Page 19 of Sinner
My wedding. To Anthony Romano, who treats me like a prize he’s won rather than a woman he loves. Anthony, whom I’m meeting for dinner tomorrow at some exclusive restaurant, where he’ll talk about himself for hours while I smile and nod.
But before that... before that, I’ll see Nico again. We arranged it in whispers as I dressed this morning, my clothes still damp from yesterday’s storm. He’ll meet me at the library—our alibi from yesterday made real. Just to talk, he said, though the heat in his eyes promised more.
“The string quartet needs to know your processional music by tomorrow,” Valerie says, drawing me reluctantly back to the present.
“Wagner’s Bridal Chorus is traditional,” my mother says firmly.
“Pachelbel’s Canon,” I counter, surprising even myself with the firmness in my voice.
My mother blinks, thrown by my sudden assertion. “Well... I suppose that would be lovely too.”
A small victory, but it feels significant—the first decision about this wedding that’s truly been mine. I wonder what else I might claim for myself, what other choices I might make that could alter the course of my life.
The meeting drags on for another hour—discussions of napkin folds and cocktail hour hors d’oeuvres that seem absurdly trivial compared to the storm raging inside me. When we finally emerge onto Fifth Avenue, the winter breeze hits like a wall after the warm perfection of the Plaza.
“We’re meeting the rest of the Romanos for drinks at La Grenouille,” my mother announces, checking her watch. “Then you and Anthony have dinner reservations at Le Bernardin.”
“No, we’re meeting tomorrow,” I counter.
“He wants to see you tonight as well,” she corrects me. “He asked me to tell you.”
“I can’t,” I say, the words tumbling out before I can consider them. “I promised Elisa I’d help her with her thesis research tonight.”
The lie comes easily—Elisa is my closest friend from Colombia, the only person in my life who exists entirely outside the family business. My mother has always approved of her as an appropriate, non-threatening friendship.
“Tonight?” My mother’s perfectly shaped eyebrows draw together. “Caterina, Anthony has made special arrangements.”
“So has Elisa,” I counter, committed now to my fabrication. “Her thesis deadline was moved up. She’s desperate.”
My mother sighs, but I can see her weighing the options. A dinner can be rescheduled. Making a scene here on Fifth Avenue is not an option.
“Fine. I’ll call Carmen and explain. But you’ll have to make it up to Anthony. He won’t be pleased.”
“I’ll call him myself,” I offer, knowing it will appease her.
She kisses me on both cheeks, her expensive perfume enveloping me briefly. “Don’t be too late. And wear something nicer tomorrow night. That skirt does nothing for your figure.”
I watch her slip into a waiting town car, relief washing over me as it pulls away from the curb. The moment she’s gone, I pull out my phone and text Nico: *I’m free all evening. Library at 6?*
His response comes almost immediately: *I’ll be there.*
Three simple words that make my heart race faster than all the wedding plans and family obligations combined. I flag down a taxi, giving the driver the address of my apartment instead of the library. I need to shower, to change, to prepare myself for seeing him again.
As the taxi merges into traffic, I press my forehead against the cool window glass. Twenty-four hours ago, I was a dutifuldaughter heading reluctantly toward an arranged marriage. Now I’m a woman transformed—by desire, by rebellion, by the intoxicating taste of making my own choices.
Tonight, I’ll see him again. Tomorrow’s problems—Anthony, the wedding, the impossible future—can wait. For now, there is only this: the memory of Nico’s touch and the promise of more to come.
Chapter 11
Nico
I stare at my phone,rereading her message for the hundredth time.
*I'm free all evening. Library at 6?*
The screen dims, then brightens again as I tap it nervously. My thumb hovers over the reply I've already sent:
*I'll be there.*
