Page 31 of The Mafioso’s Bride

The ballroom has gold walls, high painted ceilings, and hundreds of candles inside glass holders. Their flames remain contained. The quartet plays near the far wall, loud enough to fill the room but not drown the conversations closest to us.

Luca keeps his palm firm against my lower back after telling me he will place it there. He guides me past the receiving line in the order he described. No one changes the plan.

Polina meets us inside. Her blue dress has long sleeves and no beads to scratch her arms. “I’m glad you came.”

“Luca explained everything before we left.”

“He made me review the floor plan,” Dante says.

“You missed an exit,” Luca tells him.

“One of my many failures.”

Polina takes me to meet two women from the host family while Luca and Dante greet the host. One wears a green dress and asks whether I prefer the quartet or recorded music. When I answer that recorded music has consistent volume but live players make fewer mistakes than bad speakers, she considers the ceiling before agreeing.

The other woman points to Luca’s pin. “What animal is that?” She asks about the animal instead of asking what is wrong with me.

I explain cryptobiosis. I stop after four facts and ask whether she wants another.

“Tell me the strangest fact,” she says. So I do.

More guests arrive. The quartet finishes one piece and begins another. A server gives me mineral water without lemon after Polina asks for it. The bubbles sting my tongue in a pleasant pattern.

For thirty-seven minutes, I speak when I want to speak. No one laughs when I take a question literally. No one touches me. Polina introduces me as Giada rather than Luca’s new wife, Antonio’s daughter, or the woman taken from Giuseppe at the church. For once, my name is enough.

Dante approaches Luca near the end of the quartet’s third piece. “I need you.”

Luca looks at me. “Dario may have located your father. Dante and I need to discuss it in private. Polina will stay here. Do you want to use the sitting room?”

Papa’s face enters my mind: his fingers digging into my arm, his mouth close to my ear at the church.

“No. I want to remain here.”

“I’ll return in five minutes.” He tells me before pressing his palm against my waist. “You may come to me at any point.”

He and Dante cross to a group of men near the terrace doors. Polina stays beside me.

The host’s wife joins us. She wears perfume with roses and sharp citrus. Another woman follows her, then a man whose name disappears beneath the quartet. They ask about the wedding at the same time.

“Was it romantic?” the woman asks.

“Did Corsini plan it?” the man asks.

“You poor girl,” the host’s wife says. Her fingertips land on my forearm.

My skin burns under them. I pull away. A server passes behind me and his sleeve brushes my elbow. The quartet grows louder. Violin, viola, cello, questions, laughter. The candles break into hundreds of moving points against the glass.

“Please give her room,” Polina says. The host’s wife touches my shoulder while the man leans closer to repeat his question.

My dress presses under my arms. Rose perfume coats my tongue. A man steps closer to make room for another server, and the open path to the east hall closes behind his black jacket.

I need the hall. My mouth won’t form the sentence.

Across the ballroom, Luca turns away from Dante. Dante stops speaking. Luca keeps walking.

People move aside before he asks. He reaches me and stops beyond contact.

“Giada. The east hall is behind me. Do you want me to take you there?”