Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 102566 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102566 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
"You will marry Vitto Donati, Marzia."
I feel like I'm going to be sick.
My manicured hands feel heavy in my lap. My head is spinning. Vitto. The boy who's been chasing me since I was a little girl. The boy whose parents own the docks where I met Adrian. The monster who broke a younger boy's nose just to prove his own worth. The weakling who needed the backup of four of his friends to take on someone a year younger.
"I..." My words dry up in my throat. I want to be truthful for once. To say how I truly feel about this marriage, how devastated I am by their pick. But in the end, I'm not brave enough. "Thank you, mama. Thank you, papa."
"We knew you'd be delighted," papa grins widely. "Vitto is ecstatic as well. We will arrange for you to see him again before the masquerade party so you may reacquaint yourselves."
"Okay," I whisper. I still feel like I'm going to be sick, nausea coming and going in waves. "May I... may I please be excused?"
"Already?" Mama raises her thinly plucked eyebrows. "Don't you want to open all your presents?"
"I have a headache," I mutter. "I will open them all in my room, if that's alright... I just need to..."
I get up and rush toward the double doors leading out of the stuffy salon. Opening them wide, I run outside, ignoring my mother and father's calls as I ascend the stairs and rush back into my room.
I take the key from outside the door. I'm not letting them take this small moment of privacy from me, so I lock the door from the inside. My heart beats with the small victory. At least I picked my own prison this time.
The dress I'm wearing is so tight around my waist it suffocates me. I pull angrily at the pins holding my hair in place, allowing my perfect hairstyle to come tumbling down. Now, all my hair is falling down my back in a way my parents would surely find inappropriate. But I don't care.
Perhaps this is my last little rebellion. The last one before I become Vitto's wife.
I close my eyes, stifling a sob. I try to remember the last time I've seen Vitto. It must've been two years ago during Luigi's eighteenth birthday party. There's no denying the boy is handsome - he's tall, dark and chiseled. Any girl in Palermo, in Sicily, would be delighted to marry him. But I'm not. In fact, it's my worst nightmare.
The marriage announcement feels like a direct betrayal to Adrian. I know the promise we made was childish and silly, and yet I kept that memory close to my heart, carrying with me through all these years as a saving grace. But now my dying hope of getting away from this oppressive house has been well and truly squashed. There's no way Vitto will let me see Adrian. He always hated him.
I sit in front of my window overlooking the beautiful gardens of our family home where I'm rarely allowed to go. Our vineyards stretch over the acres of land we own. Our family, the De Lucas, are known for our grappa. We have been proudly making it since 1791, and the family recipe is our most sought after secret.
But what the world doesn't know is that the De Lucas import and export many other things on top of the grappa. My father has expanded the business to include drugs. The grappa trade is the perfect way to hide his illegal dealings and now, with Vitto on his side, he will control the docks, too, making our profits skyrocket.
Nonna never agreed with what her son, my papa, did to the company. The maids always whispered that she died of a broken heart when papa entered the drug trade. Often, I wonder if they're right.
Even though it's been over a decade, my hand still goes up to my neck to touch the golden chain with nonna's wedding band that is no longer there.
I wonder what Adrian did with it. Whether he still has it, whether he even still remembers me. Word of my marriage will surely reach the Bernardis. Will he be bothered, knowing I'm marrying the boy who picked on him when we were children?
No, surely he's forgotten all about that now. He won't give a damn about the bambina he spent the afternoon with at the docks. He won't be bothered about this at all. He'll probably be getting married himself soon... after all, he's only a year younger than my groom, Vitto.
The thought fills me with dread and jealousy. Finally, a lone tear escapes my eyes, and I angrily wipe it away, tearing myself away from the window.
Eleven years, and Adrian never bothered to see me - not even to return my necklace.