6. Lydia
LYDIA
Morning comes in through the gap in the curtains and I haven’t slept at all.
I spent most of the night awake, lying on the mattress with a single pillow pressed over my face and staring at the dark behind my own eyelids. Every time I came close to sleep, my body would jolt itself back to consciousness like it was afraid of what I might dream.
I sit up and look out the bolted window.
Beyond the glass, the grounds stretch out in full daylight.
For the first time, I can finally get a sense for just where I am.
My stomach bottoms out when I see it. The lawn fades into a tree line that goes on and on until it becomes a single dark and unbroken wall. The sea glints silver beyond that.
I ran into that darkness last night thinking it would take me to freedom.
What would’ve happened if I actually reached the edge? Swim to Connecticut?
I press my forehead against the cold glass and let a resigned giggle out at the absurdity of it.
The door opens behind me, and I don’t bother turning around.
“Good morning, dear,” Giorgia’s voice greets me cheerily. “Mr. D’Ambrosio had this brought in for you.”
Slowly, I turn towards her and freeze when I see the garment bag draped over her arm. Even before she unzips it, I know what’s inside.
I continue staring as she reveals the simple wedding dress. It's a clean ivory silk with a low back and thin straps. There’s no train and no beading. Elaborate enough to be considered more than just a white dress, but not so elaborate as to suggest that it’s anything other than a formality.
Somehow, when Nico told me that we were getting married, I was under the assumption that I’d at least have a few days to figure things out.
I thought that maybe we might have to do the full song and dance where we might preview a venue, go try on a few dresses, and maybe even throw an engagement party.
I wasn’t expecting this.
“I'm not putting that on.” My voice shakes a little when I see it.
"It would be wise to." Giorgia lays out the dress on the bed and steps back. “Mr. D’Ambrosio will expect you to wear it.”
"Right." I pull my eyes from the dress, blinking fiercely as I look at her.
She doesn’t argue or try to justify anything. I have a funny feeling that she’s spent enough time around the D’Ambrosio Family to know better than to convince them–or the women they drag home–to change their mind.
I get out of bed, pick up the dress, and pull it on.
The silk material is cool against my skin and the cut is certainly beautiful in its own way. But it slips the moment I try to settle it across my shoulders. The left strap slides down my arm no matter how many times I push it back up.
I close my eyes and feel the bitter sting of tears stabbing at the back of my nose. This dress wasn’t made for me.
Which isn’t a surprise, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.
I push the strap back up again and hold it there, looking at myself in the mirror. The woman looking back at me has dark circles under her eyes, and I can’t stop thinking about Mom’s look on her wedding day to Frank.
Be brave, baby. I can hear her voice in my ear.
And the sting stabs my nose again. I squeeze my eyes shut and rub my eyes like I’m rubbing the sleep away.
The strap slides back down again.
"Here, dear." Giorgia’s voice rises behind me.
Soft fingers move to the strap and I feel something pinning it in place. When she lets go, the strap doesn’t fall down anymore. I open my eyes and find her looking at me while her gentle hands give my shoulders a light squeeze.
"I know this isn't what you would have chosen," she says quietly.
I let out a shaky breath. "That's a generous way of putting it."
"It is." She smooths the silk once at my waist. "But I have watched this house for a long time, dear. And I've watched that boy for longer than he would like to admit."
I hold still as she works. “Is this the part where you try and make me feel better about marrying a monster?”
"He is many things." Her hands drop from my shoulders. "But he’s not a monster."
"You know I’ve seen him kill people, right?" I retort. "I'm under no illusions about what he is."
Giorgia looks at me in the mirror for a moment.
"I believe Nicolas will surprise you in time. And perhaps in time, you will come to understand him a little better than you do now. I don’t expect you to forgive him for doing this to you.”
That’s the most honest thing I’ve heard ever since I got here.
I look down and turn away from the mirror and take several quick breaths to steel myself. I won’t cry, and I sure as hell won't let Giorgia see me cry so that she might tell Nico later. It takes a few tries, but I eventually manage to swallow my feelings down somewhere just out of reach.
"Thank you, Giorgia," I finally say. "For helping with my dress. It looks beautiful."
“Of course, dear. When you’re ready, come downstairs. There’s no rush.”
And what if I never come down? I almost ask. Will he come upstairs and drag me to the altar?
I’m pretty sure I know exactly what that answer is.
So, I stay quiet and look at myself in the mirror. Giorgia nods, collects the garment bag, and leaves me to it.
The ceremony happens outside under a pergola attached to the house.
That's the word I keep using in my head, because the word wedding feels wildly inappropriate for what this is. Ceremony is more honest. Ceremonies happen for all kinds of reasons.
Funerals, for example, are ceremonies.
And right now, I feel like I’m walking to my own funeral.
I walk down in my bare feet. For all of the planning that Nico made for this impromptu wedding, he didn’t plan on giving me a pair of shoes. The heels I chose for Bella’s wedding are still in my luggage back at Mom’s house.
And even though I want to ruin this day for him, I can’t bring myself to wear my sneakers to my own wedding.
There’s a man standing at the position where a priest normally would stand. He has a brooding expression, made all the more intimidating by the dark hair falling across his eyes. In his right hand is a small leather box.
And beside him is Nico.
He's standing under the pergola with his back to me, one hand is in his pocket, looking out at the treeline where he caught me. He's wearing a dark suit today, and it fits him the way all his clothes do–like the fabric knows better than to be anything other than perfect on his body.
When the other man raises his eyebrows, Nico turns around.
The morning light reflects off the scar along his jaw, and my curiosity returns about just how he got that scar at such a young age. When he sees me, he freezes and stares.
There’s a gentle breeze in the air, but I can’t feel it as he takes in my appearance and I stare back at him.
His blood-red tie is cinched tight around his throat, and the light scruff on his jaw is gone, which is too bad, because I almost prefer him looking just a little bit disheveled.
His head cocks to one side, his lips curve up into a ghost of his smile, and my heart flutters in my throat before an unexpected warmth moves up my cheeks.
I swallow, and his gaze follows. The warmth drops into my stomach and keeps going until it settles into a dull pulsing ember between my legs.
His eyes stay at my throat for just a moment before moving down my neck and bared shoulders. My breathing grows quicker and shallower as it comes to a temporary stop at the curve of my breasts, then down my belly towards my thighs and bared toes.
Every inch of my skin burns where he looks, and the dress suddenly feels hot and itchy. He curls his finger towards me and makes a beckoning motion. An involuntary shudder sends a burst of wet warmth thrumming in my clit as I remember how he felt inside of me last night.
Then, my feet start moving on their own. One step after another until I’m staring up at him.
Up close now, I can smell his cologne embedding itself in my lungs.
The scent of driftwood and salt. Somewhere in the distance, I swear I can hear the sea crashing against the shore.
Suddenly I wonder what it might feel like for him to lay me out on the rocks as his tongue laps the salt from my skin.
His hand reaches up and tugs an errant strand of hair behind my ear. The pads of his fingers leave a trail of fire behind, and I manage to bite back the small moan that almost tumbles out of my lips.
"Shall we?" he asks.
I nod. He gives a gesture to the other man, and the ceremony officially begins.
When we reach the part that requires my response, I say I do in a voice that’s surprisingly even given how hard my heart is pounding.
Nico does the same.
A pair of rings is handed to Nico. He takes my left hand and pushes mine onto my finger. It’s a simple golden band and nothing like what I expected my wedding ring to look like. Then, he drops a ring in my hand and holds out his.
I can throw this ring and make him go get it. Wouldn’t that be something? But I’m pretty sure that if I do, he’ll just put a different one on, and then punish me for it later.
So, like an obedient bride, I slip the ring onto his finger.
"You may kiss the bride," the other man says.
I turn and look up at him. He towered over me when I had been wearing heels. And now in my bare feet, he might as well be a giant. His amber eyes drop to my mouth for just a moment, and his hand comes up to cup my jaw with a gentleness that I hadn’t been able to expect.
"What does this make me?" I ask. “No bullshit. Tell me the truth.”
His voice drops. “It makes you my wife.”
And then he leans down, and the kiss he gives me is soft and brief. Just the lightest brush of lip on lip. Enough to satisfy the formality.
But I’ve had enough of things being done to me.
Enough of standing still and absorbing it.
So before he can pull back, I curl my fingers into the lapel of his jacket, rise to my tiptoes, and kiss him back with both intention and the reckless logic of someone who has decided that if I have to be here, then I’m going to take something with me.
His lips are soft and warm in the morning breeze, and the moment they touch mine, it erases all thoughts from my head. He doesn’t react at first. I think maybe he’s also surprised at what I just did.
But then his lips part, and just like that, I can’t breathe as my heart suddenly goes still while my skin burns.
His arm hooks around my waist and he pulls me closer as he responds in kind.
His large hand presses into the small of my back to draw me flush against him.
My skin is tingling under his touch, and I can’t help the moan that bubbles out of my throat as my tongue darts out into his mouth to taste him.
When he matches me, I let myself stay in the intensity of the kiss, wet and warm. And all the while, I imagine that maybe if I pretend hard enough, then it can feel real.
Then, I pull back, heart racing and breath uneven, and ask one final thing. “Will this be all, Don Nico?”
“As my wife,” he says. “There are certain duties you are expected to perform.”
My heart drops to my stomach, and I stare up at him, blinking. I knew this part was coming, but hearing it out loud doesn’t make it any easier to bear.
I let the words take shape on my lips by their own accord. “And if I refuse to perform them? Are you going to make me?”
“No,” he replies. “I’m not my father. If you refuse, I won’t make you.”
I stare up at him. If what he says is supposed to make me feel better, it doesn’t. Because his father set the bar so fucking low in the ground that you have to dig it up to find it.
“A generous offer for your prisoner.”
“I told you, you’re my wife,” he says. “You’re not a prisoner.”
“No?” I ask back. “I tried to open my window after you brought me back last night, and it was nailed shut. So forgive me if I'm having a hard time believing you right now.”
“You don’t have to believe me to know I’m being honest.”
“If we’re being honest with each other right now, then answer me this.” I narrow my eyes. “Why did you choose to marry me if all you needed was my silence?”
Looking into my eyes, he thumbs my cheek and ignites my skin with his touch. “It kills two birds with one stone.”
I look at him, unable to think as long as he keeps looking at me with those amber eyes and continues touching my cheek.
Finally, I push him away from me and whisper. "I'll never love you, Nico D'Ambrosio."
The corner of his mouth lifts ever so slightly. "Never said anything about love, piccola."
He doesn’t stop me as I rush back inside of the house, wanting to put as much distance between me and him as I can. I climb the stairs, rush past a surprised looking Giorgia, and don’t look back until I reach my room, slamming the door shut behind me.
I lean against it, and the full weight of the morning hits me all at once. The pin Giorgia used to keep the strap on my shoulder finally gives, and the strap slides off my shoulder once more.
I don't bother to push it back.
Who the fuck does he think he is?
The thought comes up hot and fast and I let it.
Who does he think he is, marching me to an altar?
Putting a dress on me that doesn't fit. Making decisions about my life without any input from me.
Looking at me like that during a ceremony I never asked to be at.
Telling me I have privileges while he keeps me locked up like an animal.
And all while looking like something I can’t stop myself from wanting even if you press a gun to my head.
The anger burns bright for a moment.
And then it flickers out when I look down at the ring on my finger. All of a sudden, I can’t stop thinking about Mom, and her frantic text.
I need help, baby. Please.
Was it even her? Is she alive? Or is she sitting somewhere right now, waiting for a daughter who flew across an ocean and never made it to the door? Is Frank there with her? Is he hurting her right now for not getting me back?
Mom… I swore I’d come back to save you. I swear I’ll find my way back to you. I’m just a little delayed. That’s all.
I make it to the bed before my legs give out, and I pull my knees to my chest and let the tears I've been holding come pouring out. They’re hard and ugly and I don’t care who hears anymore.
I press my face into the pillow and scream as I let seven years of a broken promise come out in long, ragged cries that sound like they’re being pulled from deep inside of me.
I cry until there's nothing left.
And when I’ve run out of tears to cry, I feel something unexpected brushing against my cheek.
Blinking through a haze of tears, I look up and realize that the window is open to let in a gentle breeze.