Keeping his bride

Verona

I CAN’T BREATHE. I’m standing in the vestibule of the church, waiting to go inside…to be married…and my dress is too tight. It’s weird because I swear it fit me just a few minutes ago. But now I feel like I might pass out.

“Relax, Verona,” Dante’s soothing voice says from next to me.

“My dress is too tight,” I tell him, my voice rising to new heights in panic.

“Your dress is fine. You’re giving yourself a panic attack.” Dante steps in front of me, takes my hands in his and starts breathing in and out slowly. “Do what I do.”

At first, my breathing is rapid, but eventually I’m able to get it to slow down to match his level.Belonging to NôvelDrama.Org.

“See? Just a panic attack.”

I can’t help but smile at Dante. He always was so good at calming me down. When we were kids, I used to have panic attacks fairly often after my mother died. He was always there to make sure I was okay.

“You look handsome,” I whisper in the quiet room. He’s wearing a dark blue suit, and his hair is styled. I don’t get to see him dressed up very often.

“And you look gorgeous,” he whispers back, his eyes roaming down and then back up until finally resting on my face. A frown pulls down at his lips as he tells me, “He doesn’t deserve you.”

“It’s not about what anyone deserves or doesn’t deserve at this point,” I tell him with a dismissive wave of my hand. “We’re under contract to do this.” Tears burn my eyes. “I just can’t believe my father would allow this.”

“The Morettis and Vitales are all about money,” he says, and I can hear the contempt in his voice. When he notices me staring at him, he clears his throat and says, “Well, at least the Vitales are anyway.”

I shake my head. “I can’t expect Papa to lose everything because of me. He’s worked so hard all his life. Grandfather wasn’t a nice man. My father had to work his way up in the ranks to even be equal to my grandfather.” I stare down at my hands. “This has to be done whether I like it or not.”

“Well, I definitely don’t like it,” Dante spits out.

“What don’t we like?” my father asks as he enters the room. He glares at Dante and sternly tells him, “Go take a seat, Dante. The wedding will be starting soon.”

I watch as Dante opens the door and disappears inside the church. I catch a glance at some of the pews, the people seated who are waiting. I recognize some of them, while the rest are strangers from the Vitale side of the family.

“Papa, I don’t know if I can do this,” I say when the door closes, turning to my father.

“You can. And you will,” he says, his words uncompromising…and final.

I nod in agreement. I never was able to stand up to my father. My mother was the gentle, caring one of the two. My father was the disciplinarian. I learned from an early age to never question him or else there would be consequences. He was always quick to get his belt to get his point across, and I feared him as a child. I guess maybe a part of me still does.

The string quartet begins to play Canon in D, and my entire body seizes up. I can’t move. I can’t think. I’m about to marry a total stranger, someone I knew years ago when I was a little girl, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I can’t say no. I can’t run away, like my legs are protesting to do right at this very moment.

“Verona,” my father whispers at my side. Perhaps he can sense that I want to flee.

I look up at him with tears in my eyes.

“You have to do this. For the family.”

I nod even though I’m screaming out no inside of my head.

The song ends. I can hear someone clear their throat from inside the church, and more tears build up in my eyes as the song starts over.

“It’s time, Verona,” my father tells me before pulling the veil down over my face.

When I give a final nod, he motions for the ushers to open the intricately carved doors before us. The people sitting on the pews immediately stand, all eyes on me.

My legs are moving, but I can’t feel them. I feel like I’m gliding. Maybe I’m moving on my father’s sheer will and determination alone.

Through the lace of my veil, I glance at the two families gathered on each side of the room. On the right are the Vitales, and on the left are the Morettis. I can see some of them staring one another down from across the pews. The families have been at war for years, for as long as I can remember.

And now this union, my union, with Luca Vitale, is supposed to bring peace amongst us all.

Since our two families are just like the Capulet and Montagues, I guess that makes Luca and I a modern-day Romeo and Juliet. Fitting, since I’m named after the city in which the tragedy took place.

It’s unimaginable that a wedding can bring a war to an end, and I have my doubts. All I can do is pray that my husband isn’t a monster. I haven’t seen him since we were children. When I first met him, he was the sweet boy who gave me candy on the playground when we snuck away from the prying eyes of our nannies. If anyone ever saw a Vitale and Moretti together, it would have been an all-out war, but we were kids back then. We didn’t know about any violence or hatred amongst our loved ones. We were innocent.

And then one day, he pushed me off the swing set. It was like a switch had gone off inside of him. And I recall hearing my name come from his lips with disgust and hatred, like he finally figured out who I was, who I really was.

I remember going home, crying, with skinned hands and bruised knees. I never saw Luca after that day, nor did I want to.

And now I’m about to marry him.

If he could be so cruel as a little boy, what kind of man did he ultimately become? I shudder at the thought.

My father stops walking, and I come to an abrupt halt, so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t even realize we walked the entire length of the church. My father turns to me and lifts my veil, giving me a kiss on each cheek as he takes the bouquet out of my grip and squeezes my hand in reassurance.

And then he walks away, leaving me alone.

My dress feels too tight again as I struggle to pull in a deep breath. I barely make it up the few steps to the altar where the priest and my future husband are waiting. I haven’t even looked at him yet. My future husband, that is. I’m too terrified. I haven’t seen him up close since he was a boy.

Taking the final step, I stand next to Luca, staring at the priest and refusing to look anywhere else.

“Face your future husband,” the priest instructs me.

And so, I turn…and stare right into the eyes of the devil himself.

I’m so taken aback by his brutally handsome face that I forget how to breathe. I don’t know what I expected…but it wasn’t this. He’s tall. So tall, in fact, that I have to strain my neck to look up at him. He’s wearing a black suit that fits his broad shoulders flawlessly. His raven hair is perfectly styled and is in stark contrast to his steel-gray eyes that narrow the longer I stare at him. His face looks like it was carved out of stone, his jawline covered in stubble and so strong and ticking under the pressure of his teeth grinding together as he stares at me with…contempt.

I’m taken right back to that day at the playground. I hadn’t done anything to the boy back then either, but he hated me so much in that moment just because of who I was and who my family was. And now the man I’m about to marry obviously feels the same way he did when he was a child.

I snap my eyes shut, blocking his face out. When I open them again, I stare at the priest, hoping that he can see in my eyes that I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to marry this man, but I don’t even have a choice in the matter.

But the priest simply continues with the ceremony, and the next several minutes are a blur as the priest goes on and on with readings from the bible and several prayers.

“Verona, do you promise to honor and cherish Luca in sickness and in health, ’til death do you part?”

My heartbeat is pounding in my ears, and I feel like I’m going to pass out. Glancing around the room, I see my father with a grim look on his face as he gives me an imperceptible nod.

“Verona?” the priest prompts.

“I do?” I answer, but it sounds more like a question.

The priest repeats the same vows to Luca, and he responds with a formidable, “I do.” His voice has a deep, rich timbre. And I’m sure whenever he talks, people shut up and listen.

“Verona and Luca will now exchange rings as a symbol of the promises they’ve made here today and their ongoing commitment to each other.”

I begin to panic because I don’t have a ring for Luca. But suddenly, my husband-to-be is thrusting a ring into my hand. I stare down at the simple black band that will serve as his wedding ring.

The priest continues on with, “These rings were made from precious metals forged in fire, a symbol to your unbreakable bond for this marriage.” He looks to me, “Verona, place Luca’s ring on his finger.”

Luca holds his left hand out to me. The tattoos peeking out under his sleeve and covering the top of his hand catch my attention as I work the band up his thick ring finger. He immediately pulls away from me, like my touch burned him somehow.

“Luca, place Verona’s ring on her finger.”

I hold out my left hand, and Luca’s large hand practically engulfs my small one as he thrusts the diamond ring onto my finger.

I don’t even have time to study the ring before the priest says, “I now pronounce you husband and wife.” He turns his attention to Luca and says, “You may now kiss the bride.”

Luca leans in, and I think to myself, I’m finally going to have my first kiss. But instead, he veers off and places a cold, inconsequential peck to my cheek.

He might as well have slapped me in the face, because that’s what his rejection feels like. A blush burns my cheeks as I stare out at the crowd. I’m so embarrassed by what just happened.

The church falls silent. There are no cheers of encouragement or well wishing. In fact, I’m surprised no one’s been shot yet.

Luca wraps his hand around my arm and roughly forces me to move with him down off the altar and towards the front of the church. Tears are in my eyes as we walk down the silent aisle. I don’t feel like a bride at all. No, I feel like a prisoner being taken to jail for a life sentence.