But it seemed impossible.
She growled, the sound releasing some of her tension. But not enough. “Matteo, why are you always so far out of my reach?”
This was Alessia’s second wedding day. Weird, because she’d never technically had a boyfriend. One hot night of sex didn’t really make Matteo her boyfriend. Boyfriend sounded too tame for a man like Matteo, anyway. Alessia finished zipping up the back of her gown. It was light, with flutter sleeves and a chiffon skirt that swirled around her ankles. It was lavender instead of white. She was a pregnant bride, after all.
There weren’t many people in attendance, but she liked that better. Her father, her brothers and sisters, Matteo’s grandmother, Teresa, and his mother, Simona.
She took the bouquet of lilacs she’d picked from the garden out of their vase and looked in the mirror. Nothing like what the makeup artist had managed on The Other Wedding Day, but today she at least looked like her.
She opened the guest bedroom door and tried to get a handle on her heart rate.
She was marrying Matteo Corretti today. In a sun-drenched garden. She was having his baby. She repeated that, over and over, trying to make it feel real, trying to hold on to the surge of good feelings it gave her. Because no matter how terrifying it was sometimes, it was also wonderful. A chance at something new. A chance to have a child, give that child the life that had been denied her. The life that had been denied Matteo.
The stone floor was cool beneath her bare feet, the palazzo empty, everyone outside waiting. She’d opted to forego shoes since that was how he said he knew her.
Barefoot in the garden. So, she would meet him as he remembered her. Barefoot in the garden, with her hair down. Maybe then they could start over. They were getting married today, after all, and in her mind that meant they would have to start trying to work things out. They would at least have to be civil.
She put her hands on the rail of the curved, marble staircase, still repeating her mantra. She walked through the grand foyer, decorated in traditional, ornate furniture that didn’t remind her one bit of Matteo, and she opened the door, stepping out into the sun.
The music was already playing. A string quartet. She’d forgotten to say what she wanted for music but this was perfect, simple.
And in spite of what Matteo had said, there was a photographer.
But those details faded into the background when she saw Matteo, standing near the priest, his body rigid, his physique displayed to perfection by a custom-made gray suit.
There was no aisle. No loud click of marble beneath her heels, just grass beneath her feet. And the guests were standing, no chairs. Her father looked like he was ready to grab her if she decided to run. Eva, Giana, Pietro and Marco looked worried, and she didn’t blame them. She had been their stability for most of their lives, their surrogate mother. And she hadn’t told them she was marrying Alessandro for convenience, which meant her disappearance, subsequent reappearance with a different groom and a publicly announced pregnancy must seem a few steps beyond bizarre to them.
She gave them her best, most confident smile. This was her role. To show them it was all okay, to hold everything together.
But her eyes were drawn back to Matteo. He made her throat dry, made her heart pound.
But when she reached him, he didn’t take her hand. He hardly looked at her. Instead, he looked at the priest. The words to the ceremony were traditional, words she knew by heart from attending hundreds of society weddings in her life.
There was nothing personal about them, nothing unique. And Matteo never once met her eyes.
She was afraid she was alone in her resolve to make things work. To make things happy. She swallowed hard. It was always her job to make it okay. To smooth it over. Why wasn’t it working?
“You may kiss the bride.”
They were the words she’d been anticipating and dreading. She let her eyes drift shut and she waited. She could feel his heat draw near to her, and then, the brush of his lips on hers, so soft, so brief, she thought she might have imagined it.
And then nothing more.
Her breath caught, her heart stopped. She opened her eyes, and Matteo was already turning to face their small audience. Then he drew her near to him, his arm tight around her waist. But there was no intimacy in the gesture. No warmth.
“Thank you for bearing witness,” Matteo said, both to her father and his grandmother.
“You’ve done a good thing for the family, Matteo,” his grandmother said, putting a hand over his. And Alessia wondered just how much trouble Matteo had been in with his family for the wedding fiasco.
She knew the media had made assumptions they’d run off together. Too bad nothing could be further from the truth.
Still, her father, his family, must think that was the truth. Because now they were back in Sicily, she was pregnant and they were married.
“Perhaps we should go inside for a drink?” her father suggested.
“A good plan, Battaglia, but we don’t talk business at weddings.”
Simona begged off, giving Matteo a double kiss on the cheeks and saying she had a party to get to in the city. Matteo didn’t seem the least bit fazed by his mother’s abandonment. He simply followed her father into the house.
She watched him walk inside, her heart feeling heavy.
Teresa offered her a smile. “I’ll see that Matteo’s staff finds some refreshments to serve for us. I’ll only be a moment.” The older woman turned and went into the house, too, leaving Alessia with her siblings.
It was Eva, fourteen and emotional, who flung herself into Alessia’s arms. “Where did you go?”
“New York,” Alessia said, stroking her sister’s hair.
“Why?”
“I had to get away … I couldn’t marry Alessandro.”
“Then why did you agree to the engagement?” This from Marco, the second oldest at nineteen.
“It’s complicated, Marco, as things often are with Father. You know that.”
“But you wanted to marry Corretti? This Corretti, I mean,” asked sixteen-year-old Pietro.
She nodded, her throat tight. “Of course.” She didn’t want them to be upset. Didn’t want them to worry. She maybe should have thought of that before running off to New York, but she really hadn’t been able to consider anyone else. For the first time, she’d been burned out on it and she’d had to take care of herself.
“They’re having a baby,” Giana said drily. “I assume that means she liked him at least a little bit.” Then she turned back to Alessia. “I’m excited about being an aunt.”
“I’m glad,” she said, tugging on her sister’s braid.
They spent the rest of the afternoon out in the garden, having antipasti, wine for the older children and Teresa, and lemonade for her and younger kids. Her siblings told her stories of their most recent adventures, which ended up with everyone laughing. And for the first time in months, Alessia felt at ease. This was her family, her happiness. The reason she’d agreed to marry Alessandro. And one of the driving reasons behind her decision to marry Matteo.
Although she couldn’t deny her own desire where he was concerned. Still, happy wasn’t exactly the word that she would use to describe herself at the moment. Anxiety-ridden? Check. Sick to her stomach? That a little bit, too.
The sun was starting to sink behind the hills, gray twilight settling on the garden, the solar lights that were strung across the expanse of the grass illuminating the growing darkness.
Their father appeared on the balcony, his arms folded across his chest, his eyes settled on her siblings.
“I guess we have to go,” Marco said.
“I know. Come back and stay with us anytime,” she said, not even thinking to ask Matteo if it was okay. As soon as she had the thought, she banished it. If she was going to be married to the man, then she wasn’t going to ask his permission to breathe in their shared home. It wasn’t only his now and he would have to get used to it.
Her father was the unquestionable head of their household, but she was the heart of it. She’d kept it running, made sure the kids got their favorite meals cooked, remembered birthdays and helped with homework. Her role in their lives didn’t end with her marriage, and she wasn’t equipped to take on a passive role in a household, anyway.
So, on that, Matteo would just have to learn to deal.
She stopped and kissed her brothers and sisters on the head before watching them go up to where their father stood. All of them but Marco. She held him a bit longer in her embrace. “Take care of everyone,” she said, a tear escaping and sliding down her cheek.
“Just like you always did,” he said softly.
“And I’m still here.”
“I know.”
He squeezed her hand before walking up to join the rest of the family.
“And I should leave you, as well,” Teresa said, standing. “It was lovely to see you again, my dear.”
Teresa hadn’t batted an eye at the sudden change of groom, had never seemed at all ruffled by the events.
“You care for him,” she said, as if she could read Alessia’s internal musings.
Alessia nodded. “I do.”
“That’s what these men need, Alessia. A strong woman to love them. They may fight it, but it is what they need.” Teresa spoke with pain in her eyes, a pain that Alessia felt echo inside of her.