Trading My Wedding Day for Freedom

The wedding dinner would take place here in a week.

The head chef, Sergio Marini, was waiting in the restaurant with the menu.

I had just sat down when my sister, Camilla Bellandi, clutched her chest and coughed twice.

My Mamma, Anna Greco, immediately became anxious.

"Is it too stuffy in here?" she asked.

"I'm fine," Camilla replied with a smile. "It's just that Dr. Pietro Santoro won't let me have any alcohol lately, and I can't eat anything too salty either."

Sergio turned to me. "Signora Dafne, the menu you previously decided on includes red wine braised beef, salt-baked sea bass, and lemon liqueur after the meal. Would you like to make any adjustments?"

Before I could speak, my fiance, Raffaello Donatelli, had already snapped the menu shut.

"Cancel all of it." He ignored my puzzled gaze and continued giving instructions. "Swap the wine for non-alcoholic sparkling wine, use less salt on the main course, and skip the rum in the dessert too."

"But these were all personally chosen by Signora Dafne," Sergio said with hesitation.

Only then did Raffaello look at me. "You can eat whatever you want, but Camilla can't. Her health won't allow it."

Camilla immediately waved her hand. "Don't bother, Raffaello. This is Dafne's wedding, after all. I'll just eat less."

The more she went on like that, the more it broke Mamma's heart.

"Nonsense. It's just a wedding—how can it compare to your health?" Mamma turned to look at me. "Dafne, it's just a meal. Can it really be more important than Camilla's health?"

My Papa, Fabio Bellandi, also frowned.

"The guests aren't coming to the wedding just to eat."

I glanced at the menu lying beside my hand.

Three months ago, Raffaello and I came here for the first tasting. He had rarely set aside an entire evening of family business.

My favorite dish was the red wine braised beef, so he personally marked a star next to it on the menu to remind Sergio to pay special attention to this dish.

But in the same vein, it only took one word from Camilla for him to swap out every dish I had carefully chosen.

"Let's just go with what Raffaello said," I replied, calmly sliding the menu back.

Raffaello glanced at me, and his expression softened.

"That's more like it." He raised his hand to ruffle my hair. "The wedding's just one day. After that, I'll take you to eat whatever you want."

I turned my head away to avoid his touch, and his hand froze mid-air.

Suddenly, Camilla pointed out the window. "Is that the car for your wedding?"

A black bulletproof sedan was parked downstairs. The body had been specially reinforced, and the glass was so thick that it was almost impossible to see inside.

Raffaello had that car prepared for me three months ago.

On the day of the wedding, the car would pick me up from the estate and take me to the church. Not only would there be four escort vehicles in front and four behind, but the family's most reliable security team would also follow the whole way.

Camilla stared at the car, transfixed.

"It's gorgeous. You must feel so safe sitting inside," she said enviously.

Mamma's expression immediately changed, and Papa also fell silent. The two of them exchanged a glance, and I already knew what they were going to say.

Sure enough, Mamma said, "There'll be lots of people at the wedding, and Camilla isn't in good health. What if something happens to her?"

She then turned to me and asked, "Why don't you let Camilla have that car?"

Before I could even answer, Raffaello had already taken out his phone.

"Sure," he said, then sent a message to the head of security, Marco Coppola. "On the day of the wedding, Camilla rides in Car A."

I let out a self-deprecating laugh. "Then what about me?"

"You take Car B," he replied matter-of-factly. "Even though it's not as well-equipped, you'd still have protection all the same."

Camilla bit her lip. "Forget it. That's Dafne's bridal car."

Raffaello turned off his phone screen. "She won't mind."

After saying that, he looked at me, as if waiting for me to nod.

I suddenly remembered that when I was 13 years old, Papa's convoy was ambushed on the way back to the estate. When the gunshots rang out, Mamma was the first to push me aside and shove Camilla into the bulletproof car.

Before the car door closed, I heard her shout, "Get Camilla out of here first!"

Later, I was hit by a stray bullet. On top of that, it was the family's bodyguards who escorted me into another car.

After returning home, Mamma held the frightened Camilla and cried all night.

No one thought of me.

I silently withdrew my gaze.

"Camilla can have Car A."

Only then did a faint smile appear at the corner of Raffaello's lips.

"I knew I could count on you to be sensible," he said.

I smiled too.

There were still six days left. After that, I would never have to be sensible again.