Sinfully Yours

There was a hushed sense of urgency about the room. Scissors cut through silk with fast, nervous snaps. A hot iron made steam that curled up into the air like a ghost that couldn’t settle down. People whispered from one corner to the next, and threads of fear ran between servants who were too scared to look up. Everyone had a lot of pressure on them, but Katherina Greco didn’t move at all. She stayed still. Didn’t move. She wouldn’t let them see her break, which would have made them happy. The dress fit her in ways that it shouldn’t have because it wasn’t made for her. It was sewn for Celia, her older sister. It was a cage on Katherina, with white lace and stifling boning. It was excessively tight at the waist, rigid at the bust, and heavier than it seemed. Even now, it smelt faintly of Celia’s sweet, floral perfume, which made her feel like she was supposed to be here instead. But underneath the lace and silk was the truth... she wasn’t getting married. She was bait. Not picked out of love. Not even for loyalty. Someone was trying to use her as a pawn in a game that had been going on for a long time, a live symbol of strength and surrender. She tightened her jaw as she looked at herself in the mirror. Dark brown hair pushed back, pale powder on the face, and red lips. She appeared to be a different person. Like a woman who is willing to bow, kneel, and do what you say. The kind of bride that men in their world wanted. But she wasn’t. She had never been there. And she would never be. She thought back to that morning, when everything changed. The memory came back to her with shocking clarity: the sound of footsteps in the hallway and the door opening without a knock. Don Vicenzo had come into her room like a shadow made of flesh. He was tall, and his suit was darker than midnight. He smelt like cigars and steel. His face didn’t give anything away. You could never predict if Don Vicenzo was going to show pity or punish someone. “Your sister has brought shame in this family.” He never yelled. He didn’t have to. He spoke in a tone that was colder than wrath, as if he were giving a verdict. “She ran,” he said again. “Like a spoilt child, she disappeared into the night.” Katherina had been quiet, and her nails were pressing into her palms so hard that they hurt. “But this marriage will happen, figlia.” He looked beyond her, as if she were just another piece of furniture in the room. “It doesn’t matter who wears the dress.” And with that, her fate was set in stone. There was no point in protesting in the Greco house. Those who went against the rules were hurt or worse. Silence was necessary for survival. The seamstress finally stood back and looked at her work with cautious pride. “You’re all set.” All good. Katherina heard the words in her head with a bitter sense of amusement. Ready for what? To give to a man who didn’t want her? To live a life that everyone else had chosen for her? There was a knock on the door. A maid came in with her head down. “They’re waiting.” Katherina gazed at herself in the mirror one last time. Not the dress. Not at the veil. In her eyes. Still crisp. Still hers. She turned around, lifted her chin, and walked out. Not like a bride. Like a knife. The ride to the cathedral was so quiet that it was hard to breathe. As the estate gates opened, the lace on the veil scraped her cheek and made her skin itch. A new world was waiting for her on the other side, a world that had already decided to eat her. The cathedral was big and white, and it smelt of incense and lies inside. Antonio De Luca stood under the arch, looking like a storm in a well-fitted suit. His troops, who were all clad in black, stood behind him like shadows made by the Sicilian sun. His black hair fell in casual disarray across his face and caught the light. His eyes, which looked like sea glass, burned with a rage that was so icy it was almost calm. He had been let down. Antonio De Luca did not forgive being betrayed. Not from foes. Not from pals. And definitely not from the Grecos. They had the nerve to send him another. Celia had run away, leaving just dust behind. And Don Vicenzo, who was too proud, had given her sister instead. Katherina. The girl who never bent down. The one with the sharp tongue and eyes that wouldn’t go down. Not weak. Not flexible. Not what he wanted. And yet, now, his spouse. Antonio’s jaw was made of iron, and his fists were so tightly grasping the velvet railing that the fabric looked like it may rip. He had seen her come in. Quiet. Not shaken. In a way that made him feel uneasy, it was too lovely. The air around her changed, as if even the air knew she wasn’t normal. She moved steadily, with each stride having a clear goal. The lace train followed her like giving up, but she didn’t give up. She was defiant. She moved like an assassin getting ready to kill her target, not like a bride walking towards her future. Her looks were menacing. Even more so, her silence. And it made him quite angry. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. The bride he had picked was perfect for the part: she was elegant, graceful, and made to fit in with his world without changing it. More of a buyer than a partner. But Don Vicenzo had calmed down with just one word. “One Greco is just like any other Greco. This marriage makes the bond stronger.” Antonio wanted to set fire to the Greco house. He smiled instead. It’s cold. Not a sound. A smile that could cut. He would kidnap the girl. He would play the game. But when it was all over, she would wish she hadn’t gone to a place that wasn’t hers. The ceremony went on. There were flashes from cameras. Families looked on. People uttered promises out loud, but Antonio made a quiet promise of his own: the Grecos would not be above him. Katherina would not be the winner. He wouldn’t touch her with love. He would touch her with fire. The priest’s voice could be heard through the marble walls. “Katherina Greco, will you take Antonio De Luca as your lawful husband and forsake all others until death?” She took a strong inhale and her chest rose. “I do,” she responded coldly, without any emotion. She could feel his eyes on her. Weighing. Taking measurements. Claiming. The priest turned. “Antonio De Luca, do you promise to love and honour Katherina Greco as your wife?” “Yes.” Smooth. It’s cold. A lie dressed up in silk. “I now declare you husband and wife.” Antonio moved forward. He grabbed for her veil and slowly pulled it back, as if he were revealing a secret he already knew. His eyes did not move. After that, he kissed her. Not softly. Not in a romantic way. She felt a shouted menace on her lips. His hand moved to her neck, not to choke her, but to take her. Katherina kept her eyes open. She wouldn’t turn away. She could taste the warning in his lips. This wasn’t love. This was a conflict. And neither of them would lose.