hit you?”
Her mother’s lips pursed. “Your father was a different kind of man.”
Yes, he had been. Honorable and loving. He would no more have lifted a hand to his wife or daughter than he would have kicked a dog on a street corner, which, she was sure, Silvio Marchetti would do. She was also sure from what had just happened, her fiancé’s behavior would escalate when she was under his roof as his wife.
“I won’t do it. We can find someone else.”
Her mother shook her head, a resigned look on her face. “You have rejected every choice I’ve made for over a year now, Mina. You are marrying in front of half of Palermo in two days. Life is not all sunshine and rainbows. Sacrifices must be made and we need your sacrifice now. You know that.”
Her mother was okay with sacrificing her to a ruthless, violent man?
Dio mio. She’d always known she was heartless, but this... What kind of a monster was she?
Her mother’s gaze softened. “I suggest you find some peace with this. Men are men. You happen to be marrying a filthy rich one. Let that be your comfort.”
MINA’S WEDDING DAY dawned sunny and crisp, ushering in the first day of fall in true, glorious Palermo fashion.
Bright rays of sunshine stole through the curtains that swayed in her open bedroom windows, a light breeze kissing her shoulders with a jasmine-scented caress. Temperatures were supposed to skyrocket to an unseasonable warmth as the afternoon went on, making it the perfect day for the lavish outdoor reception she and Silvio would host at Villa Marchetti.
Soon it would be time to slip on the stunning dress hanging in her wardrobe and make her way by horse and carriage to the elegant Palermo cathedral to wed her wealthy, influential groom.
A fairy-tale day it should have been. But inside, Mina was filled with dread. She couldn’t seem to function, her every muscle and limb numb as the minutes passed, her stomach barely holding down the light breakfast she’d managed to consume. Today she would marry Silvio, a man she didn’t love, who had turned out to be a hot-tempered, violent man. Everything she’d suspected he could be and more. And nothing she had said or done to convince her mother she couldn’t do it had worked.
She stared in the mirror as her mother layered thick concealer over the bruise Silvio had left on her cheek, not a hint of emotion on Simona Mastrantino’s face to indicate she felt any degree of empathy for her daughter.
“Makeup is a woman’s magic.” Her mother swept another layer of the thick concealer over her cheek. “No one will see the bruise. But you must remember to tuck this in your purse for touch-ups later with the photographs.”
Mina absorbed this latest piece of advice from her mother dazedly, wondering if she could truly be this heartless. There was no question their relationship had always been strained, distant. Simona Mastrantino had made it clear from the very beginning she had no interest in being a mother—she had done it only to keep her husband happy. Off to the nannies Mina had gone while her mother lived a socialite’s glamorous life as the wife of the CEO of one of Italy’s most successful companies.
Mina had accepted this state of affairs with the innocent obliviousness of a child who knew no different. That Camilla, her nanny, and her beloved papà were her source of love and affection, her mother a beautiful, foreign creature who was to be awed from afar, like one of her beautiful dolls, had been her reality.
Her chest throbbed at the memory of her papà. He had always come to her first when he’d gotten home, swung her up in his arms and called her his piccolo tesoro, his little treasure, as he’d carried her off to bed to read. The bond between father and daughter had been inviolate, her papà lavishing upon her the attention her mother had not.
Until the day she’d come home from school to find her nonna, Consolata, at the house, and her father dead of a massive heart attack. Mina had clung to her nonna, her eight-year-old face a river of tears as she’d begged her to take her to see her father, perhaps instinctively knowing her last grounding force had been taken away. But her nonna had refused all of Mina’s hysterical demands, telling her a hospital was no place for a child.
The dust had barely settled on her father’s grave when her mother had sold the family business and packed a grieving Mina off to boarding then finishing school. Ripped away from everything she knew, without the unconditional love of her father or Camilla, Mina had floundered, filled with confusion and guilt. What was it about her that caused her mother to reject her so completely? It had been her good schoolfriend Celia and her mother, Juliana, who had become a surrogate mother to Mina, who had saved her from the shadows of those miserable years.
Her mother had only recognized Mina’s importance when she’d come of age, an attractive bauble to dangle before Palermo’s most eligible bachelors to solve their financial problems. Then it had been a relentless pursuit to find her a rich husband to marry, not the bonding Mina had craved.
A lump formed in her throat. “Please don’t ask me to do this,” she begged her mother through frozen lips, repeating the appeal she’d already made twice today. “We can find someone else, Mamma.”
Her mother’s gaze hardened with impatience. “We’ve been through this, Mina. You had your chance to pick someone else. You chose no one. I chose Silvio. Stop being so childish and selfish. You are doing your duty to this family. Marry Silvio, sell the ring and all our problems will be solved.”
All her mother’s problems would be solved. Hers would just be beginning. She closed her eyes. This was not how it was supposed to go. Today was supposed to be sunshine and rainbows. Her father was supposed to be walking her down that aisle toward a man as besotted with her as her father had been with her mother.
After she’d made a life for herself. After she’d followed in her father’s brilliant business footsteps. She may not have Felicia Chocolate left—the family chocolatier her mother had sold—but her time spent in France studying and attaining top grades, learning of the vast and varied world out there, had taught her she could never limit herself to the traditional role of a woman in Sicily. She wanted more, so much more, for herself.
But all of that would be for naught if she married Silvio today. Her fingers curled around the arms of the chair, her knuckles gleaming white. She would spend her days pregnant with his bambinos, relegated to an artifact in his beautiful, cold, austere home.
The wedding planner’s assistant swept back into the room, Mina’s dress draped over her arm, having given mother and daughter a discreet few minutes to cover Silvio’s damage. “Are we ready for the dress?”
Her mother straightened and nodded. The wedding planner gave Mina a once-over. “Excellent. You look beautiful.”
Mina stood as the wedding planner moved to her side to help her on with the fairy-tale dress, one worthy of Silvio Marchetti’s wife. She lifted her arms as the assistant dropped the dress over her head and settled it down around her hips in a whisper of silk and lace. She obediently pulled in a breath as the dress was done up, hugging every curve of her body with its slim, tulip shape. Except she didn’t need to expend the effort as the dress did up easily. Too easily. She’d lost weight the last few weeks of fretting.
The wedding planner tutted about this latest wrinkle, producing pins to close the gap below the low, dipping back of the dress. Mina surveyed herself in the mirror, a tumult of emotion swirling through her. She looked impeccable. The dress was perfect, her hair an elegant chignon with tiny, white flowers woven through it, her face a subtle, painted masterpiece.
And it was all wrong. She could not do this. She could not.
Silver stilettos and the diamond choker and drop earrings Silvio had given her as a wedding gift completed her irreproachable appearance. And then it was time to go. She descended the wide circular staircase to the main level of the villa, the wedding planner managing her modest train