The Bastard Bride of Saint Giovanni
Every Christmas Eve in Port Saint Giovanni, the Camerlano family hosts the Claiming Rite at Saint Giovanni Manor.
Twelve girls stand in a line. Whoever receives the white-gold signet pin becomes the heir’s publicly acknowledged bride candidate.
I am Grace Sorrento, the bastard daughter of the Sorrento family. If I do not receive that signet tonight, by sunrise I will be put on a plane to Chicago and married off to a Rizzo, a man rumored to have killed two former fiancées.
Adrian Camerlano, the boy I grew up with, swore to me in blood three days ago that the signet would be mine.
But when the moment came, his hand turned.
With a smile, he pinned it on Lucia, the orphan his family had sponsored.
Then he leaned close to my ear.
"Let Lucia have her moment. No one has ever really looked at her before. Don’t worry. This is my estate. No one will dare arrange your marriage without my say."
I grabbed his sleeve, but he removed my fingers one by one.
"Lucia has no roots and no last name. Tonight is all she has. But you are a Sorrento. Even without the signet, no one will touch you."
That phrase, no last name, drew every gaze in the ballroom toward me, full of pity and quiet mockery.
The next morning, I boarded a flight to Chicago.
When Adrian heard, he made one call to Port Saint Giovanni Air Control.
"Ground every plane. Nothing leaves today!"