Not His Destiny

Chapter 3

I sigh, too tired to deal with my mom’s paranoia. “Look, just go back upstairs. I’ll handle dinner.”

“No, you’re tired,” she says, already shifting toward the fridge, ready to pull out the things we need for dinner.

I catch her by the shoulder. “I’m serious, mamá. Please go upstairs. Where are Lia and Elvira?” I glance out through the kitchen doorway. They should’ve been back from school by now.

“They’re upstairs. I’ll check on them,” she says grudgingly. Then leans in, lowering her voice. “Be vigilant. Don’t let yourself be kicked out, Cici.”

“Hm.” I force a tight smile, exhausted with it all. “Just make sure they’re up there.”

She nods, eyes darting around the room like she expects danger to jump out of the walls, then finally leaves.

My shoulders sag in relief. I press my fingers to my temple, feeling frayed down to the bone. Where the hell did she even get that idea? Usually her fears were about devils, demons, unseen things stalking us in the dark. Dante cheating? That’s ridiculous.

Still, I look out the window.

Dante wasn’t there.

Maybe he’s gone back to the shop. He usually comes home late anyway, it is a miracle he was here before me at all.

I step back outside and find the boot still open, the wedding supplies sitting exactly where I left them.

I sigh and start hauling them out myself. He’d said he’d help. Gave me that look like he meant it. Then vanished.

I should’ve known better. Lately, he hasn't been fully present. He’ll offer to do things, promise he would handle something, and I’d come back to find it untouched. I know we are both exhausted, long hours, constant pressure, but it still stings to feel like I am carrying this wedding alone.

“Cici.”

Elvira is standing in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest. No help offered. Just that judgy look on her face.

She is seventeen now. Lia is sixteen. Both of them have developed opinions sharper than knives, and I don't have the time, or energy, to smooth them out.

“A little help would be nice,” I grunt, dragging another load inside.

Elvira’s eyes moves over the bags, counting them with a sneer on her lips. “Why do you even bother buying these things when you know you’re never marrying Dante Accadi?”

I shove past her and drop the bags on the dining table before heading back out for more.

“It’s ridiculous, Cici,” she continues, like a broken radio stuck on the same damn station. “This is the tenth time already. They’re going to cancel it again. That’s what that meeting tonight was about.”

“No, it wasn’t,” I snap, shooting her a glare. “Dante said it wasn’t, so it wasn’t.” I exhale slowly. “I can’t keep wasting my life guessing. I’ll wait until someone looks me in the eye and actually says they don’t want us married.”

“No,” Elvira says, following me inside and slamming the door shut behind her, “you want them to scream it into your thick skull.”

“Elvira!” Lia shouts from the stairs. “Stop pouring gasoline on the fire, will you?”

My sisters took after our mom, small, slim-boned, but Lia, like me, leaned towards the curvy side. And she is the sweetest sister I have. Always has been. She took a bag from my hands and set it with the others.

“We don’t know what’s going on,” she says calmly. “And Dante promised nothing would stop the wedding. He loves Cici just as much as she loves him.”

“Thank you,” I say, lifting a hand in gratitude.

She steps closer and wraps me in a warm hug.

“Don’t worry,” I told her quietly, breathing in the faint floral scent clinging to her clothes. Perfume. My brow creased. Where had she gotten money for perfume? The question itched at me, but not tonight. “This will be our pack someday too.”

We pull apart. “This time,” I say, turning back to Elvira, “the wedding is only four days away. I don’t think they’ll call it off now.”

“Where is dinner!” Celeste screeches from her bedroom.

“Okay, let’s get dinner ready. You’ll help me, right, Lia?” I say as I move toward the kitchen. She follows without hesitation. Elvira rolls her eyes and heads back up the stairs.

By the time Lia and I finish cooking, Dante still isn't back. I try not to dwell on it, especially after my mom planted that thought in my head, and set the table for Celeste and Andre, Dante’s parents, then climb the stairs to shower.

I am afraid I’ll fall asleep in the bath, so once again I skip the soak and settle for a quick shower.

The water comes out lukewarm. They used up all the hot water again. I don’t care. I wash up fast, nearly dozing off on my feet, then step out and wrap a towel around myself.

The room is empty.

It is a small bedroom near the attic, the one my mom and sisters share. The whole house is cramped, his parents have the master bedroom downstairs, Dante and I share the one upstairs. There is nowhere for him to hide. Just a bed, no wardrobe, only a peeling white dresser. The doorway is narrow enough that Dante always has to duck when he comes in.

“Where is he?” I mutter, drying water from my ear as I glance at the clock.

Almost eleven.

What? He has never been this late before.

He is cheating.

My mom’s words flashed like burning letters in the air. Damn her for giving me something new to worry about.

Cheating is the one thing I will not tolerate. I have endured his parents’ hatred, their constant disrespect, even though I bring in half the money for this house and do most of the chores, but cheating? That is the line.

And Dante knows it. We talked about it early on. Agreed on it without hesitation. No cheating. Ever.

I finish drying off, slip into a nightdress, and climb onto the bed, hoping the door would open and Dante would walk in, bringing the night air with him.

No luck.