CHAPTER 1: WEDDING

ELARA

“Do you take Vinicio Teo Rossini as your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health?”

I stared wordlessly at the priest, lost in thought. How did I get here?

I felt my heart burst in pain when I found our belongings piled outside the doorpost; my mother clinging to my brother for warmth while her husband stood talking to the guard at the door. My palms were sweaty, stuck to the bag of groceries I had bought for my surprise visit.

“What happened, Mom?”

The silence that followed said enough.

“Father is bankrupt, and he owes a lot of people who are after him now. The bank took the house and now we have nowhere to go.” My brother walked up to me, his blood-clotted eyes showing how he had tried to fight them off.

I moved closer to comfort him, but instead handed him the bag of groceries.

“My house… one of Father’s guesthouses is around the corner. You can move in.”

I placed my mother’s hand in mine, but she removed hers. She dusted it off like a germ stain and moved toward my brother. “James, let's go.”

Father never even bothered to acknowledge me, even as we moved to the guesthouse which had three bedrooms; paid for by a three-month stay with all the money I'd saved beforehand.

While eating, Father cleared his throat. “Laura, I hope you’re happy, housing your father… You're such a big girl now. But for how long?”

I knew where this was heading. Marriage. This… this is why I moved out. “I have lost my appetite. I'm going to bed.”

The lazy noise of the chair against the floor made my exit even harsher.

“You have a suitor, Laurabeth!” my mother wailed from her seat.

“I have millions of suitors for you who would help us solve the problem of our bankruptcy, yet you reject them!” Father yelled.

“Because I am eighteen and I just graduated high school, Mum! What would the neighbors say? What would-”

Hitting the table, he dragged it up and flung it toward the wall, regardless of the fact that everyone had been actively eating in peace earlier. “Who cares what anyone has to say? Here are his details!” He threw a yellow file at me. Papers scattered everywhere, but they revealed the details of a man at least sixty years old.

I scoffed, my lungs gasping for air. “I'd continue my job at the cafeteria and sell what I can, but I won't get married to this old man.”

***

“Laura? Laurabeth, dear?” A throat-clearing sound finally brought me back to the present. “Do you take Vinicio Rossini as your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I-I… do. Yes, I do.”

I wondered if it was the soft fabric of the wedding dress that made me get lost in my thoughts, or if it was him; the man standing next to me.

I recalled working until I felt the atmosphere change. A tall man, around six feet, coiled hair, green eyes, in a suit. The air became warmer and undoubtedly toxic. Just like when Father had his rich friends over.

His entire presence whispered power, the kind of silence that comes unexpectedly. He was older than me. Stronger.

I walked up to the table, steadying my voice. “Good evening, sir. What can I get you?”

His eyes lifted to mine, and I inhaled the air that followed. I was befuddled by it. My legs were shaky, but I tried not to move and waited for him to respond.

He looked at me like he was reading something. I knew he was studying me. Suddenly, I cared more about how I looked than how he muttered, “Water,” before looking away.

Even his voice sounded expensive. I tried to shake my star-struck myself back to reality, so I shook my head as he drank his water and he left after a few minutes, leaving an unbelievable amount of water in the glass, it showed he barely took a sip.

On the fourth day of him coming in; more often now, like a diligent worker. He finally spoke more than one word.

“You’re distracted.”

I froze mid-step, tray in hand. “I- what?”

Startled by his observation, I realized I had been staring at a young couple I’d just served. I didn’t know when I’d passed his table without taking his order. Maybe I assumed it was his usual: water.

He leaned back slightly, this time examining me. His eyes moved from my flip-flops to my head, then into my eyes. “You almost dropped that glass twice.”

Heat rushed to my face. “Oh… I-I didn't mean to...”

“You did.”

His voice wasn’t harsh. Just… certain. He knew I had been noticing him since his second visit, and I always stuttered.

“I’m sorry… I was-”

“No,” he said calmly. “Don't be.”

Something in me snapped. Maybe it was exhaustion, or the frustration of my parents who continuously waited for me to pay their debts. Or maybe it was the way he said I didn't have to be sorry- meanwhile, that’s how I was raised; to say sorry more than I hear my own full name. Regardless, I was overwhelmed, so I transferred my aggression to him.

“Do you always analyze strangers for entertainment and never mind your business?” I almost laughed.

“Only the interesting ones, Miss…” he smiled, and my stomach flipped.

“Laurabeth,” I corrected sheepishly, then added, “I have work to do.” I turned away before he could say anything else.

But his voice followed me. “Come back when your shift ends.”

I stopped and slowly turned. “I’m not;”

“It wasn’t a question, pumpkin.”

The nickname felt like a ticking bomb in my head. I pushed forward, standing right in front of him. I cared less that the entire cafeteria was focused on our little display. 

Folding my arms tight across my chest; a motion I’d learned from my mother when she wanted to give the impression, she was the boss of our lives. I spat, “What do you want? It seems you know it all, but I know you’re just one of my father’s investors trying to spy on me. Watching if I would finally give in.”

Finally, he looked away from me, but I felt he hadn't, at least not fully; I could feel the weight of my apron suddenly.

“I’m not,” he said steadily.

“Prove it!” I yelled. I knew I got this trait from my father; it tasted like… frustration. “Prove you aren't one of them, and I’ll give you anything you want!”

I meant it as a brush-off, a way to make him leave.

“Careful, Laurabeth!” A smirk sat on his face. 

Then Sarah, one of the other servers, leaned over from the next table with a mischievous, tired grin. “She never gives up, sir! She’d bet on marriage if you wanted!” Sarah teased.

A few people chuckled. But I continued staring at him. My heart didn’t just pound for the truth; it pounded with anger, an annoyance from the lies I had swallowed throughout my life. Every man who made advances toward me was either planned by my father or my mother.

“Yeah,” I dared. I’d rather marry for truth and genuine consent than spend a night with any of my father’s investors. “Prove me wrong, and I'll marry you. That’s if you’re single, even… and childless, and maybe have a… a sister.”

I couldn’t just throw myself into a marriage if he had a wife, and I swore by everything that he couldn’t tick all the boxes.

He didn't laugh. He slowly stood up, his six-foot frame eclipsing the light from the overhead lamps.

“Indeed, I know your father,” he murmured, sliding a file across the tabletop. “But I am not an investor.”

My brain felt like it shrank from its original size, making the room tilt for a while.

“I am his newest partner. You were his previous next of kin, but he stroked your name out in my presence.” Another smirk, signaling victory. The sound of cars passing in front of the cafeteria occupied the space where the customers were too silent to make noise. “He called you… selfish and stupid. Stupid things interest me, Laura, and I came to find out.”

I hoped he was happy. My face turned cold with shame. My palms were doing what they always did;sweating and shaking. Funny how I was named after my mother, Sarah.

He paused for a second, wanting me to comprehend everything he said. “I think I have a wedding to prepare for, and you have a last name to erase. Mrs. Rossini.”

“Mrs. Rossini?”

The priest’s voice echoed in the hall, bringing me back to reality;a reality that had green eyes.

“Ugh?”

He cleared his throat before repeating, “I said, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss.”