Amadeo
I can’t get the fucking kiss out of my fucking head. There’s an intimacy to a kiss. It’s more than sex. Or maybe that’s her. Kissing her is like having my breath stolen. I don’t know what the fuck it is, but I can’t resist, and I do know better. Because when I kiss her, I do forget. I let myself forget. Bastian is right. And like an omen, a foretelling of our future as we stand here on the edge of destiny, that kiss sparked a fire, and I’m not sure it will leave anything but ash in its path.
There is no music for our wedding. No organist to start the ceremony. I don’t wait for my bride at the altar, anticipating the first glimpse of her. No guests to stand when the cathedral doors are opened, and she appears veiled in white on the threshold. The disheveled priest adjusts his collar as he takes his place at the altar, the soldier at his back his companion. Bruno and his wife, Donatella, stand as our witnesses. They turn to watch me march Vittoria down the aisle. Her father will never have the honor.
Vittoria steps are heavy. The nape of her neck feels small in my hand. Delicate. Vulnerable. She’s wearing dark leggings and a simple top. Her long, wavy hair is uncombed, her face free of makeup. She’s stunning all the same, although I must admit, this isn’t the wedding I ever thought I’d have. Not that I’d ever planned one. But like I told her days ago, it’s not a love match I seek.
When we get to the kneelers, I urge Vittoria down to hers and settle into the one beside her. Out of habit, she puts her hands together in prayer. I do the same and turn my gaze up to Father Paolo, who clears his throat.
I don’t like this man. This foolish coward. A few hundred euros and he’ll willingly marry a woman who very clearly is not here of her own free will. Although, to be honest, if he’d put up a fight, he’d have been easily replaced. And this was going to happen. He, like everyone else, knows it. So why not line his own pockets?
The priest opens his book. A page marker falls out of it, and he looks down over his robes, unsure what to do.
“Leave it. Let’s go,” I tell him.
He grants Vittoria one quick glance before beginning, keeping his eyes on his Bible as he reads words I’m sure he’s said a thousand times. When he starts a prayer, I clear my throat and shake my head.
“The vows,” I say.
“We need—”
“The vows.”
“Of course.”
He closes the book and holds it to his chest with both hands. He’s sweating. I guess he remembers the last time we were here. He mutters a few words to God before his eyes settle on Vittoria. I look at her profile. Watch her throat work as she swallows. Her gaze is impassive. She’s a perfect stone statue at my side.
“Repeat after me,” he instructs. “I, Vittoria Russo…” He pauses, and she repeats. “Take Amadeo Del Campo Caballero…” It’s a mouthful. She repeats. “For my lawful husband. I will obey and serve him…” He pauses for her.
She clenches her jaw. When a long minute passes, the priest turns to me.
“My bride is shy,” I say and lean close to Vittoria, who hasn’t moved. Her fingers are intertwined, her knuckles white from the pressure. “Remember what’s at stake, Dandelion.”
She turns to me, her blue eyes as cold as glaciers, freezing me out. “I will obey and serve him.”
“In sickness and in health forsaking all others so long as I shall live.”
I modified the vows. Added what I needed and removed what I didn’t.
Vittoria repeats the words robotically, and it’s my turn. I don’t wait for the priest.
“I, Amadeo Del Campo Caballero, take thee, Vittoria Russo, for my lawful wife to have and to hold until death do us part.”
Vittoria watches me as I say my part. Whose death, I wonder. She’s wondering the same thing.
“Rings,” I say, turning back to the priest.
Father Paolo nods, and I reach into my pocket to produce two rings.
“With this ring, I thee wed,” I say as I take her hand and slip hers onto her finger. It matches the band on the diamond engagement ring she chose. She doesn’t even glance at it. I hold out the ring she will place on my finger. She takes it and roughly slides it on.
“With this ring, I thee wed,” she says flatly, turning away as she does.
The priest begins to go into some reading, and I interrupt him again. “Pronounce us husband and wife.”
I know he wants us gone, so he doesn’t hesitate, lifting his hand to make the sign of the cross as he speaks the words.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife. What God has—”