CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER TWELVE
CASSIE
My hair is curled to perfection. My makeup is soft and glowing. And I’m in a wedding dress.
This entire situation almost feels like a dream.
But I know better. I could never conjure something as insane as this in a dream.
It could only be reality. A reality in which my entire life changed in two weeks.
And now I’m about to walk down the aisle to marry a man I barely know.
And yet sometimes it feels like I know him acutely.
My head is completely scrambled. But at least I look amazing.
“You’re freakishly calm, Cassie,” Chloe says, tilting her head as she adjusts one of the pearl pins in my hair. “Like.. concerningly calm.”
“She’s definitely disassociating,” Maxine mutters, arms crossed, eyeing me like I might crack any second.
I give them a small smile and a shrug, “Maybe I’ve accepted my fate.”
“Bullshit,” Maxine swears. “I know you’re planning something but I say we just ditch this freak show and get the hell out of here.”
“That’s not going to happen, Maxy. I’m marrying him,” I say gently.
A part of me is desperate to accept her offer though. Just run away, from everything. All my problems. But I can’t do that. Not today. Not when the entire Luciano family is likely watching every breath I take. One misstep and things could get ugly fast.
So I smile. I sit still in my perfect gown and let my friends hover me with pins and perfume ad last minute touch ups. I let them worry while I act like I’m not on the verge of unraveling.
So much has happened in such little time. And I feel like there’s an internal battle going on inside me right now. the side that doesn’t mind this outcome. That actually wants to be with Damien. Due to morbid curiosity and even morbid feelings.
And then there’s the side that wants to pack it all up and return to her normal life.
But the truth is, I can probably never go back to a normal life. Not after everything that’s happened.
“Cassie,” Maxine softens, stepping closer. “You don’t have to do this.”
I meet her eyes in the mirror, “Yeah I do. Don’t worry so much. I promise I’ll be fine. Plus, Damien isn’t so bad.”
Her eyes narrow at my use of his name. Even Chloe catches on to the soft undercurrent with which I said it. They both share a look communicating silently and I roll my eyes.
“What?”
“Cassie, please don’t tell me you’re actually-”
“Calm down, Max,” Chloe cuts in. then she offers me a sweet smile, “You remember when you told us you might be attracted to older men.”
I groan softly, “Come on, Chlo.”
She giggles, “I’m just saying. Your mobster husband to be is not ugly, not in the slightest. And if we subtract his other qualities, he’s actually your type.”
“Except those qualities you subtracted are important,” Maxine grits out. “You can’t seriously be encouraging this, Chloe.”
“No one is encouraging anything,” I burst out, a little flustered.
I can’t believe they were able to read me so easily. The consequences of long-term friendships.
“You still have a plan, remember that,” Maxine says, her eyes fierce.
I nod, “Yeah, I remember.”
The door opens putting an end to the conversation. My uncle walks in, wearing a tux and looking as sharp as ever. My heart aches a little at the sight of him. He bears a striking resemblance to my dad. His face is slightly unreadable as he walks over.
“Uncle Miguel,” I say with a small smile.
“You look beautiful, Cassie,” he says with a smile of its own. Although his is forced. “Ladies. Could I have a moment with my niece?”
They both shuffle out of the room, the door clicking shut behind them. I rise slowly, smoothing my hands over the silk of the dress.
“Come to make sure the bride doesn’t bolt?” I ask.
He’s not amused in the slightest, “Cassie you can’t possibly be planning to go through with this.”
I huff out a frustrated breath.
“I really wish people would stop saying that. I don’t have another choice. I have to go through with this.”
He exhales a shaky breath, placing both hands over his mouth.
“This isn’t right. Your father didn’t want this for you,” he states with a tortured expression. “He was looking for solutions before he died. Fighting for a chance to get you out of this.”
“Well guess what, uncle, he failed. Because he’s dead. He’s dead and I’m stuck in this situation because of a deal he made in the first instance.”
I’ve been struggling with what to feel with regards to my dad. I am so angry at him for the secrets he kept, the truth he held back from me. He literally sold me away, bargained with my life. But at the same time, it feels useless to be angry with him.
It’s like screaming into a void. Unsatisfying because the subject of all my anger isn’t here to hear it.
I can’t dwell on what he should or shouldn’t have done. I can only look forward now.
“He did everything to protect you, Cassie. All his life, he lived for you,” my uncle says heatedly.
“I know,” I sigh, suddenly feeling very tired, “I know how much he loved me.”
This conversation feels draining. I don’t want to think about my father on a day he should be a part of but can’t be.
“Tell me about something else. How’s the company?” I ask my uncle.
His expression tightens. It’s pretty clear the man is going through it.
“Well, things are running about as well as they can be considering the present situation of things. We’re a little stuck in limbo here because your father’s will hasn’t been read.
Until it is, the company has no CEO which is causing some internal problems. But it’s nothing I can’t handle, at least for now. ”
The truth is, I’ve hardly thought about the company in the past couple of days. It’s not that I don’t care. The company is my dad’s legacy and I know how important it is to him. I just have much more important things in mind.
I take in the worried expression on my uncles face and decide that it doesn’t matter what the will says. He’ll make a great CEO for the company. I thought I’d inherit the position from my dad. Now I just don’t want it.
I have no idea what I want.
Or should I say the truth of what I want is all too terrifying?
“After the wedding, I should be able to appear for the will,” I assure my uncle. “Don’t stress. Keep your chin up.”
He offers me a small smile, “I should be encouraging you, shouldn’t I?
“You know I’ll be alright, uncle. I’m pretty damn strong.”
“Just like your father,” he agrees with a nod.
***
The music begins, soft and classical, and for a moment I wonder if my legs will work.
My hand is nearly trembling in Uncle Miguel’s arm. For all my bravado earlier, when faced with the reality of the situation I’m scared shitless. My uncle notices but he doesn’t say anything. He just pats my fingers lightly, as if that alone can help in anyway.
I’m glad for his presence though. Glad he’s at least here to provide support. To walk me down the aisle. The doors finally swing wide open and I blink against the sudden brightness. A flood of warm light pours through the cathedral windows.
About a hundred eyes turn towards me. Unfamiliar. Judging. Watching.
I want to run. Instead I take a single step. And then another. One breath at a time.
The aisle stretches long than it has any right to, lined with rows of strangers dressed in black dark suits and colder expressions. Most of them dangerous looking. There’s a few woman as well, elegant, with diamonds glinting on their throats. I don’t know any of them but I know what they represent.
The Cosa Nostra. The mafia. That’s who they are. That’s what I’m marrying into.
My fingers tighten around my uncle’s arm. And then I see him.
Damien is standing at the end of the aisle, hands clasped loosely in front of him, back straight, face impassive. He’s wearing a velvet black suit tailored to his tall frame, black tie knotted neatly at his throat.
There’s not a hint of nerves in him. And why would there be? He’s the one that wanted this.
Right now he’s the eye of the storm. Calm, composed, untouchable. It pisses me off a little bit which is good. Anger is better than fear.
When we reach the altar, uncle Miguel gently passes my hand to Damien’s. The moment his fingers close around mine, something inside of me quiets. It’s like the battle raging in my mind grows duller, less sharp.
I stand in front of Damien and he leans in, mouth near my ear, his voice a low murmur no one else can hear.
“It’s okay to be afraid, sweetheart. All you have to do is just breathe. I’ve got you,” I assure her.
His words are steadying. Infuriatingly so. I breathe. When I glance up at him, he’s not smiling but the tenderness in his eyes is clear.
The priest begins to speak and I’m thrown back to my last experience in a church. Burying my father and getting married in less than three weeks. I swear you can’t make this shit up.
Words blur. Something about unity, love, commitment but I hear none of it. My pulse is pounding in my ears. I can feel Damien’s hand, still wrapped around mine, warm and unwavering. He doesn’t let go, not once.
And when we’re asked the important questions, he doesn’t hesitate.
“I do,” he says in reply to the priest, his voice low and sure, reverberating through me like a tether pulling me back to earth.
Then it’s my turn. The priest asks the question, I open my mouth to reply and nothing comes out. I pause, I hesitate. It stretches too long. Heads turn toward me, waiting expectant. I hear whispers. And then I meet Damien’s gaze. It’s quiet and unreadable but not cold.
“February 18, three years ago,” he says vaguely.
My brows knit together in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“You once asked me why I picked you, Cassie. Well that’s the answer. February 18. What were you doing on that date, three years ago?
I frown, “How the hell am I supposed to remember that?”
It must seem very weird. That we’re having a full blown conversation and keeping everyone waiting.
“You’ll remember,” he assures me gently. “But for now, say you’ll marry me. I swear to you that I’ll do anything to make sure you never regret the decision. All you have to do is just trust me, bella .”
I remember the blood on his sleeve. The steel in his voice when he told me I had no choice. But I also remember the way he took care of me two days ago. How attuned he was to what I needed. The way he held me. And the way he’s holding my hand even now.
Despite what has happened in the past two weeks. If I’m being honest, the only times I’ve felt truly safe and calm have been around Damien. He might be a monster. But whether I like it or not, he’s my monster.
“I do,” I whisper, the words coming out more sure than I feel.
He offers me a small smile at that. The rings come next. His fingers are gentle as he slides mine on. My hand fumbles slightly when I return the favor and I think I see the ghost of a smile tug at the corner of his mouth.
Then the priest says it.
“You may now kiss the bride.”
My body goes rigid.
I’d been so wrapped up in surviving the moment, I’d forgotten there was a next one. And this one I haven’t given much thought to. Icy blue eyes find mine, sure and steady.
“Don’t pretend you don’t want me to, Cassie,” he murmurs, stepping closer.
His hand lifts, fingers brushing the side of my face. My breath catches. He doesn’t kiss me right away. He looks at me, like he’s waiting for something. Permission?
Then he speaks, lowly, his voice rumbling through me.
“The things that hurt you can also help you, sweetheart. Nothing in life’s a straight line.”
I’m too frozen to speak, too confused to move, too aware of the hundred pairs of eyes on us. But more than anything, those words strike a chord within me. “Mr. Italian?”
My eyes brighten with recognition. Which is when he leans in.
His lips touch mine, and it isn’t soft. It’s firm, commanding, a little dangerous. Like he’s claiming me in front of everyone. And I kiss him back, with everything in me. Because a part of me has wanted to do this. For much longer than I had realized.
My heart beats with the knowledge of what I’ve just remembered. And I’m filled with understanding. Everything suddenly makes sense.
Kissing him is the only thing tethering me to the present. His mouth parts slightly, just enough for the kiss to deepen. His hand is at my lower back now, pulling me closer, his body solid and warm and maddeningly familiar.
For a few seconds, the church disappears. Everything disappears except the fee of his lips, the heat in his touch and the wild beat o my heart slamming against my ribcage. When he finally pulls back, I’m breathless. Damien looks almost as affected as I feel, disbelief shining in his expression.
Like he can’t believe something like that could feel so right. That a single kiss could awake so much.
The applause rises slowly, measured and formal but all I can hear is my own heartbeat. And I don’t know whether I want to scream or lean in and kiss him again.
I remember.