Page 44 of Of Lies and Shadows

“I vow to honor you, to serve you, to keep your house. To obey as your wife and remain bound until death.”

I huff out a laugh before I can stop it. Her fingers twitch.

“Is there a problem, Mr. Forzi?” the priest asks.

“No,” I snap. “Go on.”

We finish it. I slide the ring onto her finger, gold, heavy, meaningless. She does the same.

“By the power vested in me,” the priest declares, “I pronounce you husband and wife.”

She swallows hard, but there's no smile. No emotion. Just a flicker of something that might be relief when Lucia and Alessio rush up to her.

“You’ll love us forever now, won’t you?” Lucia asks, clutching Francesca’s skirt.

Francesca kneels, brushing her hand gently down Lucia’s cheek, then reaching for Alessio’s. “I would love you forever,” she says softly. “Wedding or not.”

And somehow… I believe her.

The vows she just gave to my children mean more than anything we exchanged at that altar.

“She’s Mrs. Forzi now too,” I say, the words escaping before I can stop them.

She doesn't even glance my way.

Sheleans down instead, still holding the twins’ hands, and says just loud enough for me to hear, “Only in name.”

The burn of it hits harder than I expected. It’s going to be a war. I can feel it already.

The dinner is as hollow as the ceremony. Too formal, too forced. A few family allies raise glasses with tight smiles, pretending this is some joyous union and not what it truly is: a transaction soaked in resentment.

Francesca sits beside me, composed and cold, answering polite questions from guests with carefully measured words. There’s no warmth. No spark. Just the same hollow poise she wore during the vows.

The children, thankfully, are the only source of life at the table. Alessio is halfway through recounting his latest dragon adventure to a very polite but clearly confused cousin when he yawns, long and loud, and slumps against the back of his chair.

Lucia, already nestled in Francesca’s lap, tucks her face into the curve of her neck with a sleepy sigh.

Francesca glances at me. “I’ll take them to bed.

I stiffen. I don’t want her to go. Not yet. Not withhimstill here, keeping his eyes on her, assessing god knows what.

“We’ll get Teresa to do it,” I say sharply. “We need to keep appearances.”

She tilts her head, her voice calm but steel-laced. “Please. Everyone here already knows it’s a sham. I’ve pretended enough for one evening.”

She rises gently, shifting Lucia against her hip, and reaches down to take Alessio’s hand.

“I’m not a wife, Dante,” she adds, her gaze holding mine, steady and unflinching. “I’m a nanny. Let me do my job.”

And just like that, she’s walking away, carrying my daughter and leading my son, claiming them like they’re hers and leaving me behind with guests who don’t matter and a truth I can’t escape.

She doesn’t want to be my wife. She never did. But she’s already more of a mother to my children than Maria ever was. And somehow, that infuriates me more than anything else.

I don’t see her come back despite the small size of the reception. I’m talking with some associate congratulating me for shaming Don Salvatore into giving me one of his.

I laugh, but it dies in my throat when I see her… talking to Bruno.

Laughing, even. He touches her hand, and she doesn’t pull away.

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