Page 13 of Rosetti Family New York

I shift my weight, restless. Eleanor’s love for Juliet is evident. I feel a flash of something. Envy? Hunger? I watch her change from cold fire to burning warmth and can’t get enough of it. I want her like this, alive and reckless, like I am right now.

Is she trying to guess whether I’ll be at the altar? If the reckless Rosetti will show up to claim his bride? Well, he will. Decision made. I duck into a cab and tell the driver to get me to the Upper East Side. I’ve got a wedding to attend.

7

Eleanor

The church looms over us, a stone beast swallowing the gray Brooklyn sky. Inside, cold silence wraps itself around wooden pews. Only the first few rows are occupied. A dozen men in crisp Italian suits. A dozen women draped in sleek designer dresses. The Rosettis. They own the place like they own everything else.

My side is an afterthought—just Juliet behind me and father at my side. The rest of my father's entourage is nonexistent. Not a single one of his employees. No other Prices, close or distant. He only bothered with a single bodyguard.

Juliet shifts, twisting her handkerchief until it’s limp and knotted. Her distress seeps into me, hot and prickling. “I wish you didn’t have to do this,” she whispers.

“Don’t, Jules.” I keep my voice sharp. “It’s a little late for that.”

“It’s not too late.” Her voice cracks. “You can still—”

“What?” I turn to her, too fast. “Run? And then what happens? Father marries you off to someone worse? At least this way we know what we’re getting.” I touch her arm, softer this time. “This is the only way, Jules.”

Her eyes brim with tears she’s too afraid to let fall.

Father watches, his jaw clenched. It would’ve been easier for him if I’d gone without a fight. No love, no fuss, just his kind of deal. But here I am, taking up space. “It’s time,” he says.

I clutch my bouquet, the edges of the white roses wilting, and pretend I don’t see Juliet’s watery eyes. Leonardo waits at the altar, a stranger about to become my husband. My new master.

I set my jaw, ready to face the inevitable. My shoes click against the floor. Echoes in the near-empty church. My new family looks on with hard eyes. I’m terrified but determined to hide it. The key is control. My hair is pulled back so tightly I can’t even blink without it hurting. My grip on the bouquet is hard enough to bruise. Leonardo turns to watch me, his stare a silent command.

When I reach the altar, Leonardo glares at me, his eyes boring into mine, then he turns to face the priest without a word, a smile, or a hint of encouragement.

The priest begins the mass. Words drone like bees in the thick silence. My first Catholic wedding. First mass. No one thought to teach me when I was growing up. Why bother, when business was our real religion? I don’t even know when to kneel. I follow Leonardo's lead. In this, as in everything, I will have to follow.

It’s over quickly. Business-like. I don’t look at father, but I feel his eyes on me, weighing what he's gained against what he might still lose. Leonardo slips a ring onto my finger, smooth gold that feels like a handcuff, so different from my mother's ring. His touch is impersonal, possessive. Just a touch, and he’s branded me.

He leans in. The kiss is quick, obligatory. I barely breathe. A shiver runs through me, but I don't flinch.

Juliet watches, silent and small beside the altar. I can almost feel the urgency of her fear, the way she sees my whole life as nothing more than sacrifice. I refuse to look at her.

The priest says something in Italian. Pronouncing us what? Man and wife. Husband and prisoner.

Father doesn’t smile. “Congratulations,” he says, crisp as a fresh suit. A single word for a daughter well sold.

The guests rise to congratulate us. They swarm, sharp and quick. The clatter of voices in Italian. Claps on the shoulder for Leonardo, brief kisses on the cheek for me.

A woman with dark curls and a dazzling grin hugs Leonardo and chatters fast. Carmela Rosetti. His little sister. His only sister. How protected she must be. How loved. I envy her.

Carmela turns to me. “I’m so happy you’re here, Eleanor! Finally, another girl in the family!” Her enthusiasm spills over, almost overwhelming. She takes my hands in hers, leans in conspiratorially. “I wanted to ask the extended family, but Leonardo insisted on keeping it small,” she says, flustered and eager. “We weren’t sure your side would...” Her voice trails off as she sees father standing alone.

I look around at the dozens of well-dressed attendees, and this is only the closest family? “This is plenty of family. Many would say it's too many."

She flushes bright red and laughs.

Another woman approaches, older, with hair auburn like Carmela's. She moves with calm, steady grace, eyes sharp and assessing. Her glance silences Carmela mid-sentence. This must be Gianna Rossetti, Leonardo’s mother. My new mother-in-law. I try not to shrink under her gaze.

“Eleanor,” she says. My name rolls off her tongue, a soft Italian lilt. “I trust the ceremony wasn’t too strange for you.”

“Not at all,” I lie.

She smiles, almost pitying. It makes me feel like a child.