"Thank you all for coming." My voice sounds steady. Good. "I'd like to introduce my wife, Antonella."
Antonella smiles. The expression transforms her face.
"It's wonderful to meet everyone," she says. "Bruno has told me so much about you all."
A lie. A perfect, seamless lie.
People move toward us. Handshakes. Congratulations.
Marco Benedetti, who runs the construction front. His wife Elena, dripping in diamonds.
I shake hands. Accept congratulations. Introduce Antonella again and again.
Three minutes pass.
I know because I'm counting. Counting the seconds until I can stop talking. Stop performing.
"Bruno, you look well." Marco claps my shoulder. His eyes flick down to the wheelchair, then back up. Too fast. Like he's trying not to look. "Marriage agrees with you."
"Thank you."
"And such a beautiful bride." He turns to Antonella, taking her hand. "You're a lucky man, Bruno."
Lucky. The word lodges in my throat like broken glass.
I nod. Say nothing.
The conversation moves on. Marco drifts toward the bar. Elena follows, whispering something to her husband that makes him glance back at me.
At the wheelchair.
My skin prickles.
I scan the room. Catch fragments of conversation.
"—such a shame, he was always so?—"
"—heard he can't even?—"
The words blur together. Maybe they're not even talking about me. Maybe I'm imagining it.
But I can feel their eyes. Feel the weight of their pity pressing down on my shoulders like a physical thing.
Poor Bruno. Crippled Bruno.
My hands shake. I grip the armrests to hide it.
Breathe. Just breathe.
But my chest is tight. Too tight. The room feels smaller than it did a moment ago. The walls pressing in.
Someone laughs. The sound is too loud. Too sharp.
I flinch.
Antonella is talking to some woman. Smiling. Nodding.
Another guest approaches. I don't catch his name. Don't catch what he says. I nod. Shake his hand. My responses are automatic now. Muscle memory from a life I used to live.
