Even with my sister by my side, it was clear. I was utterly alone.
We approached the bridal table. My heart began to race when Ettore stood and walked around to meet us, not stopping until we were toe-to-toe. Now that I had a second to take him in, I noticed things I hadn’t before.
He towered over me in a way that made me feel small and insignificant. His hazel eyes had a touch of forest green in them. And he was muscular enough to knock me down with the slightest wave of his hand.
Ettore looked as though he might have considered doing just that.
I had never been very good at hiding my emotions so I knew what he saw right then was a girl who was terrified of him. And then he sighed, holding out a hand to me. I turned to my sister in panic. Without a care for my fragile disposition, she handed me over to this… this…beastof a man. Our hands touched and I blanched. His palm curled around mine and I fought the urge to hyperventilate. When he began to walk us towards our chairs, I almost dug my heels in, refusing to go. But, instead, I did what was expected of me.
Like the good girl I was, I complied.
Ettore helped me to my chair, pushing it in after me, then took the seat to my left. Vincenza sat unassisted to my right. And there we remained, soundlessly, for what seemed like hours.
During that time, a man approached our table, smiling, with a camera in hand. I noticed my husband tense until his body was rigid as a flagpole. I sat up dutifully as the man lifted the camera and just as he was about to take the shot, Ettore stood so quickly that his chair warbled loudly in the quiet space, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.
The man with the camera stilled when Ettore loomed, glowering savagely at him.
The cameraman quickly got the hint, put up his hands in placation and backed away.
Not long after, Zio Como approached the table and the moment I saw him coming to speak to me, I sat up eagerly. But when I opened my mouth to speak, I was rudely shut down with a hard look that warned me to stay silent.
My uncle spoke then, but the words were not for me. He looked to my husband and said, “I know what you must think of us. I, myself, am shocked by what has occurred here today. This is not the girl I raised. I can’t apologize enough to you and your family. I was not a part of this treachery and it pains me to say…” he looked at me then with heavy disappointment, “I don’t know this girl.”
And that was it. That was the moment my heart broke in two.
My ears rang and I struggled to breathe through the hurt.
When he went on to say, “She belongs to you now. Do what you must. I have washed my hands of her. She’s dead to me,” those broken pieces of my heart crumbled to dust.
My heartbeat slowed. Every shallow breath burned my lungs and when Zio Como walked away without even looking at me, my throat clogged with unshed tears. Seconds passed and my vision blurred. Not wanting Ettore to witness my tears, I turned my back to him as the first of them fell.
I don’t know how he knew, but from the corner of my eye, I saw something white appear. Between his fingers dangled a white linen napkin. Grateful but mortified, I took it and discreetly dabbed at my eyes.
By this point, the pressure in the hall grew until I thought my head would explode from it. The men on his side of the room were watching the men on my side with an eagle’s eye, waiting for one of them to merely look at someone the wrong way. A brawl was imminent and just when one of the Scala men rose from his table with a deadly look on his face, his fists balled, Ettore stood.
He held out his hand to me and, after the night I’d had, it would seem I was mentally beaten into submission, because I took it without prompting. He pulled me up and then, together, we were walking over to the empty space that was the dancefloor. My stomach dipped as he pulled me towards him, placed a stiff hand at my waist and began to sway us from side-to-side.
It took a moment for the music to catch up, but when the beginnings of Frank Sinatra’sThe best is yet to comestarted to play, I could have died.
This was a sick joke, right? Who approved this song?
Both in bloodstained dress clothes, we slow danced while everyone watched us in dubious silence.
A minute passed, then another. Guilt swarmed my insides. I glanced up at him and he peered down at me. I didn’t intend to speak, but my lips parted and I blurted out, “I didn’t know you had children.”
His cool eyes narrowed on me. “Is that right?”
I shook my head, timidly. I should have stopped there. “Where are they?”
He led perfectly. We swayed in sync. Although he spoke calmly, there was an unmistakable undertone of anger. “After what happened I didn’t think it was safe for them here. Their nonno took them home.”
I couldn’t hide my shame. My response was a mere whisper. “That’s fair.”
As we danced, Ettore glanced down at my neck. “You bruise easily.”
Maybe I was imagining things, but I sensed a little guilt in there somewhere.
I didn’t bruise easily. The marks on my neck were a direct result of him brutally choking me.