“How lovely,” I uttered, pulling it out of its box and holding it on my lap. “Thank you, Giada. I love it.”
But my neck throbbed as I exchanged a solemn look with my husband. Sadness draped itself over my shoulders when I made the realization that we had no photos of the day. Not even a single keepsake, apart from the scar that would form just under Ettore’s collar bone.
My lungs burned and, suddenly, I found it hard to breathe. I must have paled considerably because she put a hand to my forearm and let out a concerned, “Are you alright?”
“Gia,” Ettore took care with his sisters’ emotions as he explained carefully, “We don’t have any pictures to put in there.”
“Oh,” she muttered woefully a moment before a thought dawned on her. “I have some. I took a few during the ceremony. Here.” Giada pulled out her cell and began scrolling. When she found what she was after, she handed it to me. “See?”
My heart stuttered at the photograph in front of me.
It was taken from the center of the aisle in the church a moment after my veil had been lifted and we turned to face each other for the first time. I looked up at Ettore like he was the only man to exist, and he peered down at me as though he would never again have eyes for anybody else.
It was both beautiful and gut-wrenching.
My heart rate increased and then, my hands were shaking.
This could have been the beginning we deserved. This could have been the start of a wonderful life. An adoring wife to a devoted husband.
My breathing turned ragged.
It was beautiful, and I ruined it.
Moments after this photo was taken, disaster struck and, in my head, I still heard the echoing gunshot.
Panic set in and I stood so fast that the album landed on the floor with a hard thud. Perspiration dampened my brow and my vision blurred. I began to hyperventilate. Both Ettore and Giada were by my side in a flash. I paced, shaking a hand out while panting, “I can’t breathe.”
“It’s okay,” Giada said, placing a hand around my waist and holding me upright. “I’ve got you.” I couldn’t see much of anything when she ordered my husband, “Tor, would you get Vittoria a cold glass of water?” To me, she spoke softly, “Okay, honey. Come with me. You need some fresh air and some quiet.”
She led me away to a room that connected with the back area, sat me down on a lounge and moved to open all of the windows. The moment the cool breeze fanned over my face, I felt I could breathe again. I didn’t see Ettore, but he must have delivered the water because Giada held it up and helped curled my fingers around it. She ordered firmly, “Drink.”
I lifted the glass with shaking hands and tipped it back unsteadily, gulping down water so fast that it dribbled down my chin and onto my lap. My stomach recoiled as the icy water settled, but after a minute, it did seem to help.
Something touched my forehead. My eyes fluttered open and Giada mopped at my moist brow with a cloth. I was embarrassed but grateful. My lips stuck together as I whispered, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She smiled sadly. A few minutes passed and I felt a little better. When I sat up without shaking, she said, “You know, this might sound strange seeing as I appear to be somebody you just met, but I know you. In fact, I’ve known you a while. I don’t know if you remember, but I used to come to your house with my dad. I would play with you and your sister while they talked business.”
What?
Confusion swept over my features. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember.”
Giada’s smile turned sheepish as she sighed through the words, “You used to braid my hair, but, bless you, you weren’t very good at it. I always left with fat, matted locks of fuzz, but in spite of that, I always left with a smile. One time, I gave you something of mine. An Italian charm bracelet.”
Recognition dawned and I gasped slowly. “Oh my God.” I blinked at her. “Idoremember you.”
I still had that bracelet, but up until now, I had no memory of receiving it.
She laughed prettily then, “There you go. Your father was a good friend of my dad’s. In fact, Papa Nunzio lectured all of us before the ceremony. Warned us to treat you right, or else. I know seeing those bruises on your neck are killing him. Even more so that Ettore put them there.”
Shame had me lowering my eyes. “I deserved it.”
I admit I was a little surprised when she said, “Of course, you did, but Nunzio didn’t raise his boys like that. He brought them up to protect their women, even when they’re irrational.” She rolled her eyes. “Especiallythen.”
She wasn’t trying to make me feel bad, but her compassion had me feeling the lowest kind of disgrace. “I owe your family an apology.”
“No, you don’t,” she said and her dull tone had my face snapping to hers in disbelief. “See, maybe it’s because we have history or the fact that I know a little about your life that makes me undeniably sure that it’susthat owesyouan apology.”
Immediately, my throat clogged.