chapter seven

The minister's voice faded as the words sat on my tongue like a cat cut my tongue.

"Gabrielle," he said again. "Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?

"I do," I whispered.

The words tasted like ash as my voice cracked. The guests probably thought I was emotional. But I was choking on the lie.

Damiano stood beside me; his eyes scanned the crowd. He had not looked at me once during my vows.

The minister turned to him.

"Damiano, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

Damiano blinked for a second; I thought he would not answer. His gaze drifted past me.

"Damiano," the minister repeated.

"Yeah," Damiano mumbled. "I do."

He still did not look at me. The minister cleared his throat in confusion. "The rings?"

Damiano fumbled in his pocket. He pulled out a simple gold band. His hands were clumsy as he reached for my hand. His fingers were warm but his touch was careless. He slid the ring onto my finger without looking and I did the same too.It was so loose that it spun around my knuckle. It felt heavy like chains.

I wanted to pull my hand away and run. But my feet stayed rooted to the floor.

The minister nodded. "By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Damiano leaned forward; his breath smelled like whiskey. His lips barely grazed my cheek, and then he pulled away.

"Congratulations," the minister said.

But Damiano was already turning, and he walked back down the aisle without waiting.

I stood alone at the altar. The guests cheered while cameras flashed. My mother was crying. I held my flowers like they were the only thing keeping me standing.

The reception hall was loud with music pounding and glasses clinked while people laughed.

I moved through the crowd like a ghost. My white dress dragged behind me. Women patted my shoulders and told me I looked beautiful. Men shook my hand and said congratulations. I nodded and smiled. My cheeks ached from the effort. But my eyes kept searching for him.

Damiano was across the room. He was surrounded by his friends; he laughed too loud. He leaned too close to a woman with dark hair. My throat tightened.

"She is just a guest," I told myself. "It is nothing."

But then he touched her arm and whispered in her ear. She laughed and tossed her hair back. I looked away.

The cake was brought out. It was five tiers tall, and someone handed me a knife.

"You have to cut it together," a woman said. She pushed Damiano toward me.

He stumbled against me,as his hand covered mine on the knife handle. His body was warm and unsteady.

"Smile," someone yelled.

I tried, but the cake tasted bitter. The icing was too sweet, making my stomach turn. Damiano pulled away the second the slice was cut and disappeared into the crowd.

The music changed slowly, and couples moved to the dance floor. I stood alone at the edge and watched.

Damiano danced with the dark-haired woman. Her hands were on his shoulders while his hands were on her waist. I waited…maybe he would come to me. But song after song passed; he never looked in my direction.

My chest burned…

Other men asked me to dance. I shook my head and told them I was tired. But I was not tired; rather, I was dying slowly.

Later, the minister brought out the register.

"Sign here," he said, pointing to the line.

I looked around, and my mother was still smiling. My father was shaking hands with Damiano. I signed my name, Gabrielle Barone, now Mrs. Gabrielle DeLuca.Damiano signed too. The minister took the paper and pressed a stamp.

"It is official," he said. "Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. De Luca."

The name hit me like a slap. I looked at the loose gold ring on my finger; it spun as I turned away.

I found the stairs leading to the hotel suite where we were supposed to spend our wedding night.

I climbed slowly… My dress was heavy, and my feet hurt.

The door was unlocked as I pushed it open. White and red petals covered the bed, and a bottle of champagne sat on the nightstand. Everything was perfect and wrong at the same time.

I walked to the window; the city lights spread below me. I pressed my forehead against the glass and told myself I could survive this.

Then, the door burst open.

Damiano walked into the room still drunk. His clothes were messy, and his eyes were unfocused.

"Come here," he slurred.

I did not move.

He crossed the room and grabbed my wrist. His grip was too tight as pain shot up my arm.

"You are mine now," he said.

I tried to pull away, but his fingers tightened.

"Damiano," I whispered. "You are hurting me."

His other hand came up while his thumb brushed across my cheek. He stared at the moisture on his finger.

"You are crying," he said. He sounded confused.

His eyes met mine for one second; something flickered in them.

He sees me, I thought. Finally, he sees me.

His grip loosened slightly as his thumb traced down my cheek again…almost gentle.

"Elena," he breathed.

The name dropped between us like glass shattering. His eyes were still on my face, but he was not looking at me. He was looking through me.

"Elena," he said again. "You are finally mine."

I stopped breathing. The name broke the last piece of my heart.

"Let go of me," I said. My voice was flat.

"Elena," he whispered and leaned closer. His breath was hot against my cheek.

His arms wrapped around me as his body pressed against mine. I was trapped…

I stood there, frozen as he held me in the middle of the rose petals.