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word count; 2178
Alessandra
Bianca's wedding was a success, as expected. How could it not be? She had a husband who she loved -- a mutual feeling between the two of them. I couldn't help but smile as I watched them interact at the wedding feast; they radiated happiness.
"They look happy, don't they?" Francesco's voice filled my ears. I looked up at him and met his eyes, smiling.
"As happy as two people in love can be," I replied, glancing back at Bianca and Guglielmo.
"By all accounts, you have experienced as much."
His words took me by surprise. I shot him a quizzical look, "You've done your research." My comment led to a chuckle erupting from his mouth,
"I simply looked into your husband's dealings with my family's bank." He shrugged. "It is of little consequence."
"Perhaps," I noted, feeling a smirk arise to my lips. "Nonetheless, I would not say my marriage was like that. I loved Francis, yes, but it was more platonic than in the true sense of the word."
"I wasn't talking about your husband."
Immediately, I shot him a glare. "If you will excuse me, Francesco, I must take some air. I find this room is too warm for my liking." On that note, I moved away from him, infuriated that he would have the audacity to bring up such a topic. To imply that was unacceptable as it insinuated I was not a dutiful wife. God knows I was more dutiful than Francis had ever been -- and we accepted it, as man and wife. What had taken place in my marriage was not of that man's business.
I exited the room and took a step into the breezy courtyard, finding the nightlight wholly more appealing than the company of the ballroom. I was infuriated and found little way to release my anger other than simply ignoring what he had said in hopes of my anger dissipating As was becoming a common occurrence, I was wrong. It simply sat there, boiling over.
"You look angered, cousin." Roberto's smooth voice caught my attention and I chuckled in response.
"It seems some men are out to do just that," I replied, glancing at the Cavalcanti. "Pray tell, why aren't you in there, celebrating?"
He sighed, seeming to emit the truth as he answered my question. "We wanted to make sure you were alright; we saw you leave in a hurry."
"We?" I questioned, raising my eyebrows. His use of pronoun struck me as odd; he was no narcissist. "Who is 'we'?"
"Clarice," He admitted with a cheeky smile. "I think she likes you."
"I am her sister-in-law, Roberto. I'd be worried if she didn't like me."
