Amelia doesn’t speak to me during the drive, and I don’t force her to. I know she feels like she just signed her life away, and maybe she has. However, she’ll have to live with it because this decision is final. You don’t divorce out of the family once you’re married into it. Death is the only out.
When we pull up, I see some of the Petrenkos are here too. I frown, but Alessandro wouldn’t have just invited them for fun. The Russian mafia would be here for business alongside my wedding celebrations. The family’s business never stops, not for anyone.
Amelia and I walk in, and we’re met by a waiter with a tray of champagne. We each take a glass, and I look at Amelia.
“People will want to speak to us both. Best we stay together,” I explain, touching her arm to lead her to a nearby table.
She follows but doesn’t say anything, she still has a rather sour look on her face, and I can’t help but wonder if she’ll smile in any photos.
“Mia, smile child. It’s your wedding day,” Gustavo says, coming over.
“No, Papa, it’s my sale date,” she says spitefully.
I roll my eyes. “You’re not a slave. This is for your own protection.”
Amelia doesn’t look at me and I realize that’s her game. She’s just going to ignore me for as long as she can.
Gustavo sighs and moves off as more family members head in our direction. I touch her arm. “Don’t be rude. I mean it. You could be rude to the wrong person. And smile, dammit.”
She doesn’t say anything, but she puts a small smile on her face as my Nonna comes forward to greet her, speaking Italian so quickly that I can see Amelia is struggling to keep up. I take Nonna’s hand. “Grazie Nonna, please get something to eat.”
A tall woman steps forward. She has amber eyes like Amelia, but she’s done a bad bleach job on her hair, and her nails are so long my mind instantly demands to know how she doesn’t rip her ass open every time she wipes.
“Amelia,” she says curtly.
“Mother,” Amelia says, trying to broaden her smile, “Thank you for coming today.”
“I had to. It is your wedding day, after all,” she says, turning to me. “Catharina Fernando, I still go by my married name.”
I take her hand gently in mine. “It’s a pleasure to bring you into our family, Mrs. Fernando.”
“Catharina, please, I’m not that old. Amelia,” She turns back to my bride. “You have gained so much weight. I must send you the diet I’m on. It will work wonders for your love handles.”
I can see Amelia starting to feel subconscious as she tries to press her arms against herself. “I just haven’t had time for the gym.”
“Do you want to look like your father when you’re older or like me?” Catharina says with a smirk. “Good grief, Amelia. Look at the wrinkles you already have, and you’re not even thirty. You need to start using a decent night cream. I’ll send you what I use.”
“Excuse me, but if you’re just going to stand here and belittle her, you can actually leave. Today is her wedding day, and no one has the right to make her feel she’s worthless,” I say, snapping, making several people glance in our direction.
“Well, I never… She is my daughter, and I have her best interests at heart, unlike you, you thug. She needs someone to be honest with her, not someone to mollycoddle her.” Catharina glares at me. “If I want to say she’s fat, she’s fat. If I think she’s ugly, she’s ugly. You can afford this house but couldn’t afford a proper reception or at least decent makeup to cover those dark circles under her eyes. Never mind how hideous her wedding dress is.”
I step toward her, towering over her, my nose inches from hers. As rude as she is, she falls silent, realizing she has crossed a line with me as I say, “My guards are going to escort you out now, and you are never going to see Amelia ever again, do you understand?”
“But…” she starts to say, “She’s my….”
“You’re not a mother,” I hiss. “You won’t be coming within an inch of my wife ever again.”
I snap my fingers, and Joel comes forward. “Escort her out. She’s never to contact anyone here again.”
The whole room is silent as Joel walks Catharina out of the house. Amelia storms off, and I follow her, concerned she’s going to try to make amends with her mother. She stops in the entrance hall and wheels around. “You had no right.”
“So, you like the way she treats you like shit?” I ask, straightening my jacket and looking at her.
“You do not interfere with my family, and I don’t interfere with yours. You don’t get to dictate to me or speak for me. I can take care of myself, Francesco.”
She only ever uses my name when she is angry with me, and from the looks of how today is turning out, it is going to be that name for a while.
“You are such a stone-cold asshole you don’t think of anyone but yourself,” she says loudly. “You and your family are all you care about.”