FALLON
My father sits while I stand at the altar, my hand trembling like a leaf in Leone’s. The priest’s words are a dull murmur against the roaring sound whirring in my ears.
“Smile, Fallon. You don’t want your sister to worry now, do you?” Leone whispers and my gaze shifts to him. I force a smile on my face.
The ceremony is a cold, hollow affair, with vows that scold my tongue. Leone squeezes my fingers hard in warning when the priest asks me to repeat after him.
“I, Fallon, take thee, Leone Presutti, to be my lawfully wedded husband…” Each promise I make—to honor, cherish, love—feels like another shackle tightening around my soul. Leone smirks as he vows his devotion, and I wonder if he even knows what those words mean. Does he understand love is not something you can force or steal
