Distantly, I felt my stepfather take my wrist and offer my hand to Peregrine. His lean fingers lifted mine. His palm was rough and dry and it engulfed my fingers in a firm grip. I looked away as he turned up to face Father Rinaldi and our wedding mass began.
It was short and simple. I’d asked Father Rinaldi not to draw it out and he’d taken my request seriously. The only moment I remembered clearly was the presentation of the flowers to the statue of theMadonna del Caravaggioafter our vows were finished. I was feeling very warm and I’d forgotten the presentation bouquet in the back of the church. My mother had to retrieve it and my stepfather crossed the alter and handed it to me, only adding to the awkwardness.
Peregrine took my arm and I faltered, my ankle giving out. He caught me, holding me against his side so nobody would notice. His eyes were narrowed with concern as he helped me find my footing and descend the stairs to the statue at the left front corner of the church.
I laid the flowers before the solemn face of theMadonna del Caravaggio. Peregrine’s big, warm hand cradled my elbow as he helped me onto the kneeler and sank down at my side. His fingers remained clasped in mine. From behind us, I heard the soprano in the choir loft began singing. My chest tightened, my head spinning as my temple pulsed with blazing heat.
I glanced to the side, my cheeks burning. Peregrine was fully composed, his face sober and his lashes lowered. We were supposed to be praying, but I was too distracted and hot to even think about it. I wondered what he was thinking—he didn’t seem like the type to pray.
The music ended and he stood, reaching for my arm. I ignored his hand, feeling woozy from the incense and sick with pain. Holding onto the kneeler, I stood up and the world went pitch black. The last thing I remembered was falling beneath the beautiful face of my new husband, falling through nothingness.
CHAPTER EIGHT
PEREGRINE
I’d prepared myself for a lot of things to happen on my wedding day, but I hadn’t considered the scenario of my bride collapsing at the alter. She’d felt sick the whole ceremony, I could tell by the miserable look on her face and the hand that kept flitting to her temple. The little stumble as she got down from the alter had worried me, but I knew she’d be angry if I dared ask her what was wrong.
When she stood, I saw the color drain from her face. I saw her go pale as death and fall like a rag doll. I was just inches away and I caught her as her legs gave way, lifting her in my arms. Her head lolled back and her hand unfurled and her roses fell to the ground. The bouquet burst open, spilling blossoms all over the cold marble.
There was a collective gasp and her stepfather was on his feet in an instant, crossing the alter at a run. Everyone began chattering and straining to see, but I turned my back to them, hoping for some privacy. Her stepfather brushed her hair back, pushing his fingers into her neck to check her pulse.
“It’s even,” he said. “She’s fainted, we need a place to lay her.”
“The sacristy,” Father Rinaldi said, leading the way to the back room.
Our mothers appeared, elbowing into the sacristy as I laid her out on the table. Mrs. Antonucci clung to her husband and my mother hiccuped quietly into her handkerchief. I exchanged a look with Father Rinaldi and he sprang into action, ushering them back to give me space.
“Do you want me to call an ambulance?” he asked.
I shook my head. “She just fainted. She’s very warm.”
Her stepfather helped me roll her onto her side and I unfastened her heavy veil with difficulty, getting it out of the way. Her lashes fluttered as we turned her over and I thought she focused on me for a moment before closing her eyes again.
“Did she eat anything this morning?” her twin asked from the doorway.
Mrs. Antonucci nodded. “A banana, an egg white omelette, and coffee. And she sipped ice water before the ceremony.”
I frowned. “It’s just nerves then, I guess. Or too much incense?”
“Perry, dear,” my mother said. “Can I talk to you alone for a second?”
There was a flush on her face as I stepped into the hall with her. She twisted her handkerchief, clearing her throat.
“I gave her one of my painkillers,” she admitted.
“Mamma! How could you?” I hissed. “Those are prescription and they make you dizzy when you take them. Imagine how they’d affect someone who has never taken them before.”
“She was in a lot of pain, she had a migraine,” she said. “She was feeling terrible.”
I blew out a breath, annoyed, but not at Rosalia. Getting a migraine on our wedding day wasn’t her fault.
“Well, I guess I’m not getting laid tonight,” I quipped.
My words had the intended effect. My mother gasped and swatted at me with her handkerchief.
“It was a joke, mamma,” I said, opening the door and going back into the sacristy.
She gripped my elbow tightly enough to hurt, keeping me from opening the door.