Chapter 7
FRANKIE
Honestly, I’d forgotten all about my mother—because I figured she’d never show. Yet here she is, dressed like she’s headed to the Kentucky Derby instead of her daughter’s wedding.
She gives Charlie a sweet look which we both know is laced with poison.
“I’d like to speak with my daughter on her wedding day, if you don’t mind. Alone?”
Charlie doesn’t budge and for a split second, I’m glad. Knowing our mother, she won’t back down until she gets her way, and I don’t need a scene before my nuptials. Still, I give my sister a nod of reassurance, and after a long look at our mom, she leaves.
Mom sighs happily and takes a seat in a plush chair next to the mirror, angled just enough that she can catch her reflection. She holds her hands out to me, her gaze so intense that I nearly squirm. But then I remember who she really is and the discomfort is replaced by stubborn indifference.
“Come, now.” She motions with her fingers that I step forward and take her hands. Reluctantly, I do. The feel of her hands squeezing mine fills me with distaste. “You look very beautiful today, Francesca.”
Besides strangers or new acquaintances, only my mother calls me that to my face. Using my full name when she knows I prefer Frankie is just one more way for her to willfully misunderstand me. To make a point out of having things done her way—as always.
“I remember being where you are,” she croons. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”
I pull free of her grip, Livvie’s face flashing in my mind. “Yes, I do.”
“Francesca—”
No, she’s not going to do this to me. Not today and not anytime soon. It took me a long time and a lot of energy to work through the wounds she caused. The last thing I need before I walk down the aisle is the pain of them all over again, fresh and smarting.
“You don’t know me, Mom,” I tell her. “You have no idea what’s going on or what my life is like, because you decided not to be a part of it when you left. So why don’t you go sit down and enjoy the free wine?”
Hurt flickers across her face. I don’t believe it, but it’s there. She whisks it away with another smile but not fast enough. Why does it make me satisfied that I hurt her for once? Jesus, I don’t need this right now.
She stands with a small sniffle—to make me feel guilty, probably.
“You really do look beautiful, darling.”
She pauses for my response but I don’t give her one, and she leaves.
The door clicks shut, closing the rest of the world out so I can sink onto the settee in front of the mirror and gather myself.
Who cares what I look like? What good is it to be beautiful when you’re being forced to marry a criminal, a controlling asshole who’s screwing his assistant.
My mind takes off with all the things wrong with this marriage and every dark scenario I’m about to step into.
Tearing my gaze away from the mirror, I jerk at another knock on the door.
It opens and my father strides in easily.
His demeanor is casual, as if this is just another day and he had no part in selling me off to the mob.
“It’s time,” he says, sliding his hands into his trouser pockets. There’s an almost gleeful twinkle in his blue eyes, a light that I haven’t seen before. He’s…happy about this.
Giddy, even.
Searching his face, all I can muster in return is a glare. He sold us out, all of us. Our winery is gone, our legacy wiped. And now he’s standing here smiling from ear to ear, like he can hardly wait to lead me down the aisle to fulfill his dirty promise.
I rise and try to walk past him, but he snags my arm as I cross the threshold and pulls me back with a pointed look. Then he wraps my hand around his forearm and leads me down the hallway, around the corner where the golden hue of the sun reaches inside.
Arched barn doors are open, leading us into the winery courtyard, where my heels click on the cobblestone as we enter the mouth of the vineyard.
As expected, Bellanti Vineyards are turned out in full show mode.
Sprays of expensive-looking flowers adorn every flat surface, with more bouquets hanging from the trees.
Elegant white chairs with sheer ribbons sit in perfect rows, holding even more perfectly dressed guests. All eyes are on me.
All of them.
More greenery is draped over the large pergola where my groom and the priest await me.
Lights twinkle from the branches of live oaks and weeping pepper trees.
My gorgeous sisters are lined up on one side of the pergola, Dante’s brothers and friends (or business associates?) in their tuxes on the opposite side.
Everything is impressively elegant and perfect and I didn’t choose any of it, least of all the man waiting for me at the end of the aisle.
It’s surreal. I feel like I’m fighting through a bad dream as my father leads me to my fate.
A string quartet plays the wedding march, sounding tinny and small in my ears.
I keep my eyes focused straight ahead at the dark outline of my groom, who doesn’t even have the decency to watch me walk down the aisle.
He’s looking down, then to the side, then up as if assessing the weather. Anywhere but at me.
The music fades as I reach Dante. My father deposits me at my groom’s side, drops my hand like it’s on fire, and disappears.
I guess we’re not doing the whole “who gives this woman in marriage” part.
Nor, obviously, the part where the groom acknowledges his bride before him, maybe even tearing up a little when he sees how pretty she looks.
Nope, because my future husband is a hell of a lot more interested in the platinum blonde sitting in the second row off to my left. I caught his gaze as it bounced over to her, and it’s currently still stuck there.
“Family, friends. Welcome all, on this glorious day.”
The priest’s voice gets Dante’s attention and he finally looks at me as he turns to face the priest. Nothing registers on his face, his expression inscrutable.
Looking past him to his brothers who stand in the line of groomsmen beside him, I find Armani wearing the same somber expression as Dante.
Marco, the youngest, grins at me and winks, and I turn away.
Dante’s tuxedo is pure perfection and were this a different story altogether, I’d take the time to really appreciate how well it fits him. How stunning and honestly, panty-melting he looks in it. But this isn’t a love story. It’s duty.
No wonder he won’t look at me. He feels the same, of course.
I zone out during the ceremony, doing everything I can to hold it together, until suddenly the priest is asking us to speak our vows. What a joke. I already know Dante isn’t planning to honor his.
He and I turn toward each other. He takes my hands in his, loosely, without any of the power he exhibited during our handshake at dinner.
It’s as if he doesn’t want to be touching me at all.
Someone hands me a men’s wedding band. Whatever the priest has said up to this point, I’ve blocked it out.
Half the wedding already over and I have no recollection of it as I stand facing a man who’s making it very clear that he doesn’t want me.
“Francesca Abbott, do you promise to love, honor, and obey Dante as his wife, dutifully, faithfully, as long as you both shall live?”
I know I need to answer, but I don’t want to. And then I remember my sisters. They’re the ones I think of, and in lieu of my vows, I make a sincere, silent pledge to always keep them safe—especially Livvie, who looks so fresh and happy for me that I can hardly stand it.
“I-I do,” I say.
The priest gives a subtle gesture, prompting me to slide the ring onto Dante’s finger.
“Dante Bellanti, do you promise to love and honor Francesca, dutifully, faithfully, as long as you both shall live?”
No obeying for the groom, of course.
The corner of his mouth twitches. His eyes are hard as stone as he slides both the engagement ring and a slim wedding band on me—neither of which I’ve seen yet.
“I do,” he says.
Liar. The word nearly pops out of my mouth. He has no intention of loving me. I glance over at my sisters again. Livvie is grinning from ear to ear. I’m doing this for her. For Charlie.
“I now pronounce you man and wife.”
I snap back to my—oh my God, my husband—just as he reaches for my veil.
Lifts it. His dark hair glints in the sunlight and something flickers in his eyes.
A spark of interest, perhaps. My heart flips in anticipation as he leans in to kiss me, but my body is stiff and I don’t fluidly lean in to meet him.
It must show, because suddenly his hand is behind my head and he’s pulling me toward him.
Closer, closer until his hot breath touches my mouth and his lips are on mine, his tongue demanding to get between them as he forces me to open for him.
I pull in a shocked breath through my nose, my cheeks flaming with heat as he punishes me with his kiss.
My lips tingle, little sparks of heat flicking over my skin as his tongue slides along mine, tasting me, demanding to know me.
I’m woozy with the force of the kiss, my knees going watery.
It’s time to pull back…this has gone on too long for a public kiss…
but he won’t let go. My neck throbs from the force of my pulse there.
The tingling grows, the sparks multiplying.
Finally, Dante slowly breaks away. I take a breath while his lips still touch mine, barely, just barely.
His eyes bore into mine, and then he takes my lower lips between his teeth and presses the tender flesh.
I jerk as the pressure promises pain, but he lets me go, putting space between us so quickly that I nearly falter.
There’s a pause from our guests before someone in the back starts to clap, and then all of them do, followed by cheers and whistles and I swear that I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life.
My legs quiver, my hands shake. Dante takes my arm and loops it through his with an amused sidelong glance.
He looks at me again, and he must notice the heat in my flaming cheeks, because for the first time all day he smiles.
“Ah, there’s my blushing bride.”
Livvie coos with delight behind me, clapping furiously. She still believes I agreed to this marriage willingly, and I’m glad for it. Let her enjoy the day. At least one of us can.
The unfamiliar weight on my finger prompts me to look down at the rings situated there.
The wedding band is eternity style, set all around with small sparkling diamonds; the engagement ring sports a huge, flawless, emerald cut diamond surrounded by sapphires.
Funny to get my engagement ring during the wedding.
I wonder if Jessica chose the rings, too?
There’s a slight tug on my arm as Dante leads me out of the pavilion and down the aisle. I catch the eyes landing on me as I pass. Friends. Neighbors. Business acquaintances.
My mother.
She’s frowning beneath the brim of her egregious hat and I can’t tell if it’s from displeasure or something else. Not that it matters.
I lift my chin as I walk by, straightening my spine. I won’t falter in front of her, or anyone else. My mother might be a quitter, but I’m not.
I won’t walk away from my responsibilities. I won’t fail. I’ll make the best of my life and whatever comes next.
Delores Alvarez is two rows down. Her eyes track me as I approach. They’re sad, worried. Her smile tight. My resolve wavers, because I actually care what she thinks. But I’ll never show it. Never.
Steeling myself, I smile—no, I beam—as I glide past. It doesn’t matter what happens the rest of the day, or what anyone thinks. I have to get through this.
I’m a Bellanti now, and come hell or high water, I’m determined to finish out my wedding as the picture of a perfect bride.