Page 1 of The One
Chapter One
Mariella
“Dearly beloved.
“We have come together in the presence of God to witness and bless the joining together of this man and this woman in holy matrimony,” Father Josef declares, his voice full and rich, defying the silence of the church.
The scent of freshly cut flowers fills the air, mixing with the faint aroma of burning candles and frankincense.
“The bond and covenant of marriage was established…”
I tune out the voice of the man who has been the priest forla famigliafor longer than I’ve been alive.
He rambles on about love and joy, making me want to burst out into hysterical laughter. But of course, I don’t.
Joy, what even is that?
Do I ever feel it?
Maybe, when I’m on my own and can lose myself in the chords of my guitar. Or sketching a new design for a dress that will never materialize into fabric.
Those activities soothe my soul.
Will I still be able to indulge in them after today?
I shudder. What if he doesn’t let me?
Now I’m freezing cold despite the warmth of this October day in Sicily.
I gaze up at the stained-glass window behind Father Josef. Angels and saints bathed in vibrant hues cast a kaleidoscope of light across the altar. The irony, considering the occupations of most people here.
The bright sun outside mocks me with its warm rays while inside this church, a cold and somber mood prevails. The contrast is so stark it tightens my throat, pushing me to the brink of tears.
I blink rapidly, forcing them back, and fix my gaze on the tips of my shoes peeking out from beneath my dress.
Regaining some composure, I lift my head and glance at the man beside me.
The one I’m about to pledge my life to.
The one I saw slipping into the bathroom at our engagement party with a busty waitress in tow.
So much for faithfulness.
But maybe that’s a blessing and he’ll leave me alone. Still, I’m expected to be the loyal, dutiful wife.
He stares at Father Josef, lost in his own thoughts. Did he ever oppose this marriage, or did he just accept it without a second thought?
Probably the latter. For him, this isn’t a prison sentence. It will benefit him somehow.
My soon-to-be husband is thirty-one, eleven years my senior, and known for his ruthless efficiency and emotional detachment.
He’s bred for the mafia life. A life in which men rarely live to a ripe old age.
Perhaps that will be my saving grace. God willing, he’ll die long before me, and I’ll be set free.
Guilt immediately bombards me. I shouldn’t think this, especially in the house of the Lord, but it’s my only sliver of hope.
Am I a horrible person to wish death on someone who has not directly hurt me?
