IcedLemonCoffee
My wedding to Dante Moretti, the Don of the Chicago Mafia, was only days away.
When I got home from my final dress fitting, I found he had made the house over into something painfully romantic.
Flowers, candles, stacks of gift boxes...
Excited as I was, I could not help wondering why.
Today was not a special day.
He pulled me into his arms and fed me a mouthful of wine from his own lips, his eyes smiling. "I knew you'd forget the anniversary of the day we got together."
My stomach dropped.
The anniversary was not today.
While he was in the shower, his phone went off.
A calendar alert popped up on the screen. "Today is your relationship anniversary."
I frowned, opened the calendar, and scrolled back through a few pages.
Every date he had marked, I realized, traced back to Camille Ricci, his first love.
Her period, her birthday, her lucky days...
Twelve months, hundreds of entries, packed so tight there was barely any space left between them.
I gripped the phone, and the cold went all the way through me.
Dante came out with a towel around his waist, saw me still standing there, and teased me with a grin. "Why are you just standing there? Want me to carry you to bed?"
I did not call him on it. I said I needed to go over the wedding schedule, and I left.
That night I returned the dress, canceled the wedding, and accepted the offer from the university in New York.