The chapel smelled like candle wax and old stone. I stood at the back of it with my hand shaking on Dante's arm, because Rosa had decided, without asking me, that Dante would walk me down the aisle since I had no father here to do it.
"Breathe," Dante said. "You've gone the color of the dress."
"I'm breathing."
"You're not. You're holding your breath like you're about to jump off something." He glanced at me sideways, some of his usual humor gone soft around the edges. "For what it's worth, he's more nervous than you are. I've never seen my brother's hands shake before. Not once. Not even when he closed the Barcelona deal with half the board against him."
"That's not helping, Dante."
"It's not meant to help. It's meant to be true." He squeezed my arm. "Come on. Let's go make an honest
