Blocked From My Wedding, I Dumped My Fiancé

On my wedding day, two guards stopped me outside the doors to my own ceremony. My fiancé, the Godfather Matteo De Luca, called. "Let Bianca go in first. Wait in the side hall for twenty minutes." I froze. Matteo continued, "Bianca doesn't believe in marriage. She'll never get married in her life. She just wants to experience a wedding ceremony this once. After she's had her turn, you can come in." Before the doors closed, I saw Bianca already in her wedding gown, standing in front of the rose wall I had built with my own hands. Matteo was adjusting her veil. Sensing my silence, he softened his voice. "This wedding between Bianca and me is just for show. The one who will truly become Mrs. De Luca is you. Don't take a performance so seriously." The call ended, and applause soon drifted out from inside the church. And so I sat in the side hall, waiting for another woman to finish using my wedding. It had always been like this. Because Bianca's father had taken a bullet for Matteo, whenever she was scared, he had to be there; whenever she was upset, he had to comfort her. Nineteen months ago, when I lay in the back of an ambulance telling him I was bleeding, he still chose to stay by Bianca's side—because she claimed someone was after her. And now, even my wedding had to be hers to try on first. A server brought me hot tea without sugar and draped Matteo's cashmere coat over my shoulders. Not a single lily had been allowed onto the estate because he knew I was allergic to them. He remembered that I was always cold. He remembered every one of my habits. Yet he couldn't be bothered to come see me himself. I called him again. "Come out here. We need to talk face-to-face." "The ceremony has already started." "You could put my wedding on hold for Bianca, but you can't spare 1 minute for me?" He didn't sound the least bit guilty. "This is the only chance she got. You get a lifetime. Is twenty minutes really worth the fight?" "So because I'm going to be your wife, I'm the one who's supposed to step aside?" Bianca's voice drifted through the phone from somewhere inside the hall. "Matteo, is my veil crooked?" "Not at all. You look beautiful." His voice was much gentler when he answered her. Then he hung up on me. A photo appeared in the DeLuca family chat moments later. Matteo was bowing his head as he adjusted Bianca's veil. Bianca: Thank you for indulging me, Matteo. And thank you, Elena, for lending me your wedding. A: The Don really does spoil you. B: Look at you two. You could be the real newlyweds. Matteo finally responded. Matteo: Enough. You're embarrassing Bianca. He was worried about Bianca's embarrassment. No one seemed to care that the actual bride had been barred from her own ceremony. I photographed the official schedule and posted it in the chat. Elena: Don't thank me. I never intend to lend you anything. The chat fell silent. 30 seconds later, Bianca replied. Bianca: I'm sorry. I didn't realize you would be so upset. I'll give your wedding back right now. Matteo called immediately. His first words were an order. "Delete that message. You made Bianca cry." "Then tell her to come out. She just offered to give the wedding back." "Elena, her father died for me. It's 20 minutes. Can you really not show her that much grace?" "Then what about my dignity?" "How many times do I have to tell you? You're going to be Mrs. De Luca. Why do you have to make such a fuss over a performance?" Apparently, having the title meant I was supposed to yield. And because Bianca had no title, every boundary she crossed could be excused. Not this time. Her sob came through the phone. "Forget it, Matteo. I should go." He comforted her at once. "No one told you to leave. I made you a promise, and you're getting every part of it." His promises to her were sacred. Yet his promises to me were negotiable. The glass partition between the lounge and the hall slid open. Bianca stood before 864 ivory roses. My parents had set those flowers aside for me over 2 growing seasons, and the copper frame still bore the small EH plaque in its lower right corner. Bianca complained that her train was too heavy. So, in front of every guest, Matteo bent down and arranged it for her himself. When he rose, Bianca lifted her champagne flute toward me through the glass and smiled. The pianist began to play the song Matteo and I had first danced to 7 years ago—the song he had promised would be played again at our wedding. Only then did I understand. Bianca had never wanted to borrow just 20 minutes in the hall. I Chapter 2 She Borrowed My Vows The pianist had played only a few bars when Bianca asked the musicians to stop. She turned to the officiant with a soft smile. "If we're going to make this feel real, I'd like to say the vows too." I thought Matteo would refuse her this, at least. He had promised me the performance would include nothing more than an entrance and a few photographs. Instead, he agreed without hesitation. "Then say all of them." Bianca took the card and read every line. "Through every storm and every long winter, I'll stay beside you until spring finds us again." I had written those words in our blue wedding book. Six years earlier, an ice storm had crushed the Rosefield greenhouse, and Matteo and I had stayed up all night trying to save the seedlings. That night had given me those vows. They belonged to us. Now Bianca was reciting them to him without changing a word. I called Matteo again. "How did she get my vows?" "Just words," he said dismissively. "Let her say them. The real vow only matters if I say 'I do' to the right woman." He ended the call. Next, Bianca had two display rings brought forward. "Since I've said the vows, I'd like to exchange rings too. One last thing." Matteo didn't hesitate. He took one of the rings and slipped it onto her left ring finger. Then Bianca asked the DeLuca elders to give them the family's traditional blessing. Matteo agreed to that as well and instructed the officiant to perform the entire ritual. As long as there was no marriage license, he seemed to believe he could give her every part of my wedding. More than a dozen messages appeared in the wedding chat. A: Bianca looks more like the future Mrs. DeLuca than anyone else here. B: Is the florist still sitting next door? C: Elena was always Bianca's stand-in anyway. Then one last message appeared. C: Oh God. Wrong chat. It vanished almost immediately, but Nora had already taken a screenshot. She had spent four straight nights helping me finish the rose wall and had been working behind the scenes at the estate all day, managing the flowers. Nora: I saved everything. I posted in the wedding work chat. Elena: Was insulting me part of the package too? Bianca immediately burst into tears. Matteo called yet again and demanded that I tell the group I had never doubted their relationship was innocent. "I'm the one they insulted. Why am I supposed to make her feel better?" "Because you're stronger than she is. You're more reasonable." Impatience had crept into his voice. "Do you really need to humiliate her today?" Humiliate her? What was she playing at? I was the bride being forced to watch my own wedding through a glass wall. Since I refused to post the explanation, Matteo hung up and wiped away Bianca's tears himself. Then she pointed to the dance floor and said she wanted a first dance. "Of course." Matteo took her hand without a pause. "I promised you the full experience, and that's what you're going to get." The officiant invited the bride and groom onto the dance floor. The musicians began to play my song again. II Chapter 3 The Flower Wall Falls Matteo led Bianca onto the dance floor. They never kissed, and he kept a careful distance between them, but once our song began, none of it mattered. It had been ours. Now it would always belong to them too. When the dance ended, Bianca invited the guests to take pictures in front of the rose wall. Her heel sank into the floral foam and snapped a Winter Grace rose, a variety my mother had spent six years cultivating. Bianca glanced down and kept walking. Nora rushed into the side lounge. "The two support lines on the left—someone cut halfway through both of them." The ribbon on Bianca's bouquet snagged on the main garland just as Nora spoke. Bianca yanked it free. Copper shrieked against the floor, and the entire rose wall came crashing down. Glasses shattered. Guests screamed and stumbled back. All 864 roses disappeared beneath shoes, spilled red wine, and muddy floral foam. Matteo's first instinct was to pull Bianca into his arms and check her for injuries. I pushed open the lounge door and crouched beside the twisted copper frame. Behind me, Matteo snapped an order. "Find whatever white roses are available. Rebuild it within the hour." I turned to him. "Do you think any white rose will do?" "It's a flower wall." He frowned. "I'll pay for one that's bigger and more expensive. Stop taking your anger out on everyone else over a few flowers." "My father spent 3 weeks welding that frame. My mother spent 2 growing seasons setting those roses aside for me." "Enough, Elena." His voice went cold. "Bianca was nearly crushed, and all you care about are flowers." I looked at the woman sheltered behind him and almost laughed. She had destroyed my flower wall and received his comfort. I had lost it and somehow become the selfish one. Six years earlier, when the ice storm brought down the Rosefield greenhouse, Matteo had walked out of a family meeting and driven five hours on closed roads to reach us. He helped the firefighters rescue my father, took seven stitches in his arm, and stayed until dawn to save the seedlings. That was the day my parents began to trust him. It was the day I became certain he would always choose us. Then Bianca became his responsibility, and everything changed. 19 months ago, I had called him from an ambulance. "I'm bleeding. We may lose the baby. They're taking me into surgery now." He had chosen to stay with Bianca, who claimed a gunman was following her. I lost the baby. Afterward, Matteo swore he would never put me second again. I believed him then too. Now he took my cold hand and spoke to me as if I were a child who needed correcting. "The wedding will continue as planned. You're about to become Mrs. DeLuca. Learn to prioritize. Don't let a handful of flowers ruin tonight." I pulled my hand away. "If you had that night to do over 19 months ago, would you still stay with her?" He didn't even have to think. "Yes. You were in a hospital with an entire medical team. She was facing someone who could open fire at any moment." So his vows were never about repentance. They had been nothing more than a campaign to win me back. He still believed he had made the right choice. I looked at the roses scattered across the floor, and a strange calm came over me. "All right. I need to use the restroom." Relief flickered across Matteo's face. He still mistook my silence for forgiveness. III Chapter 4 The Second Bride's Ring The moment the restroom door closed, Nora handed me a camera. On the recording, Bianca pointed to the two support lines and spoke clearly to a stagehand holding a pair of floral shears, "Cut most of the way through these. I don't want that wall left standing for the second bride." Nora was shaking with rage. "We should release it now." I froze the frame. "Bury the original where no one will find it." Exposing Bianca wouldn't make the wedding mine again. I was tired of all of them. I only wanted to leave. I borrowed Nora's phone and texted my mother. Elena: If I come home tonight, will the door still be open? Her reply arrived in less than 10 seconds. Mom: It has always been open. The tears I had held back all day finally came. By the time I returned to the bridal suite, Matteo had sent three messages. Matteo: I'll see you later. I'll meet you at the doors myself. Matteo: They're rebuilding the flower wall. Don't delay the real ceremony over a few flowers. Matteo: The discussion in the group chat ends now. Bianca is upset. You can explain yourself to her later. Even now, he believed I should be the one to explain, to yield, and to clean up the mess. My grief, anger, and dignity could always be put off until later. I took off my engagement ring. Three years earlier, Matteo had slipped it onto my finger in the Rosefield greenhouse. An inscription circled the inside of the band. Wherever you take root, I return. Only now did I understand the unspoken condition. Matteo alone would decide when—or whether—he would return. I placed the ring, my still-active phone, and a note in the vanity drawer. Then I stepped out of the heavy outer layers of my gown and changed into the delivery jacket and flats Nora had brought me. The flower van drove out of the estate. 12 minutes later, Nora dropped me at the bus station. She pressed the fallen EH plaque into my hand and promised to keep the original video safe. The northbound coach closed its doors. Lights had come on across the distant estate. I didn't look back. ***** Matteo carried a bouquet of white roses toward the bridal suite. When he opened the door, my gown lay in a pale heap across a chair, but I was gone. The only sound in the room came from my phone, buzzing over and over inside the open vanity drawer. Beside it lay my engagement ring and a folded note. Matteo picked it up and unfolded it. ... 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