“Because you’re not supposed to take those painkillers if you’re pregnant,” she whispered.
“Gina!” my mother gasped. “She’s not pregnant!”
I almost laughed at the expressions on their faces.
“I wasn’t blaming Lia, if anything it would be the fault of my reckless son,” Mrs. Calo said quickly.
“I promise, I’m not pregnant,” I cut in. “I just get migraines like this when I get hormonal. Peregrine and I…we didn’t have sex. We’ve never even kissed.”
“Good,” Mrs. Calo said, blushing. “My sons can be a little wild. It’s nice to know Peregrine showed you some respect.”
Eager to move on from the subject of my non-existent sex life, I set to work trying to get my breasts to fit in the dress. I pushed them down, tucking them in, and my mother brought me some body glue to secure my neckline. When I went back to the mirror, my throat tightened, but this time for a better reason.
I was beautiful.
My hair was done in a neat knot at the nape of my neck and my veil was pinned above it. There was a braid wrapped around my head with little pearls and purple roses threaded through it. Soft tendrils of dark hair fell around my face and neck. The heavy lace clung to my body, drawing in at my waist and flaring out over my hips.
“Goodness, you’re beautiful,” my mother whispered.
I swallowed. “Thank you.”
Upstairs, the church bells chimed once. Mrs. Calo jumped, checking herself in the mirror.
“Have to go,” she said, kissing the air by my cheek. “Congratulations, dear, we’re so excited to have you in the family.”
She disappeared upstairs. I followed my mother up the steps to the little room at the back of the church. Through the wall, I could hear a cello playing Vivaldi’s “The Four Seasons.” Against the backdrop of the rain pattering at the windows, it was stunning. For a moment, I just stood there and listened. Breathing it in and trying to ignore the hot pain in my right eye.
My stepfather appeared, dressed in a black Italian suit. “Let’s get you up to your seat, Mia, and then I’ll be back to escort the bride.”
I stood to the side, my deep red roses and fall blossoms clutched in my fist, as he led her through the doors. Then I was alone, pacing back and forth. The doors to my left, the doors that led out to the muddy walkway and the field dotted with gravestones, were unlocked.
I closed my eyes and thought of Peregrine leading me up the driveway, still in our wedding clothes, to the front door. I thought of him carrying me over the threshold in his arms. And I shivered as I thought of him laying me down, his beautiful, cruel face hovering over me as he parted my legs. My mouth was so dry I almost gagged.
I turned abruptly and went to the doors, gripping the bar to pull them open. If I was going to run, now was the moment.
“Lia.”
I turned and my stepfather stood there, hands behind his back. He pressed his lips together and held out his hand.
I looked at the door and back at his palm. “I wasn’t going to run,” I whispered.
“I’m sure you weren’t.”
Heart in my stomach, I went to him and let him tuck my hand beneath his arm. Tears threatened to push through my lashes and I blinked hard, tilting my chin back.
I wasn’t weak. I was brave, I was brave, I was so very brave.
The music changed to the song I’d picked for my entrance. I hadn’t told anyone my music choice except the soprano and the harpist who accompanied her. “Un Bel Di”from Puccini’sMadama Butterfly—a song about vain hope, of useless waiting, of impending heartbreak. It was the aria I’d played for the Calo family.
I felt my stepfather stiffen, but he kept silent. We stood there until the song reached its crescendo and the doors pushed aside, the room hazy with incense. I could barely see through the thick lace veil draped over my face, almost reaching my knees. I doubted Peregrine could see much of me either, which was the effect I’d wanted.
I was safe in my shroud. At least for the next few minutes.
At the end of the aisle, the music finished and the church fell silent. My stepfather took my hand, turning me to face the congregation. Then he lifted my veil, draping it back over my head.
I dragged my eyes up, hot and almost fainting from the incense. There stood my husband, so handsome he took what little breath I had away. He wore a tailored, dark blue suit and his hair was slicked back over his head. He’d grown a short beard, carefully combed, and it accentuated his jawline beautifully. As his gaze fell on me, his eyes narrowed and smoldered.
A deep shiver moved through my body.