His Greatest Sin
My marriage to Dante, the Moretti heir, was meant to be a union of power, an alliance of empires. But for me, it was also the real deal.
Then his adopted sister, Clara, showed up at a party. She was wearing his custom leather jacket, straddling his prized Ducati, and she looked right at me with a smirk. "Dante says," she purred, "that I suit these precious things better than you do."
My smile froze. Dante had her on a plane overseas so fast it was like she'd never existed.
Five years later, the night before our wedding.
I found him staring at the design for our wedding rings. He'd changed the engraving. The "Amor Aeternus"—Eternal Love—was gone.
In its place: "Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa."
My sin, my greatest sin.
I took off my veil right then and there. "The wedding," I said, my voice like ice, "is off."