Page 14 of Forsaken Promises
Weddings are supposed to be sacred unions, a celebration of love and commitment before God and man. But my own wedding to Sofia Marino? It’s nothing more than a farce, a mockery of everything I once believed in.
As I stand at the altar, waiting for my bride to make her entrance, I feel a sense of unease churning in my gut. This isn’t how I pictured my wedding day. This isn’t the future I envisioned for myself.
I was supposed to travel. See the world. Experiencelife.
But then the music swells, and the doors at the back of the church swing open. And there she is.
Sofia.
For a moment, I forget how to breathe. She looks like an angel, resplendent in a white gown that clings to her curves like a second skin. Her dark hair is swept up in an elegant twist, exposing the graceful curve of her neck. She’s breathtaking, a vision of beauty and grace, her hand placed on her father’s arm. Don Marino gazes at the congregation with joy and pride in his blue eyes.
But then I meet her eyes, and the illusion shatters.
Hatred. That’s all I see in those icy blue depths. Pure, unadulterated loathing. It’s a look I’ve grown accustomed to over the years from other people, but seeing it on her face, on our wedding day… it’s like a knife to the heart.
I force myself to look away, to focus on the priest’s words as he begins the ceremony. But I can feel Sofia’s gaze on me and can sense the tension radiating off her in waves.
This isn’t a union of love. It’s a business arrangement, a strategic alliance forged in the name of power and control. We are all puppets in the hands of fate and seldom see the strings.
Except in this situation. The strings are clearly held by our fathers as they manipulate each and every one of our movements.
And yet, as I slide the ring onto Sofia’s finger, as I promise to love and cherish her until death do us part… a part of me wishes it were real. A part of me yearns for the love and companionship we once shared.
But that’s a foolish dream. Sofia will never forgive me for what I did, for the way I broke her heart and left her.
As the priest pronounces us husband and wife, I lean in to kiss my bride, but she turns her head at the last moment, offering me her cheek instead of her lips.
It’s a small gesture, but it speaks volumes. I can hear the murmurs of the guests as they witness this defiance. She can barely stand to have me touch her, let alone kiss her.
The reception is a blur of forced smiles and polite conversation. I move through the motions, shaking hands and accepting congratulations from well-wishers.
But all I can think about is the woman by my side, the woman who is now my wife in name only.
I can barely remember the speeches, the food tasting like ash in my mouth as I choke down mouthful after mouthful, my father watching me carefully from his table, my mother beaming beside him.
And then, the moment I’ve been dreading arrives. The band strikes up a slow, romantic melody, and the guests begin to clear the dance floor.
It’s time for our first dance as husband and wife.
I can see the distaste written across Sofia’s face, the way her body tenses as I offer her my hand. But she takes it, allowing me to lead her onto the dance floor.
As we begin to move, I’m struck by how perfectly we fit together. Our bodies move in sync, gliding across the floor with a grace and elegance that belies the turmoil beneath the surface.
I can hear the murmurs of appreciation from the crowd, the oohs and aahs as they watch us dance. We’re the picture of poise and sophistication, the epitome of a perfect match.
But it’s all a lie, a carefully crafted façade.
Because beneath the surface, there’s nothing but pain and resentment, bitterness and betrayal.
I hold Sofia close, inhaling the scent of her perfume, feeling the warmth of her body against mine. And for a moment, I allow myself to pretend.
To pretend that this is real, that the woman in my arms loves me. That this is a wedding of our choosing, a marriage that we want.
To pretend that we have a future together, a lifetime of happiness and joy stretching out before us.
But it’s just a fantasy, a fleeting dream that dissolves like mist in the harsh light of reality.
Because Sofia will never be mine. Not in the way that matters.
