.
"Everyone's ready," Vittoria says from the doorway. "The cars are waiting. Pietro's already at the church with Nico."
I smooth invisible wrinkles from the bodice. Two days ago, I picked this dress in a rush.
"You look beautiful." Vittoria steps closer, adjusting my veil. "Lorenzo won't be able to breathe when he sees you."
"Sophia?" Marina appears beside Vittoria, concern etching lines around her mouth. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." The word comes out flat.
Marina's eyes narrow. She knows me too well. "Don't lie to me. Not today."
I turn from the mirror, busying myself with the bouquet of white roses. Their perfume makes my head swim. "We're not normal, Marina."
"What couple in this family is?" Vittoria tries for humor, but it falls short.
Marina studies my face. "You're doing that thing again."
"What thing?"
"Shutting down. Going blank." She steps closer.
My chest tightens.
"I need to be okay," I whisper. "For the ceremony today. For the reception. For all those people who'll watch us and judge whether this marriage is real tommorow enough to respect."
"Fuck them," Marina says fiercely.
Vittoria laughs, surprised. "She's right. Fuck them all."
But it's not that simple. Those people hold my life in their hands.
I straighten my spine, lifting my chin the way my mother taught me. "Help me with the veil?"
Marina's face falls, recognizing my retreat into performance. But she helps Vittoria arrange the fabric around my shoulders.
"There," Vittoria says. "Perfect."
Perfect. I practice a smile in the mirror—not too bright, not too dim. A bride's smile. Happy but not giddy. Confident but not arrogant.
"Better?" I ask Marina.
She shakes her head. "No. But convincing enough."
That's all I need.
I pick up my bouquet with steady hands. No trembling allowed. No questions about whether Lorenzo and I will ever share lazy Sunday mornings or fight about normal things.
The staircase stretches forever. While Lorenzo waits at the bottom.
The breath catches in my throat. He's wearing a charcoal suit that fits him like armor, every line tailored to perfection. But it's not the suit that stops me cold.
He's smiling and it transforms his entire face. Softens the hard angles, brightens his dark eyes, makes him look happy.
