Paola
The mansion where the reception was taking place rose before me like something from another century—all white columns and manicured lawns, windows blazing with warm light against the darkening Hamptons sky. Three stories of old money and older power. It was familiar, vaguely, from my childhood. One of the many homes my father owned but never took Bianca and I to. As I stared up at it, it should’ve been impressive–but it felt more like I was facing my own crypt.
My legs shook as I stepped from the limo. The two hour drive from Manhattan to the Hamptons had my muscles cramping. Cesare's hand found my elbow—steadying or claiming, I couldn't tell. Both, probably. But I needed it; even hours later, whateverdrugs Bianca had given me left my brain feeling foggy and my body weak. I wasn’t sure how I’d make it through the evening.
"Smile," he murmured.
I did. Felt my face crack like porcelain.
Cameras flashed. Voices called congratulations. Someone threw rose petals that caught in my hair, the veil, the ridiculous train of this dress I'd never chosen. I could feel Bianca’s taste in how it hugged my waist and pressed my breasts up. Despite being her twin, I felt completely out of place in this life she’d chosen and then discarded.
This is a nightmare. This isn't real. People don't get forced into marriages in the 21st century. This doesn't happen.
But the ring on my finger—heavy platinum, with diamond so large it caught every ray of dying sunlight—said otherwise. In the limo, Cesare had texted his lawyer–had the names on the marriage certificate updated, so it truly was legal.
We moved through massive doors into an entrance hall that belonged in Versailles. Crystal chandeliers dripped light onto marble floors. Ice sculptures of swans guarded a champagne tower that must have been twelve feet tall. White roses everywhere—in vases, in garlands, petals scattered across every surface like snow.
An orchestra played something classical and romantic. Guests in designer gowns and tuxedos mingled, champagne flutes catching the light.
Everything white and gold. Elegant. Expensive.
Suffocating.
Cesare's hand moved to my lower back. To anyone watching, the gesture looked solicitous—a new husband unable to stop touching his bride.
I felt the warning in his touch:Behave.
"The receiving line," he said quietly. "We greet every guest personally. Follow my lead."
We positioned ourselves near the entrance—me in this architectural nightmare of a dress, him looking criminally handsome in his tailored tuxedo. A perfect couple. A complete lie.
The first guest approached—a woman in her sixties dripping diamonds like she'd bathed in them, dark hair swept into an elaborate updo.
"Bianca,cara, you look stunning! And Cesare, you've done well for yourself!"
She knew me. Or thought she did. Expected me to know her back.
I froze.
My mind went blank. Who was this woman? How did Bianca know her? What was I supposed to say?
Cesare's arm tightened around my waist. "Aunt Francesca, you’re too kind. My wife is still overwhelmed by the day."
The emphasis on "my wife" felt like a brand pressed to skin. But Cesare must’ve realized the problem with having me greet the guests at his side–he’d found a way to slip her name into the conversation, to give me a hint of who was who.
Francesca laughed—warm, genuine. She kissed both my cheeks, leaving lipstick marks I'd have to fix later. "Of course,tesoro. Such a beautiful ceremony. Your mother would be so proud, Cesare."
She moved on. I exhaled.
Cesare's lips found my ear again. "Don't speak unless you have to. Smile. Nod. Let me handle conversation."
A kindness and a reminder of powerlessness wrapped in the same breath.
The line continued. A blur of faces—men with cruel eyes and expensive watches, women with surgical smiles and assessing gazes. Everyone air-kissed, congratulated, commented on the dress, the venue, the flowers.
I smiled until my cheeks ached. Nodded until my neck cramped. Let Cesare guide every interaction while I stood there like a beautiful, useless prop that was slowly deflating.
"Marco, good to see you. Yes, she's lovely. Thank you."
