Keeping his bride

Prologue

Verona Moretti

8 years old

AS SOON AS our nanny opens the back door to the minivan, we jump out and run, screaming at the top of our lungs, towards the huge playground.

“Don’t run!” Penelope, our nanny, calls after us, but we don’t listen. We never listen.

Dante is the first one to the jungle gym, and I’m mad because he always beats me.

“Beat ya!” he calls out, bragging.

“Yeah, yeah. You have longer legs than I do!” I point out.

He stares down at his legs like he’s noticing them for the first time before he smiles up at me with a toothy grin. I watch in awe as he quickly climbs to the top of the jungle gym with no effort at all.

Dante is two years older than me. He came to live with us about two months ago after his parents died. I don’t know how they died, and he won’t tell me when I ask. And believe me, I’ve asked a lot.

The first month, he was really quiet and sad. But slowly, I’ve gotten him to come out of his shell and open up. He actually smiles now, which is something he never did before.

“Verona, look at me!” Dante calls from above me, but I’m too busy searching the parking lot for a familiar vehicle. And when I see the black sedan pull in and park, I’m practically bursting with excitement.

I run over to the swings, our favorite place, and wait.

I peek a glance over my shoulder and watch as the most beautiful boy I have ever seen gets out of the car and walks towards me. Usually he runs to meet me, but today is different. He looks…upset.

I decide right then and there that I’ll cheer him up, just like I do with Dante. Dante used to be sad all the time, but he’s not anymore. So, I can make my new friend less sad too.

Pumping my little legs, I begin to swing back and forth, waiting for him. We’ve been friends for a few weeks now, and our nannies always let us play together. Luca is Dante’s age, but the two of them don’t really get along, not like Luca and I do.

When Luca Vitale steps onto the grassy area of the swings, my smile widens. “Hi, Luca!” I call to him as I swing higher and higher. We always have a contest to see who can swing the highest, and sometimes he lets me win.Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

He doesn’t answer me. Instead, he just glares at me with those strange gray eyes of his.

I stop pumping my legs, so that I can slow down a little. “What’s wrong?” I ask him, curious.

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong is that my dad told me you’re a Moretti.”

I stare at him, confused. “Yeah, so?” I ask.

“Well, the Vitales hate the Morettis. And so I hate you!” he calls before running over and pushing me off the swing.

I fall onto my hands and knees, scraping both on the dirt and gravel. Big, fat tears form in my eyes as I stare down at the tiny cuts in my skin. But they don’t hurt nearly as much as Luca’s words.

My eyes are blurry as I watch him run away from me like I have some sort of disease that he could catch.

Dante runs over to me and helps me up, brushing the grass and little rocks from me. “Are you okay?” he asks, his brows furrowed. Dante is like a big brother to me; very protective and always taking care of me.

“I’m fine,” I lie.

I watch as Luca says something to his nanny, and then she leads him back to the car. My lower lip trembles and tears fall down my cheeks as I watch them drive away.

“He’s a jerk,” Dante tells me, reassuringly.

Suddenly, I push away from Dante and run as fast as my legs will carry me. I don’t stop running until I’m by myself at the other end of the playground. When I’m all alone, I cry over the loss of my new friend.

I had told my mother that I wanted to marry Luca someday so that I could stare into his gray eyes forever.

Luca Vitale was the first boy I ever loved. And he was also the first boy to ever break my heart.