The first notes of Pachelbel’s Canon in D began to play and in uniform, pews creaked and material swished as the entire church turned to set their eyes on me. When my uncle began to move, I followed with my heart in my throat. I clutched at his arm tightly enough to injure. The closer we got to the altar, the stronger my urge to run was.

I shouldn’t have been looking, but the man set to marry me was tall. His frame was built, his hips were lean and the suit he wore was tailored to fit him well. His dark hair matched my own and when he finally turned to face me, I almost gasped out loud.

Having never seen the man until right this moment, my stomach fluttered and my heart danced off-kilter as I took him in from the privacy of my veil.

He was older than I assumed he would be and he looked about as exasperated as I was, but still, he stood dutifully, civilly, waiting for his bride. Waiting for me. His heavy brow lowered a touch when I advanced. His full lips pursed, only slightly. His strong jaw flexed and it was only because of how close I was that I saw his shoulders droop with the heavy sigh he released.

I stopped farther away than I should have. It took my uncles gentle coaxing to bring me forward. My husband-to-be took a single step towards me and I leant away from him.

It was funny because the expression on his face never changed, but I could tell. He was smiling at me.

Something happened to me then. A warmth I’d never felt before bloomed in my middle. My mouth dried. Without exaggeration, I could safely say here was the most handsome man I had ever laid eyes on. And my stomach dipped.

No.

It was wrong. This all felt wrong.

This isn’t how it was meant to be.

My uncle took my clenched fist and made to hand me over to my new master. The stranger watched me carefully. I stared in fright. And the second my cold knuckles brushed his warm hand, I jolted as if I’d been shocked and pulled away, clasping my bouquet between both hands in a death grip.

“Vittoria,” Zio Como reprimanded. “You must take Ettore’s hand.”

“I’m sor-” But the beginnings of my apology were cut off when Ettore spoke and his voice was deep and rich like warm melted dark chocolate.

“It’s fine.”

The priest looked at me with an air of dissatisfaction but at Ettore’s nod of consent, the ceremony began. The priest preached about trust and loyalty, and I withered on the inside.

You’re going to hell, Vicky.