But I haven’t stopped loving him. I haven’t stopped thinking about him every second of every day, keeping him with me in my heart.
August chuckles and plucks the photo from between my fingers, placing it back in the folder. He pushes the rest of the photos back in and closes the cover. Resting his palm on top of it, he looms over me, trying to make me feel small as he does.
“Oh, my lovelyfiancée. Do you think I’m idiotic enough to tell you where yourboyfriendis?” August sneers, tsking as he picks up the folder. Waving it in between us, his smile gleams. “This right here is my insurance policy. Youwillobey me, Vinnie. You will be a doting fiancée and wife, and in return, I’ll let him live.”
“Why are you doing this, August? You still haven’t explained.”
“And I don’t need to, but if you must know, you’re the picture-perfect bride, and I want you on my arm. Plus, you have something else I want.”
“Which is?”
His smile widens. “You’ll find out in due time, sweetheart. All you have to do is keep being the perfect little wife and everyone wins.”
Emotion lodges in my throat, but I force it down, refusing to let August see the pain he’s causing me. “And how can I be sure you’ll uphold your end of the deal? I marry you, and Sly won’t be harmed, or so you say. How will I know he’s alive?”
August crosses his arms over his chest, clutching the file in his hand still. “I thought you might ask. It’s a pity you have a brain inside that pretty little skull of yours. How do monthly photos sound? Proof of life, and whatnot.”
“Bi-weekly,” I counter immediately. The only way I’ll get through this is if Iknowhe’s out there living his life.
Narrowing his eyes, August thinks about it for a moment—I’m sure just to see me squirm. “Okay. Bi-weekly,” he finally agrees.
A rush of air leaves my lungs in relief.
“We have dinner scheduled with the mayor on Thursday night, and theNew York Timeshas been calling, wanting to interview us, so I’ll be in touch,” he taunts as he walks away. “Now, where’s your smile,wife? Oh, and put your ring back on.”
“I’m not your wife yet,” I mutter, more to myself than him because he’s already across the rooftop.
The door slams shut behind him, and once again, I’m alone.
But now, instead of finding solace in the quiet, my mind is filled with worry and regret.
Instinctively, I look around and make sure I truly am alone before I pull out the photograph still safely hiding in my sleeve, and stare down at it.
My fingertips trace Sly’s face as a lone tear falls from my eye onto the image.
I’m overtaken with emotion as a single Shakespeare quote pops into my head—one from Romeo and Juliet, the play that holds uncanny parallels to my reality. The quote brings me little comfort, if any, still I repeat it in my head again, as I so often do.
“Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow. That I shall say good night till it be morrow.” William Shakespeare.
But there’s nothing sweet about our parting, only sorrow. The only thing I can hope for, though it may not be tomorrow, is that I’ll get to see Sly Lucchetti again one day, and hopefully, when that day comes, he will be happy, safe, and living his life as fully as he can.
That’s the only thing that will make this hell I’m willingly marrying into worth it.
Chapter 1
Vinnie
Now
The sun’s glare is blinding as it reflects off the edges of the silver platter on the table in front of me. It’s filled to the brim with cheese, crackers, meats, and grapes that have been sitting out in the sun for far too long. No one, aside from me, seems to notice or care.
Obnoxious laughter floats through the air, full of fake enthusiasm and cattiness.
Another day, another rooftop luncheon.
I never used to mind coming to these events—in fact, I used to enjoy them. But that was months ago, before I became a shell of the woman I once was.
Grief will do that to a person. Make them hate the things they used to enjoy. Make them see darkness instead of light.
