Prologue #2
These feelings hollow me. They have taken on a life of their own and threaten to wreck mine. I can’t stand it. I can’t help that this man makes my pulse riot, and now, I can never have him.
“I thought you liked Estella.” My head whips around. My brother Antonio stands beside me, his eyes narrowed. “You look like a kicked puppy. Looked that way back at the church and now here. Don’t worry, barely anyone noticed. They were all focused on the bride and groom.”
I flush with mortification.
Christ.
“I…I do like Estella.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
Any hope I had of being with the man I have loved my entire life just dies because his mother just married our father. But I can’t say that out loud. “Just a slight headache, is all.”
Antonio looks unconvinced but doesn’t call me out on the lie. “How about a dance?”
“Right now?” I glance around and realize I’ve completely missed the first dance, and now, the floor is filled with couples. Christ, I need to get out of my head and enjoy this day. I flash my brother a genuine smile and nod. “Sure, why not.”
I take his hand and follow him. “Are you having a good time?” he asks, pulling me into a rather relaxed dancer’s hold.
“I’m not the one getting married, Antonio.” I laugh when he spins me before turning me to face him again. When he drops me into an exaggerated dip, I feel the tension ease out of my shoulders.
“Still, it’s a wedding.” He grins. “You should be enjoying yourself.”
“I’m having fun, Antonio,” I say, and this time, I mean it. “Estella was a beautiful bride. I’ve never seen Papa smile like that. I’m not sure I knew he could.”
“Oh, he’s always been a party animal. You should have seen him back when he and…” His voice trails off as the smile falls from his face. I swallow the lump in my throat and hold my smile in place.
“Back when Mom was still alive?”
“Gabby—”
I shake my head. “You don’t have to treat me like I’m made of glass, Antonio. You can talk about her.” I pause. “Sometimes I wish you all would. I never got to know her.”
He opens his mouth, but a hand lands on his shoulder before he can answer. I glance up from my brother’s worried face to find the playful gaze of my new stepbrother.
“You don’t mind if I cut in, do you, Antonio?”
I see the conflict across my brother’s face—he wants to stay, to finish this, the way he always does whenever we broach the subject of our mother. But he nods and steps back. “We’ll chat later, Gabby.” And then, he’s gone, swallowed by the crowd.
“Did you two fight?” Nico asks, bringing my attention back to him. I smile and shake my head, taking his hand when he offers it. A shiver moves down my spine when his arm settles around my waist. “You know you can always tell me when something’s wrong, right? I’m legally your brother now.”
I wince at his words. My feelings for Nico are anything but sisterly, and the urge to snap that I have enough brother and don’t need another presses hard against my teeth.
“I love this song,” I say instead—lamely.
I couldn’t give two flying ducks about whatever is playing, but I can’t find a single coherent thing to say to this man.
“Whoever picked the wedding songs sure has great taste.”
Nico chuckles, guiding me into a spin the same way Antonio did minutes ago, except when he pulls me back and flush against him, my heart hammers against my ribs. Christ, how many times have I dreamed of this, feeling his hands on me? Never at our parents’ wedding, that’s for sure.
“This song is indeed beautiful, “Nico murmurs, his face close, “as is my dance partner. I’m certain your brothers and I are going to have our hands full keeping the suitors away.”
“Huh?”
“Now that we’re family, it’s only right that I look after my little sister, don’t you think?” The words land like a slap. “And don’t think I’m going to spoil you the way the others do—”
“Please stop,” I whisper, pulling back, chest tight heavy with emotions ready to burst and for the first time in as long as I can remember, I find no pleasure in being close to Nico.
His little sister? Christ, I could throw up. It genuinely feels possible right now.
“Hey, Gabby, are you okay?” Nico catches my arm before I can pull away. “You’ve gone white. Do you need a doctor?”
“No,” I say, a little too harshly than I intended it to sound. “Sorry, I just…I need some air.”
“Gabby!”
“God, Nico, just leave me alone.” I yank my arm free, tears stinging my eyes as I meet his startled ones. “And please, stop calling me your little sister. I already have four overbearing brothers. I don’t need one more!”
“Gabby…”
Shock crosses his face, and he isn’t the only one caught off guard.
A few of the nearby couples have stopped to look.
To everyone here, I’ve always been the composed sibling—spoiled, yes, but steadier than my brothers.
It’s a running joke that I may look exactly like my mother,, but I clearly didn’t inherit her fiery Italian temper.
I suppose this is as good a time as any to prove them wrong.
“Stay away from me!” I manage, forcing back the tears when they threaten to fall.
With one last look at the man I gave my heart to long ago, I flee the dance floor.
Somehow, I make it to the bathroom without passing out and only wait until I’m inside to let the tears fall.
There’s no stopping them now. All the emotions I’ve held together all day gives way—great, gasping sobs I couldn’t stop if I tried.
It tears through me, this unrequited longing for Nico.
And it hurts so much it’s almost like a physical pain.
One that leaves a burning ache in my throat and chest. I can’t push away the image of Nico from my mind—that face, those eyes and those hands that have held mine so many times and never once the way I wanted.
Why can’t I have that?
Him. Love. Forever.
When a hand settles on my shoulder, I don’t need to look up to see who it is.
Instead, I turn and fall into the comforting arms of the woman who’s been both nanny and mother to me my entire life.
Silvia—my mother’s best friend, the woman who stepped in when my mother died in childbirth without a second’s hesitation.
“Oh, cara,” she whispers, her hand moving in slow circles over my back. “I wondered when you’d finally break.”
Her words only make me cry harder, soaking her dress but she doesn’t seem to mind. And I can’t make myself stop.
It’s like fate has a vendetta against me.
I am the only one in my family who never got to know my mother.
I’ve heard about her beauty and warmth—and knowing that I’m the reason my brothers lost her is a weight I’ve never set down.
My father keeps me at arm’s length, and maybe part of that is because he blames me.
And now this. I can’t even have Nico, the one man I’ve ever loved.
He’s family now, making him untouchable.
“Am I cursed?” I whisper into Silvia’s shoulder, sniffling as the tears slow and a headache forms behind my eyes. “Am I destined to never be loved?”
“I love you, cara,” she says, easing back to look at me.
I read affection in her face. “Your brothers—Matteo, Antonio, Dante, and Lorenzo—love you, and so do Luca and Emilia. Your father and Estella love you. And your mother loved you from the moment she knew you on your way.” Fresh tears track down my cheeks.
“She would paint and sing when she was carrying you. It would break her heart to see you this unhappy.”
“It’s my fault she’s not here.”
“No, it’s not,” she says, reaching into her purse for a tissue.
She dabs at my wet cheeks, the same way she’s done all my life.
“If she were here, she would scold you for blaming yourself for something you had no control over. Your mother loved your brothers dearly, but she always wanted a daughter. You’re not cursed, cara.
You were her little miracle.” Silvia disposes of the tissue and grabs another.
“But that’s not what upset you tonight, is it? ”
I shake my head. “Nico—”
“Of course. The boy who used to turn you as red as a rose every time he said your name.”
“It’s so unfair, Silvia.”
“I know, sweet girl,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
“I understand first love. I know he’s yours, and it hurts that you’re not his.
That’s allowed.” She takes my hands and makes me look at her.
“First love almost always doesn’t work out.
You’re still young. Twenty and still in college.
You’ll meet someone else. Fall in love again.
Someday, Niccolò Benito will be nothing more than a fond memory. ”
I don’t believe her. Not even a little. But I force myself to nod because I need something to hold onto right now.
Somehow, I have to get over Nico and move on with my life. Soon, I’ll be a senior. I have a senior capstone project to plan, a career to build, and a gallery to open someday. My art, my future—I should focus on those things that are mine.
Anything but Nico.
I’m not sure I can erase him, but I’ll be damned if I don’t try my best.