26. Eternally Yours
Chapter 26
Eternally Yours
T he laws of the Fausti famiglia stated that no man of Fausti blood was a liar. To lie meant to fear. Who should a Fausti fear? No man. Therefore, if a man lied, he owed blood. Because whose blood was richer than theirs? In their opinion, no other man’s blood could compare.
La mia parola è buona come il mio sangue.
My word is as good as my blood.
Along with their word, their faces refused to lie either, but in the face of a woman being stood up at the altar, they turned away out of respect. I knew there was a chance of this.
After our parties, Rocco had turned to ice, even in the extreme heat . Someone or something had gotten to him during his time away from me, and there was no doubt in my heart, it was either Rosaria Caffi’s memory, or himself.
He had started to fade.
He kept mostly to himself, watching me like he had already lost me. I not only saw it in his eyes, but I also felt it in the marrow of my bones. It was a chilling freeze I never wanted to feel again. It was freezing my heart. I knew he worried that his place in the family would get to me through him, that I’d be trapped in the constraints he was, and with his past—including Rosaria Caffi. She was either haunting him, or someone was in honor of her memory. Whoever it was that had threatened to slice my throat, just as she had done the night we faced off, had pulled me into this dangerous triangle.
I got the feeling Rocco thought I was too soft for his world. Maybe Rocco assumed because this life had taken Rosaria Caffi, what did that mean for me?
But.
I was a lot tougher than I looked. I could take this life and whatever came with it on at the mere thought of him. The moment I found him in that window, I knew. He was mine. That meant that his strength became mine, and mine became his.
Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.
We were going to add a third cord to our vows as we stood at the altar together.
But the voice inside of his head was proving to be stronger than the voice inside of his heart.
At least I’d awoken his lion’s heart, and it was fighting back. That was more than I could say for it the first time I’d seen him. He had one foot in the grave, his heart about to beat for the last time. If he wasn’t still at war over what to do about me, he would have already told me it was over between us.
Rocco was not a coward.
He had just suffered too long, and he did not want to pull me into a frozen hell with him.
Little did he know, I was pulling him up, and it took a lot more than a ghost to defeat me or make me let go.
Was I afraid?
Terrified.
Especially in this moment, when I had no idea how much energy his heart had left in this fight. It was like his mind had his heart in a chokehold, and it couldn’t free itself. I knew Rocco loved me, or he wouldn’t even be considering my safety in his life, but I wanted him, for once, to be effing selfish. Selfish enough for the both of us. Especially when I wasn’t only telling him how strong my love was, but actively showing it.
Rosaria Caffi had proved how ruthless she could be.
All great.
So did I. When (no disrespect meant to the dead) Rosaria went over a cliff and the bus I was on kept on the road.
Symbolism meant a lot to this family.
In that case, she and I were going head-to-head over him, and I’d won. I wasn’t all soft. I didn’t even fall to the floor when the bus swerved.
This was why I’d sent a letter to him through Brando. I said I knew he was at war within himself, and I didn’t want to get between it. Whatever decision he came to, he’d come to without me blurring the lines. He either loved me enough to keep me, to build a life with me, or… he loved me enough to let me go. Either way, I knew he loved me. Sometimes, in his case, love was not enough.
Which told me a lot about what Rocco still had to learn about love if he agreed with this sentiment.
Love was always enough.
Love was the entire reason.
It’s enough to die for. It’s enough to live for.
It was up to us to fight for it, even if it meant we’d sometimes get hurt in the process. Which meant that it was people who lacked, not love itself.
In the letter, I’d told him I’d still be at the church, same time, same place, where we had agreed to meet—walking down the aisle together, our footsteps in sync to the sounds of our beating hearts, more than ready to exchange them in front of God and family.
Sighing, I looked at Brando, who was staring at his wife. He stared at her with something akin to regret in his dark eyes. Scarlett and I had taken a long walk and talk on the beach about a similar time in their lives when—gasp!—Brando Fausti hadn’t thought he was good enough to marry her .
Sound familiar?
Yeah, to me, too.
Rocco wasn’t late, but…
“Brando,” I whispered, “I’m going to that building over there.” I nodded toward it.
He pried his eyes from his wife’s face and looked at the building I was referring to. It had chairs and doors that could lock from the inside, and it was in a shaded area. Temperature controlled. It seemed to house miscellaneous items from around the island.
Scarlett squeezed his arm, and after glancing at her, he nodded.
Picking up my gown, I made the walk alone to the building. And as if I was cursed or blessed, not sure at this point, I caught my reflection in a floor-length mirror leaning against the wall. It reflected the entire picture of me on what was my wedding day.
Makeup done soft and light, though the blush on my cheeks seemed to come from a place deep inside of me that reflected the love in my heart and the happiness that it had brought me. My hazel eyes were bright, even though the building was dimly lit. My chocolate-brown hair was pulled up on the sides, soft waves cascading down my shoulders and back. I wore the sweet but citrusy perfume that he loved.
My gown.
I sighed.
My gown was the physical representation of romance.
It had an A-line silhouette. The bodice was fitted, the waist cinched, and the skirt flared, creating that gorgeous A shape. The cut was off the shoulder, with sheer long sleeves that came to my wrists, but what had captured my attention was the delicate Chantilly lace fabric with lace flower patterns. It made me feel like I’d stepped out of a dream and into an even more romantic reality.
To me, it represented my relationship with Rocco.
Who I was to him .
How he made me feel.
I wasn’t drawn to the sexier designs. I wanted to save that for the wedding night. But this gown…it was magical in ways that I’d only dreamed of.
Timeless.
My veil matched the lace and was longer than the train. It floated around me, giving me an ethereal look. Even though the gown might have looked heavy, it felt as light as the veil on my body.
Stella had offered to let me borrow her veil, which had the Fausti family symbol embroidered on it, and I thanked her but politely declined. Our wedding wasn’t about the Fausti family, but about us . I had nothing to prove to them. I wasn’t marrying them. I was marrying Rocco. Who had a passionate heart that I knew this gown would speak to in a shared language.
It was a representation of me.
A representation of him.
Just as the ring on my left finger reflected.
Just as the ring I’d had made for him would reflect on his left finger.
The only claim the dress could have to the Fausti family was the merger of past and future. It was classic with modern touches. A symbolic representation of how ancient they were, but how they were able to not only survive but thrive in this time.
Still.
My love and loyalty were Rocco Piero Fausti’s only.
I’d double-cross the Faustis without even blinking or thinking twice if it came down to him or them.
“He will owe blood to her for this!” Papà Fausti’s voice echoed from someplace close by, as low as a warning rumble, but as piercing at the canine teeth that pops flesh in a striking punishment.
“No,” I whispered, shaking my head. “He’s bled enough for his family. ”
This was between us . I’d handle this— him —in my own way. Not the Fausti way. Not when it came to matters of our hearts.
Sighing, I shut myself in the stone building, filled with items that didn’t belong to me, locking the doors after, as if my beloved’s hell was mine, and the only way to release me was the lock only he could break.