Page 37 of Enzo

“You’re changing out of that scandalous outfit,” Mama said, cornering me the second I stepped through the marble foyer. “I know this marriage isn’t ideal, but we need to show some decorum.”

And that was how I found myself in Nonno’s old room, staring at my reflection wearing a gown that once belonged to my nonna. The very same gown my mama wore on her wedding day, but the necklace was the one my mama gifted me. She said it was to be something new on my wedding day.

Such romantic notions for a bullshit, business arrangement. Somehow it tainted it all. Tears burned in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.

Self-pity wasn’t my thing, and I certainly wasn’t about to change that now.

“Forgive me, Nonno,” I murmured as I smoothed my hands over the beautiful vintage dress. It was flared from the bodice in an empire-waist design with long sleeves, a low-cut back, and a train that flared dramatically behind me. The silk fabric was soft and the dress fit me perfectly, as if it were designed with me in mind.

Yet I couldn’t shake off the feeling that I was sullying my ancestors’ memory by wearing it today.

“You look stunning.” Mama’s voice startled me and I whirled around to find her standing in the doorway. “It was your nonno’s greatest wish that you would wear it on your wedding day.”

I breathed deeply, watching it mold even tighter to my body. “I bet he wouldn’t want me wearing it at this farce.”

Mama smiled.

“Funny you should say that because I thought the same thing on my wedding day.”

My brows scrunched in confusion. “What do you mean?”

She waved her hand in dismissal. “It’s not important. Today is your day.”

I scoffed, then stated in a flat tone, “Hardly my day when I didn’t have a choice on the wedding date or the groom.”

“I know, sweetheart, and I’m sorry.” Her shoulders slumped. “I’d hoped over the years that this arrangement would dissolve.”

Guilt inched its way through me at seeing her gut-wrenched expression. “It’s okay. He’s significantly older, so maybe he’ll die soon. I’ll be a peaceful widow.”

“If your papà hears you, he might get an idea,” she muttered. “Come on, let’s join the party before our boys wreak havoc.”

We exited the room and joined the guests, each sticking to opposite sides of the expansive lawn.

My gaze darted over to the side where the Marchettis loitered and I couldn’t help but snort in disdain. I shifted, turning toward my own family, when my mama’s voice stopped me.

“Go to your husband first,” she muttered under her breath, gently nudging me toward them as though she sensed my intentions.

“Sure, I’ll be a martyr,” I grumbled. “What the fuck am I supposed to say?”

“How about that you’re so happy to be a Marchetti,” the voice of my newly minted husband interrupted from behind me. My steps halted and I slowly turned around, instantly regretting my decision.

Enzo towered over me even with my heels on, but I refused to show weakness—I’d stand my ground and lethimfold first.

My eyes bounced, noting his swollen knuckles and that cursed wedding ring I slid on his finger earlier today, before they refocused on his smug expression.

He offered me his arm. “Mrs. Marchetti, it would be my honor to stand by your side when you greet your in-laws.”

I offered him a strained smile instead. “Not now.”

He let his arm drop. “Yes,now.”

“I’ll come too,” Mama gritted. “And you’d better do right by my daughter or you’ll regret the day your papà arranged this marriage.”

My head whipped in her direction to find her eyes locked on Enzo. The harsh, determined expression was one I’d become accustomed to seeing from Papà but never from her, and somehow it made me see her in an entirely different light.

To my shock, Enzo bowed his head in acknowledgement.

“Of course, Mrs. DiMauro. I vow to you that my new wife will be cherished and cared for while there’s a sane bone left in my body.”