Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 118245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
“It wasn’t a request, little one. While we are there, we can stop in to see Father Luca.”
“Father Luca?”
Fuck, I sounded like a demented parrot just repeating his phrases back to him.
Matteo tugged on one wet curl. “Yes. I need to inform him about the wedding. We’ll need the next possible available date.”
“The wedding?”
For the love of God, stop repeating everything the man says.
“Yes. Our wedding.”
Why was it so hard to breathe? It was like I had to consciously focus on expanding my lungs. “About that. We need to talk.”
“We’ll talk about the details while we are in town. Have you eaten anything yet?” His brow furrowed as he asked.
“I’m not hungry.”
“That’s not what I asked. We’ll get some food first.” He then turned and tossed over his shoulder, “Dry your hair and meet me downstairs in thirty minutes.”
I followed him into the hallway. “But I’m not hungry. And I don’t want to go into town,” I called after him, addressing his back as he was already descending the staircase.
He paused with his hand on the wrought iron railing and looked up at me. “Thirty minutes.”
Then he was gone.
Returning to the bedroom, I just stood there in shock.
What have I done?
The full ramification crashed down on me so hard my knees buckled. Like a child, I sat on the carpeted floor with my legs curled up and hugging my knees, wishing I could just hide in the closet like I used to when my father would rage at my mother.
I never asked for any of this.
I had just wanted a quiet life in Sicily, giving cello lessons to the local children and perhaps playing in a local quartet for the tourists. Knowing who and what my father was, I had never even dreamed about getting married or having a family. Dreams like that were for women with options. I had known from a very young age my future husband would be chosen for me by my father.
The mafia was infamous for securing loyalty through marriage like some leftover of the medieval feudal system.
The best I had ever hoped for was a husband who, if not kind and loving, would at least allow me the space and freedom to play my cello.
Now I was in Abruzzo, the fiancée of a Cavalieri. A family name that had a legacy of power, wealth, and dangerous influence stretching back to before Italy was even a country.
Even though I was present almost every step of the way, I still couldn’t seem to follow the twisted path which had led to this moment.
It was as if I were staring at a sheet of music. I could recognize the notes, but the melody was out of tune.
Staying on my hands and knees, I crawled the short distance to where I had my cello propped against the bureau. With my hand wrapped around the fingerboard, I moved to sit on the ottoman. Even as I did so, memories of the night before and Matteo’s buzzing riding crop bounced around my mind like discordant notes.
My fingers gingerly turned the screw on my bow to tighten the strings. Then, placing the instrument between my legs, I played my favorite portion of Stravinsky’s The Rite of Spring. The savage and strange dissonance and chaotic notes matching my own internal emotions.
Playing centered me.
This entire mess, pretending to be my sister and dealing with Fino’s constant threats as well as the increasing danger my father posed, had me questioning who I was.
When I played, my world came back into order. I could think clearly.
As much as I was developing feelings for Matteo, I had to accept the fact that it would never work. For starters, there was my father. Then there was the inevitable scandal, since it had already been announced Matteo would marry Antonia not me.
With Antonia pregnant and it sounding less and less likely that the father would divorce his wife and marry her, there wasn’t a question that my father would force Matteo to honor his original agreement and marry her for the sake of the family name.
Even though I may want to, I could never go against my family’s wishes. Although I hoped my father would be arrested for what he may have done to my mother, I wasn’t foolish enough to think that would be the end of his influence over us.
And, as horrible as she was to me, Toni was still my sister. I could never sacrifice her well-being for my own. She was safer with Matteo.
My bow screeched along the strings, then rattled against the wooden lower bout as I dropped it.
I swiped at my tears before picking my bow up and setting my cello aside.
Resolved, I picked up my phone and pressed the button to autodial my sister. After several rings, it went straight to voicemail. “It’s me. It’s urgent. Matteo knows I’m me and not you. Call me back as soon as you get this.”