Chapter 11 Aurelia
Aurelia
The ceremony was held at a church, with at least five hundred people crowded into the aisles.
We sat next to his mom and his sister Beatrice.
It seemed to be a child-free wedding, because her two boys weren’t there.
Then we all drove to the hotel where the reception took place, on a private terrace with beautiful views of the Ionian Sea.
We sat at a round table with a white tablecloth and a tall centerpiece in the center. So many people were there, and of course a ton of guests came over to say hello to Constantine. He was warm and charming, all smiles and good vibes.
Sometimes it was hard to believe he’d been the emperor of Rome.
If I hadn’t seen his barbarism with my own two eyes, I might not have believed it.
Constantine and I had returned to our normal routine after our little fight about marriage.
He didn’t seem to hold any resentment toward me, because his eyes lit up at the sight of me.
He kissed me every morning and every night.
Still wanted to fuck my brains out constantly.
He was always in a good mood, no matter the time of day or the company in his presence.
He introduced me to a lot of people.
The one person I didn’t want to see and hoped wasn’t there was Isabella. She didn’t seem to be in attendance, but with five hundred people on that terrace, I couldn’t really be sure. Beatrice stayed at the table with us, so if her friend was there, she seemed to be ignoring her.
Beatrice did nothing more than say hello to me with the fakest smile I’d ever seen.
If Constantine didn’t care what his sister thought of me, then I guess I shouldn’t either.
After dinner toasts, the dance floor opened up, and it was a madhouse. Everyone was excited to jump up and party, drinks still in their hands, raucous bursts of laughter somehow overcoming the loud music.
“Con!” Constantine had his arm over my chair as he looked at one of his many, many cousins, who was waving him to join in the festivities.
“Come on, sweetheart.”
“I’m not the best dancer.”
“Does it look like a competition out there?” he teased. “Come on, have fun. In a couple months, you aren’t going to want to move much, so enjoy it while you can.” He stood up first and helped me to my feet before he took my hand and guided me onto the dance floor.
He and his friends and family jumped around and seemed to be having the time of their lives.
It wasn’t about the best dance moves but just joking around and having a good time.
When Constantine danced with me, he grabbed my hand and spun me around before he circled me, being the most playful I’d ever seen him.
He snapped me out of my fear of embarrassment, and I just went with it.
He wasn’t the best dancer traditionally, but he had so much confidence in the way he moved, the way he looked at me, that he pulled it off so well. He made me live in the moment with him and his friends, dancing and laughing, the night passing in the blink of an eye.
Constantine drank all the time, every day, but I’d never seen him drunk—and that was a testament to how much booze he drank at the wedding.
One of his cousins gave us a ride home after the wedding because Constantine was too drunk to drive, and I didn’t feel comfortable driving around all the cliffs, especially in the dark.
When we made it to the house, he unlocked the door and got us inside. Our dog sitter had already left for the night, and Medusa was asleep on the couch. It was so late, she didn’t even want to get up and greet us.
“You know what?” He started to unbutton his shirt in the living room even though he’d normally get undressed upstairs.
“You’re right.” His eyes were glazed over, and he had a bit of a sway to his steps.
“I want a big-ass wedding with all my family, friends, my seventy-five cousins, and, of course, you.” He turned to me, looking at me with a pure, beaming stare of love.
He showed me his love in a lot of ways, but this was something new.
“In a white dress with a belly. Or in a white dress with our daughter there. I can hold her when you walk down the aisle.”
“We don’t know what we’re having, Constantine.”
“I know, but I just have a feeling.” He tapped his temple with his fingertips. “A hunch.”
“We’ll see.”
“And I want her to look just like you.” His hand moved over his heart.
“See you in her eyes every time I look at her. Fuck, that would make me so happy.” He dropped his shirt in the middle of the floor and headed upstairs.
“I’d name her Julia, for the empress my great-great-great-great .
. . however many greats . . . grandmother never got to be.
” He continued up the stairs until his footsteps turned quiet.
I smiled to myself when he was gone, loving this vulnerable and transparent version of him. It was also a relief to know that there truly was no animosity on his part. That he wasn’t angry with my stubbornness.
I sat beside Medusa, petted her, and said good night.
Constantine called from upstairs. “Sweetheart, get your ass up here.”
On Monday, I went to work at Rosticceria Da Cristina.
I’d had enough training now that I could do a lot of the prep work myself.
Antonio still came in, but now, it was an hour later than usual.
I prepared most of the dough for him and the rice for the arancini, acting as his assistant in a lot of ways.
It was nice having that time with him, because it allowed us to build our own friendship—exactly what I wanted.
To be a part of Constantine’s family as if I’d been born and raised in Taormina like everyone else.
I wanted the same with his sister Beatrice, who was there a lot of the time, but she was still ice cold.
Even at the wedding, she didn’t give me the time of day—and her mother was right there. She obviously didn’t give a fuck.
I was in the front kitchen alone that morning when Beatrice walked inside.
Like always, she pretended I wasn’t there and headed into the back.
Ever since Constantine told me not to worry about it, I’d stopped making an effort with her.
Didn’t say good morning or look at her either.
If I did something wrong and her wrath was appropriate, that would be a different story.
But I hadn’t done a single thing wrong to earn this potent despisal, so she could fuck right off.
I continued to work, and then fifteen minutes later, someone else walked in the door.
It wasn’t Antonio or another member of the crew. Wasn’t Constantine either.
It was Isabella.
I froze at the counter, my gloved fingers covered in tomato sauce with rice and chunks of eggplant.
I took in her dark features and hazelnut eyes as a rock rolled down my throat and dropped into the pit of my stomach.
I’d only seen her in the flesh once before, months ago, when Constantine had taken me to a family dinner.
She hadn’t looked at me. But she certainly looked at me now.
There was no question that she hated my fucking guts.
To someone other than the two of us, the standoff probably only lasted a second or two, but it felt like minutes for me.
I was certain, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she knew I was pregnant.
She was a beautiful woman who carried herself with confidence.
A single look told me exactly why Constantine had wanted to marry her.
Her long, thick hair was up in a high ponytail, showing the sharp and feminine angles of her face.
She was petite, much shorter than me, but with an hourglass frame.
The kind of beautiful woman that could have any man she wanted.
Well, except mine.
After she gave me the look of murder, she moved inside and headed toward the back.
I wasn’t sure what made me do it, if I actually believed it would make some kind of difference, but I opened my mouth and words came rolling out. “I don’t want it to be like this.” I shot my shot, hoped the ball would pass right through her net.
She stopped to stare me down again, but she seemed to hate me more.
“I don’t expect us to be friends by any means, but I don’t want it to be this tense either. Constantine said you’re a part of his family, so I’d like it if we could, you know, be in the same room together. Say hello. Make small talk—”
“I have no desire to share a single sentence with you.”
Damn. All right, then. “So you’d rather just stare me down like I murdered your whole family every time we’re in a room together?
” I knew I should keep my composure and be the bigger person here, but I was sick of this mean-girl shit.
“Let’s remember I’m not the one who kissed his twin and then lied about it.
That relationship ended because of you—not because of me. ”
Her eyes widened like she couldn’t believe I just said that.
I couldn’t believe I said it either.
“I’m just some girl Constantine met nine years later. A girl who doesn’t want any conflict or drama. A girl who wants everyone to get along. And you’re marking me as your enemy when I didn’t do anything to deserve it. So why don’t we give this another try? Hello.”
She was either still in shock at what I said or distracted by her rage, because she didn’t speak for a second or two. “I was supposed to spend the last nine years with that man. Supposed to have children with that man. And you think I can say hello to the woman who has my soulmate?”
I could be really petty and tell her that Constantine referred to me as his soulmate, but that felt so cruel.
“If Constantine were any other man, I would question why you’re still hung up on him, but I totally get it.
I get why this is hard for you, and believe it or not, I feel for you.
Because if our situations were reversed, I’m sure I’d feel the same way—”