Page 1 of Something Old

CHAPTER ONE

Masaccio

Istride into the venue with a sour look on my face.

I am not a fan of weddings and if I had a choice, I would definitely be somewhere else.

I’m a bit late. I hate being late. But there was an issue at the warehouse, and I had to see to it at the last minute.

It looks like the entire wedding is running behind schedule, anyway.

Typical.

These things never happen on time.

I take a seat on the bride’s side of the church benches. My cousin, Isabella, has been talking nonstop about her wedding today.

“Mas, where the hell have you been?” the urgent voice comes from behind me, a hand on my shoulder. “Isabelle is so annoyed that you weren’t here on time.”

I turn to face my sister, Dalila. She is dressed in a bridesmaid’s dress and seeing her reminds me I am actually a groomsman. Shit.

“Oh fuck. I forgot I was supposed to be a part of the ceremony.” I roll my eyes and stand up. Dalila shakes her head, grabs my arm, and starts dragging me out of the church.

“Go and talk to the other groomsmen. They are all getting ready in the hotel across the street.” She shoves me in the direction I need to go.

Without a word, I hurry across the road.

It’s a quiet little town just outside of the city. Peaceful, pretty, old world style living.

When I arrive at the hotel, the party of groomsmen is already down in the lobby.

I walk straight over to my cousin’s about-to-be-husband. “Frankie, I’m so sorry I’m late, man.”

“Don’t stress about it at all. You missed out on a few shots of tequila, but nothing much else. The exciting stuff is about to happen now.” He shakes my hand, a massive smile on his face. He looks eager, like he’s thrilled about getting married today.

I don’t get it.

I don’t get what all the fuss is about.

Marriage looks like a lot of hard work, a lot of stress. It’s just to time consuming having to worry constantly about another person like that.

Well, I’m happy for Isabelle.

Frankie straightens the collar of my shirt, even though it’s already straight.

I hold back the urge to brush his hand away. I don’t like being touched.

“Dante, hand me one of those - perfect - yes. Thank you.”

He neatly places a piece of folded cloth and a single rose into the top pocket of my jacket. Now I match the rest of the guys. A dark maroon rose against an olive-green square.

I smile. “Thanks. Looks good.”

“You ready?” he asks.

“Are you ready?” I ask with a chuckle. From my point of view, he is about to throw his entire life away.

“I’ve never been more ready for something in my entire life.” He really is fucking happy about this. I smile again, thinking about the dread I would feel if this was my wedding day.

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