He’d been my baby that I struggled to carry around in tiny four-year-old arms as I waved off the nanny so that I could feed him.
And he’d been the only person to continue to visit me in the hospital when the doctors weren’t sure if I would survive.
Reaching out I gave his foot a whack. “Feet off the furniture,” I scolded primly, waiting until he sat up on the bench properly again before continuing. “And you know that I need to be married before my first heat.”
My doctors had all discussed it in what I’m sure they thought were hushed whispers just outside of my hospital door though I’d been able to hear every single word.
I’d never gone into heat, my leukemia taking over my body before it could develop enough to go through a first estrus and the doctors were concerned that an ‘unserviced’ heat would be too much for me.
Which had given my parents the green light to marry me off as soon as possible to their best possible benefit.
“Couldn’t you just go to one of the clinics or whatever all of the other unpacked omegas do?” Romey groused, swatting our mother’s hands away as she tried to smooth the cowlick that his hair, which was the same red color as mine, perpetually had.
I could have done that and probably would have if I went to college like I was supposed to do.
But that life had long since passed me by and I was going to have to make peace with what lay before me.
I opened my mouth to answer him, but a knock on the door cut me off.
“Is everyone decent?” My father’s congenial politician’s voice came from the other side, telling me that he wasn’t alone.
My mother, seeming to recognize that he was putting on a show, straightened and her bored expression smoothed out into her usual bland socialite’s smile. “We are, dear,” she sang and Romey and I exchanged twin grimaces.
I almost preferred it when they were their usual horrible selves.
The door opened and my father stepped inside, dressed in his tailored tuxedo. He looked every inch the stereotypical proud father of the bride, but my eyes quickly caught on the American flag pinned to his lapel which told me that he was completely in electioneering mode. Putting on a good show for the people downstairs to garner their votes and their capital.
“Wow, Peregrine,” he gasped with enough vigor that I had to force myself not to roll my eyes. “Aren’t you just the prettiest bride I’ve ever seen?”
The man even whipped out a handkerchief to dab at dry eyes. I was half-surprised he hadn’t stuck eyedrops in his eyes to really sell the picture that he was a distraught father upset about giving his only daughter away.
But when I saw who had come in with him, I understood his sudden theatrics.
Alessandro Amante was the patriarch of the Amante clan and one of the scariest men I’d ever met. He presented himself like a cheerful fatherly type, but every time I saw him a sense of dread pooled low in my stomach. Alessandro was the kind of man that, when you were in his good graces, he showered you with affection. But if you stepped a toe out of line? Then you would pay for it dearly.
He stood a head taller than my father and surveyed the room with a cool indifference until his green eyes found mine. They warmed ever so slightly as he bypassed my father to take my hand in his, the thick signet ring on his right hand cool against my skin as he gave my fingers a squeeze.
“Mio Caro, you are an absolute picture,” he told me in a lightly accented voice which I always found odd as I was pretty sure the man had never actually lived in Italy. None of my intended pack had accents. “Those boys won’t know what hit them and I should know as I practically raised them.”
I kept my grimace off of my face and offered him what I hoped was one of my mother’s fake smiles. After meeting my Pack Ricci a handful of times, I knew for a fact that our dislike for each other was mutual and my poofy wedding dress would probably have the opposite effect.
They were the heirs apparent to the Amante family and all of its businesses, but none of them bore Alessandro’s last name.
One night a few weeks ago, my mother had gotten drunk enough to gossip and had told me that the Amante family was starting to fall into shambles ever since the death of Alessandro’s only son two years ago.
Apparently, he’d once been a part of the pack I was about to marry and the head of the family had been grooming the entire bunch to lead the family. Then he’d died and Alessandro had been scrambling ever since to keep things together.
“A beautiful, useful omega for my boys. I only worry that your previous health issues will cause… trouble later on.” Alessandro’s warm expression cooled as he turned to look over at my father who had been busily sweating up a storm as he watched our exchange.
“Peregrine is blessedly healthy now, Mr. Amante,” he hurried to say, stepping in close. “A clean bill of health and she’ll be able to bear many fine sons for your boys.”
A disgusted feeling crawled down my spine at his flippant words, but I held it in and reminded myself that my medical bills wouldn’t pay themselves.
Alessandro stared at my face for another beat before a happy smile returned and he was the picture of the jolly father-in-law-to-be again. “I suppose she’ll be more useful than my own daughter, so I can’t ask for more than that.”
The man began to laugh and it took a beat before my parents joined in with him, their laughs sharper and more pained.
I hadn’t met his daughter at all during the few marriage meetings at the Amante mansion over the past few months which, now that I thought about it, was strange.
There weren’t even any pictures of her up around the rooms I’d been in—just pictures of Alessandro, his deceased wife, and the son.
Alessandro’s laugh turned gravelly as he began to cough, the sound grating against my ears as he waved off my parent’s sudden fluttering.
“I’m fine, get away from me,” he barked before turning to me with a red face. “Well, Mio Caro, I best get back downstairs before the ceremony starts.”
My parents followed him out of the room, the old door slamming loudly as the sound of their voices faded down the church’s stone hallway.
“Well he seems…” Romey began, his words trailing off as he glanced between me and the door.
“Terrifying?” I provided, turning back to the mirror to give myself one last pale-faced stare. The makeup artist had put blush on me, but with how little color was in my face it made my cheeks look unhealthily flushed like I had a fever.
“I was going to say nice, but maybe you’re right.” Romey stood and offered his hand to me. “Shall we?”
I nodded, flipping my gloved fingers into his. “I wish you could at least walk me down the aisle,” I whispered to him as we walked slowly down the old stone halls of the St. Cecilia cathedral, one of the oldest buildings in the city.
My family wasn’t Catholic by any stretch of the word, and if we would have been, then we most likely would have been protestants thanks to our English heritage, but it was clear that our father was going to use whatever he could to get into the minds and the pockets of voters. And if that meant that we were Catholic now, then so be it.
At least the building was pretty, I mused as we came down the stone steps and stepped into the beautiful marble lobby to wait for the ceremony to start.
