Keeping his bride

Verona

I

HAVE MY own bedroom. I was not expecting that. I thought I would be in the same room as Luca and forced to consummate the marriage on the first night. I’m relieved, but at the same time I’m confused. Does he not want to sleep with me? I never questioned the idea of how our marriage would work. I figured it would be like all arranged marriages. Eventually, you just make it work like a normal, loving marriage. That’s what my father and mother did anyway. They slowly fell in love, and their bond was fiercer than any I have ever seen.

Do I want to fall in love with Luca? The possibility seems so far away, like some distant universe, that I can’t even really consider it. But anything is possible, right? Eventually, if we get to know each other, everything will gradually go on a natural course towards love, true love.

I glance in the mirror as I unpack my things and catch my reflection. Maybe Luca isn’t attracted to me. I did put on the most casual clothes I own. But after being in that heavy wedding dress for hours and feeling like I was suffocating the entire time, I needed a break. Plus, my feet were killing me from the high heels.

Popping open my suitcase, I stare at my meager belongings and grimace. Luca made me feel so embarrassed earlier when he called my clothing rags that belong on a homeless person.

No.

I shake my head, straighten my spine and go to the walk-in closet to begin hanging up my favorite pants, dresses, skirts and shirts. I’m not going to let him make me feel like I belong under him, like I’m not good enough.

Even though my father is wealthy, I haven’t been privy to his money in a long time. After graduating from boarding school at eighteen, I went to stay with a great aunt in upstate New York. She was in her seventies, strict and cold…and even cruel sometimes. I never knew why she agreed to take me in since she acted like she hated me most of the time.

The only thing I can think of is that my father offered her money in exchange for keeping me. But I never saw a single red cent. No, my clothes were mostly hand-medowns and thrift store finds. God, my great aunt loved her thrift stores. And she knew how to pinch a penny so hard she could make it bleed.

After my grandfather died a few weeks ago, I was suddenly beckoned by my father to return to my childhood mansion. I didn’t understand it then, but now I know why – my grandfather’s will, and the marriage contract that coincided with his passing. I was simply a pawn in a game that I never knew I was playing.

My father knew the entire time and didn’t say a word. No, I was blindsided instead, just like I have been my entire life when it comes to family matters.

And did I get a say about whether or not I wanted to marry Luca Vitale?

Of course not. I’ve never had much of a voice when it came to my father, but I mean, what did I expect when I haven’t even been around him in more than a decade?

The father I remember growing up was kinder, gentler. The man he became after my mother killed herself turned cold and bitter.

Shivering, I wrap my arms around myself as I stare at my progress. My fingers run over the familiar fabrics and stop at the last dress. It was my mother’s. The dress is soft and ivory with vibrant flowers. I hold the fabric close to me and sniff. Sometimes I swear I can still smell her even though I’ve worn it and washed it many times. It’s my favorite thing that I own, and I could never part with it. It’s the only thing I have of hers, unfortunately.

Sighing, I release the dress and stare around the walk-in closet that’s bigger than my old bedroom at my aunt’s house. My clothes don’t even take up one rack of the many dozens that are in here.

No matter. Maybe I can get Dante to take me shopping soon at a thrift store. I have some money, but not a lot. Maybe I can find something more suitable for the wife of a mobster.Please check at N/ôvel(D)rama.Org.

Another shiver moves through me as I wonder how much power Luca Vitale actually has. How does he make his money? Is he in arms dealing, drugs, or…human trafficking? I pray and hope not the latter, but I have no idea.

For his family to afford a place like this, maybe they have their fingers in all sorts of pies across the city. I thought my childhood home was immaculate and vast, but it doesn’t even hold a candle to my new home.

Home.

I glance around the room and frown. It doesn’t feel like home to me. And I have to wonder if it ever will.