“I get to the church and I’m still not feeling right. Take my place, the organ starts and I can’t even turn to look. Dread cements me to the spot.” Unconsciously, I took a tiny step closer because I knew the feeling. “And then it’s time. I hate that we’re doing this. I’m angry and resentful. But then I turn,” he lowered his gaze and his voice turned quiet, “and see you.”

The way he said it… My arms lined with goosebumps.

Ettore lifted the bottle to pour himself another glass of whisky. “Beautiful, I think. God, she’s beautiful. A walking angel.”

No. No, no, no.

Shame threatened to smother me. One nice word from this beast of a man and warmth spread through me in a way that was insulting to my entire family.

Maybe Vincenza was right. Maybe I was weak.

Or maybe you felt something too.

He lifted the glass and studied its contents. “So small. You looked terrified and somehow, that makes some of the dread fade away. You pull away from my touch and I find that shit utterly adorable. The whole ceremony I think to myself, ‘you know what, this could work’. The veil is removed and I see your face. Shit. It all but knocked me on my ass. Beautiful seems too small a word to use when I look at you. I can’t even find a word to describe it. It’s overwhelming, the way I feel.”

My gut tensed and my mouth went dry. Regret made my head and heart throb alike.

Why was he doing this? Surely, he knew I was torturing myself enough already.

My knees almost buckled when he licked his lips. “And when it comes time to say ‘I do’, I say it and I mean it.”

Stop.

Stop it.

I know where this is going. I know where this story ends, and I don’t want it recounted.

“Ettore…”

But he ignored my plea. “And then it’s her turn. I know she’s going to do the right thing. After all, I am a very important man. A man who made a promise to his children. This girl wasn’t gonna make a liar out of me.”

The guilt, the dishonor, the shame… it was too much.

How humiliating that my lips began to tremble and I felt the sting of unshed tears burn behind my eyes. “Ettore, please…”

“You know what happened next.” He tipped back his head and swallowed the whisky in one gulp, holding onto the glass. “You looked at me,” he muttered. “You looked me right in the eye when he took your shot.”

Fuck. He sounded so defeated. I don’t know why it mattered to me, but for some unknown reason, it did.

I could handle his wrath. His rage and fury. But this bitter disappointment was eating me up from the inside out.