Chapter 4

The reception hall doors opened, and guests began filling the long tables. Waiters moved between them carrying trays of champagne and wine.

This morning, the moment Isabella agreed to take my place, my father went upstairs and came back down wearing something I had never seen before. He wore a flawless charcoal-gray suit made from the finest Italian wool, cut perfectly to his body.

He had bought it last year and never worn it. He said he was saving it for something that mattered.

Apparently, this mattered.

Moments ago, when I asked my father to walk me down the aisle, he looked at me like I had just asked him to set himself on fire in front of the entire family.

"Why would I do something like that? You think I want to embarrass myself in front of everyone?" He shook his head. "If you're so desperate to walk down an aisle, you shouldn't have let your sister wear your wedding dress from the start."

Now he stood by the entrance in that expensive suit, laughing with guests and shaking hands like he was the one getting married.

My mother sat in the small room off the main hall, gripping Isabella's hands so tightly her knuckles had turned white. Her eyes were wet, her voice shaking.

"Thank God this is only for today. If you were really leaving us, I don't think I could survive it."

Isabella nodded quietly, her face soft and sympathetic.

I sat on the bench in the corner, watching them. My right ear was still ringing from the gunshots earlier. Every time I turned my head, a sharp pulse of pain shot through the side of my skull.

A knock came at the door.

"It's time. The bride is ready."

Isabella stood slowly. She smoothed the front of the dress and turned toward our father.

He smiled at her and held out his arm.

She took it without hesitation.

The double doors opened, and I watched them step into the hall together.

I watched my father walk her down the center aisle while two hundred guests stood and turned to look. I watched him stop in front of Luca, place Isabella's hand in his, and step back with pride written all over his face.

I watched Luca take her hands. I watched them exchange rings under Father Dominic's blessing. I watched him lift the veil and kiss her while everyone clapped and cheered.

I watched them cut the cake together, their fingers wrapped around the same knife.

Inside my chest, there was nothing. No anger. No grief. Not even disappointment anymore.

Just silence.

The ceremony continued then the coordinator stepped forward holding a large bouquet. It was full of white roses, peonies, and baby's breath, wrapped tightly with ivory ribbon.

The emcee's voice echoed across the hall.

"And now, the bride will toss the bouquet to pass on her blessing."

Isabella accepted the flowers and brought them up toward her face, closing her eyes like she wanted to breathe in the scent.

Then everything changed.

Her smile vanished. She grabbed onto Luca's arm, her nails digging into his jacket sleeve.

"Luca—what flowers are in this?"

He looked confused.

"Roses, peonies, baby's breath . You told me those were your favorites. I had them flown in from a florist in Florence because you said you loved that combination."

"I never—"

Before she could finish, her knees buckled. Bright red hives spread rapidly across her neck and collarbone. Her face went pale. Her breathing became shallow and labored, each breath a desperate gasp for air.

My mother screamed and ran toward the stage.

"What's happening?! Somebody help her!"

My father pulled his phone from his pocket, his hands shaking as he dialed.

"Get Dr. Russo to the estate right now. Isabella's collapsing."

I stood up and walked quickly onto the stage. I kicked the bouquet across the floor, away from where Isabella had fallen.

"She's allergic to baby's breath flowers. Everyone needs to move back and give her space."

I had almost forgotten. With everything that had happened today, it had slipped my mind until now.

My mother turned toward me. Her face was red and her eyes wild. She crossed the stage in three steps and slapped me so hard my head snapped to the side.

My right ear—the one still damaged from earlier—went completely silent. The world turned muffled and distant, like I had been sealed inside a glass box.

"You evil, selfish girl! You did this on purpose! You're trying to kill your own sister!"

Before I could say anything, my father grabbed my shoulder and shoved me backward.

I fell hard onto my knees.

"If anything happens to her, I will hold you responsible. I don't care what you say. If she dies, you'll answer for it."

I opened my mouth. I wanted to tell him I had nothing to do with this. That I was only trying to help.

But the words rose up in my throat and died there.

Because it didn't matter.

They would never believe me.

Below the stage, the whispers started.

"Wait—wasn't the older sister supposed to be the bride? When did they switch?"

"Does the groom even know what's going on?"

My parents froze. Slowly, they both turned away from me.

Luca stood near the altar, his face completely drained of color. His eyes moved between me on the floor and Isabella gasping for breath.

His mouth opened, but no sound came out at first.

Then his voice came, quiet and shaking.

"Which one of you is—"

He stopped and swallowed hard.

"What the hell is going on?"