DELUCA

TWELVE

Eleanor forgot everything—her age, her situation, even her senses—when she heard the familiar voice of her mother.

Her heart leapt, and within seconds, she flew down the stairs, the world around her blurring. Standing in the foyer were her parents, her father shaking hands with Giuseppe.

Her mother was chatting with Giselle, who was admiring her mom's long curls.

As if sensing her presence, her father looked up. His face broke into a wide grin, "There's my Hellcat!" His deep voice boomed through the house, his thick North Florida accent as strong as ever.

"Dad!" Eleanor sprinted the last few steps and flung herself into her father's arms. She couldn't believe they were really there. "You made it!"

"Like I'd miss my baby girl's wedding," he replied, sounding almost offended by the idea.

"I wanted to make sure you had all the support you needed today," Giselle chimed in, her hands clasped in front of her. "I hope you don't mind."

The house was a flurry of movement and energy, every corner buzzing with preparations for the wedding, and Eleanor felt completely disoriented.

She hadn't expected her parents to arrive early, and she hadn't even had time to fully process the day ahead. Francesco had been absent all morning, leaving her with a strange mix of nervousness and longing.

It wasn't just tradition keeping him away; he'd been so distant lately, wrapped up in work, vanishing before dawn and returning late at night.

Giselle snapped her out of her reverie. "Okay, people, we've got a wedding in five hours, and I'm not seeing makeup, I'm not seeing tuxes, and I'm starting to lose my patience," she said, her smile sweet but her words leaving no room for argument.

"Come with me," Giuseppe said to her father. "I'll take you to the groom."

"Eleanor, into hair and makeup now, please!" Giselle commanded before storming off to find the elusive twins.

Eleanor turned to her mother, who was studying her with a warm smile. "You look good, Mom," Eleanor said, taking their bags as they headed upstairs.

"I could say the same about you," her mother replied, her eyes softening. "You're glowing."

Eleanor laughed. "I'm glowing because you're here."

"Oh, we were coming no matter what. Your father's been saving up, but that friend of yours, Giselle, really made this trip possible." Her mom looked around, taking in the grandeur of the house, the elaborate dresses hanging in the rooms. "It's all so overwhelming."

"I feel like that every day," Eleanor admitted.

Her mother gave her a knowing smile. They were so alike in so many ways, from their dark, expressive eyes to the warmth they carried with them.

Eleanor had inherited her mother's intelligence, her wit, and her resilience. Seeing her standing there, looking healthier than she had in years, brought an unexpected rush of emotion to Eleanor's chest. She hadn't realized just how much she'd needed her mother until this moment.

"I'm so happy for you," her mom said, reaching out to squish her cheeks, just like she had when Eleanor was little.

"I worried you'd never get married, always taking care of me."

Eleanor shook her head, rolling her eyes. "I'll always take care of you, Mom."

"But now someone else will take care of you." Her mom winked. "I met him earlier."

"Oh yeah?"

"Very handsome, Eleanor. I can see why you're eloping."

Eleanor smirked. "If that circus downstairs is eloping, I'd hate to see what you think a real wedding is."

Her mother chuckled, shaking her head. "You've only been together for a few months. Are you sure about this?"

"Mom, I was the flower girl at your wedding," Eleanor reminded her. "You don't get to give me the 'moving too fast' lecture."

"I'm not lecturing. I just want to make sure you're happy and not rushing into this for the wrong reasons. You're not... pregnant, are you?"

Eleanor burst out laughing. "Mom, no. Definitely not pregnant."

Her mom gave her a teasing look. "Just checking. You know, I've always been able to read you."

Eleanor turned to face her, meeting her mother's gaze. There was that familiar look, like her mom was trying to peer straight into her soul, as she had done so many times before.

"You're happy," her mom declared with a knowing smile. "Happier than I've seen you in a long time."

Eleanor felt a warmth spread through her. She was happy, despite the chaos, the strange distance with Francesco, and the uncertainty surrounding everything. Having her mom here made it all feel a little more real, a little less overwhelming.

Just then, Giselle barged back in, her energy like a whirlwind as she prepared for the next step. But before Eleanor could get lost in the madness again, her mother stood up, her eyes twinkling.

"I almost forgot," she said, hurrying out of the room and returning moments later with a large garment bag. She unzipped it, revealing a beautiful ivory wedding dress.

"I thought maybe you'd want to wear this."

Eleanor's breath caught in her throat. It was her mother's wedding dress. Timeless and elegant, it had a fitted bodice and a flowing skirt that seemed to float in the air.

She had seen it countless times in photos and videos from her parents' wedding, but seeing it now, knowing her mother had kept it for this moment, made Eleanor's eyes well up with tears.

"I love it," Eleanor whispered. "I'm wearing it."

Her mother beamed. "Are you sure? You've got that beautiful dress over there—"

"I'm sure," Eleanor said, her heart swelling. "This is perfect."

Her mother's smile was radiant as she helped Eleanor step into the dress, the two of them sharing a quiet, intimate moment amidst the whirlwind of the day. In that moment, surrounded by love, Eleanor knew she was exactly where she needed to be.

Eleanor sat in the quiet room, the anticipation building with every passing second. It was the first moment of solitude she'd had since waking up that morning, and for a fleeting instant, the silence felt almost comforting.

But then, with nothing left to distract her, her thoughts began to swirl, pulling her into a place she had been avoiding all day.

She wasn't entirely sure what to expect from her arranged marriage with Francesco. It wasn't supposed to be about love, or even affection.

Yet, over the months, she found herself caring for him in ways she hadn't anticipated.

Francesco had started as a distant figure, a puzzle piece in an elaborate deal, but now he was something else entirely—someone she was about to vow her life to.

Her future was a mystery, and the unknown frightened her more than she wanted to admit. Would Francesco ever truly open up to her, or would they remain polite strangers sharing the same roof?

There was no way to predict what her life would look like a year from now, and the uncertainty had her spiraling. Not seeing him in the last two days had only added to her anxiety.

She heard Giuseppe outside, his voice irritated as he complained about Francesco's suit. At least she knew Francesco was here.

Somewhere.

The thought both soothed and unsettled her.

Dressed in her mother's wedding gown, she had never felt more like a princess. A princess about to marry a man she barely knew, in a literal castle. The sheer weight of the situation pressed down on her chest.

Three soft knocks pulled her from her thoughts. The butterflies in her stomach became a storm of nerves.

"Come in!" Eleanor called, her voice tighter than she intended. She expected her father to appear, ready to ease her jitters with one of his signature jokes. Instead, Jemma stepped into the room.

Eleanor's eyes narrowed at the sight of her. Jemma wore a short white dress—a choice that felt deliberately disrespectful—and silver heels that seemed to stretch her legs for miles.

Her hair was styled immaculately, every detail crafted to perfection. Eleanor's irritation spiked instantly.

"I'm not here to start anything," Jemma said, her tone cautious as if sensing the tension in the room. "I just wanted to talk for a moment."

Eleanor folded her arms. "I only have a few," she replied, her words clipped. She waved toward the small chaise in the corner, and Jemma slithered over, sitting down with an air of superiority that set Eleanor's teeth on edge.

"Your wedding gown is beautiful," Jemma commented, but Eleanor could sense the insincerity.

"Thanks," Eleanor said flatly. "But I doubt you came here to talk about my dress."

Jemma sighed, shifting uncomfortably before leaning in slightly. "You're right. I didn't. I came to tell you something important. Not as an ex or an enemy—just as one woman to another."

Eleanor raised an eyebrow but said nothing, hoping silence would speed this up.

"This family," Jemma began, lowering her voice, "they're not who you think they are. Whatever they've told you, it's to keep you walking down that aisle. There's a whole world of trouble you don't know about—dangerous, life-altering trouble."

Eleanor's heart rate picked up. "A girl like me?" she echoed, her suspicion growing.

"Yeah," Jemma said, as if it were obvious. "You're innocent, Eleanor. They're not. They're... criminals, mafia." The word hung in the air, heavy and absurd.

For a second, Eleanor just stared at her, and then an incredulous laugh burst from her lips. "You cannot be serious right now," she said, shaking her head.

"I'm dead serious," Jemma said, her voice as steady as ever. "You're in over your head, and you don't even know it."

Eleanor was about to dismiss her when Jemma reached into her shimmering silver bag and pulled out a manila folder. "This," she said, handing it over, "is everything you need to know."

Eleanor eyed the folder, hesitant. Her pulse quickened, but instead of taking it, she stared at it, torn between curiosity and defiance. She didn't want to believe Jemma. She didn't want to believe any of it.

"Go on," Jemma urged, but Eleanor shook her head and pushed the folder back toward her.

"No," Eleanor said firmly. "Thank you for your opinion, but I'll make my own decisions."

Jemma's eyes darkened. "You're really that in love? That you won't even look at the truth?"

Eleanor stood, meeting Jemma's gaze without flinching. "I'm not naïve, Jemma. I know what I'm doing."

"Do you?" Jemma's voice sharpened, her frustration evident. "Because people like the Delucas will chew you up and spit you out, Eleanor. You'll disappear, and no one will even remember you were here."

Eleanor squared her shoulders, her voice cold. "You're forgetting something. I'm a Deluca now."

Jemma rolled her eyes, standing up as if she'd expected this response all along. "Fine," she snapped. "But don't say I didn't try to help you. Keep the documents. They'll make everything clear when your perfect little world falls apart."

Without another word, Jemma turned on her heel and left the room, the door closing with a soft click behind her.

Alone again, Eleanor's breath caught in her throat. Her eyes flicked to the folder Jemma had left behind. The weight of it seemed to pull her closer. She reached out, her fingers brushing the edge, but she hesitated. Did she really want to know?

Her hand hovered over the folder, her heart pounding in her ears. Finally, with a sigh, she picked it up, feeling the weight of the truth she wasn't sure she was ready to face.

Eleanor walked into the foyer with a heavy and unsteady heart. Each one of her footsteps felt like a red flag at this point.

Against her better judgment she found herself sitting on the same chair she sat Jemma down on and flipping through page after page.

Every time she turned the page, she saw something worse than the last. Numerous news articles including the Deluca family. While hardly anything here said anything about a charge, Eleanor found that it was odd for a clean family to show up this often in crime reports.

Her curiosity had caused a delay, but Eleanor ignored everyone who came to the door, refusing to leave until she read over every little thing.

Unfortunately, she needed to buy another hour to spiral. Trying to figure out all of her life choices got her here.

When she finally worked up the courage, she stepped from the wedding prepared to take the leap of faith she would have never tried before. With every step she took, she was reminded of another accused death.

This was the selfless thing people did for the ones that they love. After seeing her mother look happier and healthier than she had ever looked before, Eleanor couldn't convince herself to just walk away.

At least that is what she told herself.

The entire first floor of the house had turned into a wedding masterpiece. Eleanor was pleased with herself for choosing the ceremony to be at the house rather than the church, while the reception would be in the city where everyone could party without Francesco having a coronary about his previous home.

White roses and flowers on vines decorated the foyer and kitchen while soft music played. Most of the people had already been outside, leaving the house the emptiest it had been in weeks. A long silk carpet extended to the backyard and into the garden, ending at what Eleanor was sure to be Francesco's feet.

Tiny lights hid in flowers giving the house an enchanted look, Eleanor truly loved the home. She turned to see her father standing there and she couldn't help but burst into belly-busting laughter.

"Hey now, I can clean up nice too!" Her father said.

His muscular build made him look uncomfortable in the suit, more than likely because it had been his prom suit. He hadn't shaved the scraggly grey beard, but he had tried his hardest to clean up nicely.

"That looks familiar." Her father said, his eyes watered as he looked at her, "You look beautiful Ellie."

"Thank you, Dad. You don't know how much it means to me that you would show up here." Eleanor said, "I was so scared I would have to do it alone."

"Oh no, baby girl. You are about to walk that aisle and get married, you won't have to do anything alone anymore." Her father said.

Eleanor gave him a small smile, knowing that once the wedding was over any feelings she would have from Francesco may dissipate as the ruse would no longer be needed.

"And for as long as I am breathing, you'll never be alone. Remember you can always come back to me if you need to. Never feel trapped on this continent. Though, I met your husband, and appears to be okay. He assured your safety."

"Thank you, Dad. I guess we should hurry up and get this show on the road."

He held out his arm to her, "Ready whenever you are."

As the music began and the first of the wedding party descended, Eleanor's heartbeat was irrationally in her chest as she stood in the large foyer.

The large bouquet of hanging white roses was so heavy that her forearms were already tired, but she muscles through, after all, she had chosen it.

Eleanor had not yet been able to get a good look at herself due to Giselle's insistence that under any circumstances Eleanor cannot see her reflection until she was married, the only compromise being that she could 'take a peek' if she took off one of her shoes which sounded entirely too impossible in the time allotted.

Giuseppe stood there in an all-white suit, working as the officiant. Giuseppe looked more stunning now than ever, his time spent in the Sicilian sun turned him darker.

He'd grown out his thick dark hair and let his usually clean bear grow wild, a single streak of grey going down the middle giving away his seniority over his other siblings.

Eleanor DeLuca. Married to a man who believed he was above the law and who controlled a powerful organization. The thought gave Eleanor butterflies. She was a mix of multiple emotions.

One, she was nervous to be in front of all the judgmental eyes of Francesco's peers. While none of their eyes matter medic Francesco's did. Eleanor wondered what Francesco's reaction would be.

Secondly, she was excited to be getting married at all. As foolish as it sounded, Eleanor wanted to be married to Francesco. After the last few weeks of difficulty, she knew it would all be easier when they were married.

Lastly, the honeymoon. Would the consummate the wedding or did the charade end there?

Francesco was the surface of the sun hot. He was tall and leaned perfectly tan with eyes she could get lost in. Eleanor could certainly do worse; she wouldn't say no in the given moment that he'd asked. Eleanor wanted to try him at least just once just to get the explicit thoughts out of her mind.

Their signal came and Giuseppe and Eleanor began to step out into the garden where all the get stood with their eyes trained on the pair. Eleanor slowly took her steps, each in the exact way Giselle had shown before she made it to the end of the altar.

Eleanor slowly pulled her eyes up to meet Francesco's and the look on his face had nearly caused her to faint. Despite his behavior last night, Francesco looked at Eleanor as if he could devour her on the spot. His already dark had somehow gotten darker once they made eye contact.

Giuseppe ceremoniously offered Eleanor's hand to Francesco who accepted gladly in front of the watchful eyes of everyone who had been acquainted with the man. There were nearly one hundred and fifty guests in Francesco's large backyard. All looking at the couple with eyes of shock and awe.

Giuseppe started the ceremony by speaking in English, but all Eleanor could focus on was Francesco. Her body reacted in ways she didn't want – at least not in a crowd as large as this.

While Eleanor didn't understand the language, she had studied her queue "Prendi quest'uomo come tuo marito, per vivere insieme nel (santo) matrimonio, per amarlo, per onorarlo, per consolarlo e per mantenerlo in malattia e in salute, abbandonando tutti gli altri, finché tu entrambi vivranno?"

"O voglio," Eleanor said softly, not holding her eye contact on Francesco. Hearing Italian come from her lips nearly sent Francesco into a tailspin. When the question was presented to Francesco, he'd never meant his answer more, "Lo voglio."

Francesco could hardly wait for the last syllable from "You may now kiss your bride." Before his lips were on Eleanor's, he pulled her close nearly devouring her at the altar as the crowd irrupted into cheers.