I want to tell my mother to go fuck herself. The insult obviously dies in my throat. She wouldn’t hesitate to slap me across the face in front of all these people. She’s done it before. There’s nothing wrong with my fifties-inspired strapless dress. Sure, the tight bodice emphasizes my girls more than she deems appropriate, but there’s nothing I can do about it. Does she want me to bind my breasts so I look like flat-chested Paola? Probably. I could tell her I’m wearing vintage Christian Dior, one of her favorite designers, but what good would it do? She’d probably say I make everything look trashy.

Mom makes a grab for my arm, but I sidestep her. “I have to use the restroom. I’ll meet you inside.”

I run back into the house as fast as my high-heeled shoes allow, veering toward the stairs. Once I reach the landing, I hear animated female voices coming from the master suite. I skid to a halt. The prosecco I just downed burns in my belly while hurtful memories assault me. Among other awful things, my cousin is a bully. Together with her friends, she tormented me through school. She’s a couple of years older than me, but instead of bringing me into the fold when I joined their snobbish private school, she took pleasure in making my life a living hell. If Max hadn’t been there, I don’t know if I would have survived. Things only changed when I grew older and boys started to take notice of me. Suddenly, Paola wanted to be my best friend, and I was naïve enough to believe her bullshit.

Pietro, her fiancé, was my first friend there and the object of my affection. He was an awkward teen during high school, super tall and gawky, a little nerdy too. He didn’t turn hot until he was in college. That’s when Paola made her move and my crush died a sudden and painful death.

Maybe Max is right. I should have told Pietro how I felt sooner, but I was terrified of losing his friendship then and never confessed. Besides, he never would have really taken me seriously. Fat good that did me. I lost his friendship anyway when he started dating my cousin. In fact, this is the first time I’ll have seen him in six months. But the good old saying “out of sight, out of mind” doesn’t apply to me if the constant pain in my chest is any indication.

Forcing my feet to move, I veer in the opposite direction of Paola and her phony friends, locking myself in the restroom down the corridor. I stare at my reflection in the mirror, holding a strand of my blonde hair between my fingers. I’m not ugly, but compared to Paola—who’s tall, thin as a model, and gorgeous—I’m plain, and there’s no way to hide my curves. No wonder Pietro picked her over me, but damn it, Paola isn’t even nice unless she’s faking it for him. I should have been braver and confessed I liked him before Paola was ever in the picture.

Get a grip on yourself, Chiara. Despite all her flaws, Pietro still picked her over you. It’s time to move on.

I apply a fresh coat of lipstick and try to redo my curls using my fingers. No way in hell I’m going to let Paola’s stylist touch my hair. Running a hand down the length of my dress, I attempt to smooth out the barely visible wrinkles, thinking about my mother’s comment. The dress is perfect and completely appropriate for a summer wedding. I don’t know why I’m surprised she disliked it. She has criticized everything I’ve worn since I was old enough to pick my own clothes.

My shoulders sag forward as I let out a heavy sigh. It’s just one day, Chiara. You can do this. I straighten my back and raise my chin, ready to face the music, when the door bursts open.

I let out a yelp as Pietro stares at me wide-eyed. “Oh, so sorry, Chiara. I didn’t know you were in here.”

My heart takes off in a mad race. Why does the man have to look ten thousand times more appealing in his wedding tuxedo? His curls have been tamed with some gel, and his eternal five-o’clock shadow is nowhere in sight.

“That’s okay. I was just freshening up my makeup. I’m all done.”

He gives me an elevator glance, his gaze dropping to my shoes before slowly traveling back up the length of my body. “You look stunning, Chiara.”

My heart does a backflip at his compliment. Traitorous muscle.

“So do you.”

“Did you bring a date?”

“No. I’m not seeing anyone at the moment.”

Why did I tell him that?

“It’s really hard to believe a gorgeous girl like you is single. I would have snatched you up in a heartbeat if I had the chance.”

Uh, what?

He did not just say that.

“What are you talking about, Pietro?”

He frowns, and it could be the prosecco here, but I think I catch a glint of guilt in his gaze.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. It must be the pre-wedding jitters.”

Feeling bold and angry as well, I take a couple of steps closer. “Pietro, were you ever attracted to me?”

“Come on, Chiara. Let’s forget I said anything, okay?”

“No, you can’t take those words back.”

His thick eyebrows furrow, and his lips turn into a thin, flat line. It’s his trademark expression when he’s feeling cornered.

Shit, I can’t believe this is happening, but I can’t back down now. I have to know.

“Answer me, Pietro!” I raise my voice, not caring if we’re overheard.

“All right. I had a huge crush on you when we were at All Saints. God, I thought you knew.”

My stomach bottoms out. I feel like I’ve been sucker punched. With wobbly steps, I reach for the granite top of the sink, fighting to get air into my lungs.

“Shit, Chiara. I swore to myself I would never say anything to you. I felt like such a perv for crushing on you. It doesn’t matter anyway. I eventually moved on. Then Paola came along, and, well, the rest is history.”

I can barely hear what he’s saying over the loud sound of my pulse hammering in my ears.

“I-I can’t be here.”

Pushing him out of my way, I run out of the bathroom as if the devil is after me, rushing down the stairs two steps at a time. It’s a miracle I don’t twist an ankle. I veer toward the front door, ready to bolt and skip this fucking wedding. No way in hell I’ll be able to stand aside and watch my hateful cousin marry the man of my dreams. Knowing it could have been me in her place if Pietro and I hadn’t been such cowards and concerned about society makes it a thousand—no, a billion times worse.

I bump into Grandpa outside, struggling with his cane as he tries to get into the sporty convertible I know doesn’t belong to him.

“Where are you going, Nonno?” I ask.

“Your useless father forgot to bring the cigars. I’m going into town to get them.”

“No you’re not, Dad.” My mother’s voice rings out right behind me, making my skin crawl. I don’t want to deal with her on top of everything else.

“We can’t have a wedding without cigars.”

“You just took your medication, and you know how woozy it makes you. You’ll get into a car wreck.”

Grandpa, being the proud man he is, glares at his daughter, who does the same in return. Stuck in the middle, I see that as the perfect opportunity to get out of here.

“I’ll get the cigars for you, Nonno.”

“Nonsense. We’ll send someone from the catering company. You’re needed inside, Chiara.”

With a quick glance in her direction, I see that if I don’t go now, she’ll drag me back to the house by my hair if necessary. I search for my car and notice it’s been moved and is now stuck between two catering company vans. Shit! Needing to make a hasty exit, I veer toward one of the villa’s Vespas because Grandpa is still halfway inside the little convertible.

As usual, the key is already in the ignition. The engine turns on with a creaking noise, and before my mother can do anything to stop me, I take off.

2

Alistair

I’m such a fucking moron. Slamming my palm against the side of the car, I look ahead at the deserted road. It stretches on for miles without a sign of life nearby. I can’t be that far from the winery.