"Your clothes. They bother me. 𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐨𝐟𝐟."
~
Marriage was not for love -it was for business. It was a strategic move that one had to make wisely. For the Lombardis and the Morettis, this marriage was the most calculated, showstopping...
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Her legs were seconds away from giving out from underneath her. It wasn't because she was nervous of all the eyes on her or of the proximity of her new husband; it was because her husband's grandmother chose the most painful pair of high heels for her to wear -another one of the Famiglia's stupid traditions.
Her feet strained and throbbed with pain but she kept her steps steady and her face blank of emotion except for the smile she wore to the guests. Her stomach dipped as Roman's hand shifted on her back, his rough palm sliding over her bare spine. He held her flush against his side and she knew it was only for show and she was satisfied that he also knew how to act in front of a crowd.
But once the chapel doors closed and they were free from any prying eye, he still had his hand on her and she tried to keep her body from tensing. A detail of soldiers escorted them to a private room where they would sign the license, change her name, and she would sign the contract.
She spotted Roman's cousin, Cruz, walking behind them as they passed by a mirror. He was accompanied by a stunning woman with impeccable flawless skin and soft facial features. She was young but mature and Angeline had a difficult time looking away. She spotted Cruz's hand engulfing the woman and that's when it all clicked. She was Cruz's wife, Syrine Moretti. Unlike the rest of the Famiglia, Cruz and Syrine's marriage wasn't arranged -it was a love marriage. It wasn't used as a business move or a strategic gamble, it was purely out of love.
A pang of jealousy shot through Angeline because she knew that she would never have what they had. She wasn't meant for love. She was meant to be used as a pawn and nothing could stop it.
She stared at the ground, Roman's touch on her back suddenly burning through her skin. They stopped abruptly and she looked up to see that they had entered a spacious room with Renaissance-style paintings, dark walls, chandeliers, and velvet furniture. In the room was her lawyer and a person she didn't know. On the desk behind them were papers laid out neatly, ready for signatures.
She felt sick to her stomach and she glanced at Cruz's and Syrine's connecting hands and swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth.
"All the documents are ready for signatures, Mr. Moretti," the stranger spoke and she couldn't help the powerless feeling wash over her body. Were they not aware that she was here? That she was the one who would be signing the papers and sacrificing her free will?
The room grew hot and small. The walls were crushing in on her. His touch on her back was burning her skin. All of these eyes on her were too much. Her heart pounded in her ears and she could no longer breathe normally. She felt tears at the back of her eyes and she closed them.
All of a sudden, her body went rigid. She forced herself to breathe quietly. She opened her empty eyes. The tears were gone. The panic and anger had disappeared. She had ignored the young woman inside of her who was taking a sledgehammer against her ribs and skull, begging to be freed. She had ignored her and become the artificial person she was molded into.
