Sr. Monteccio

I couldn't believe I was stepping into that cubicle to get married. There was no romance; I didn't choose the flowers, I didn't even choose my own dress. It was beautiful, and that was an advantage, but waiting for a man at the altar made my wedding the worst of all.

My father had a defeated expression in front of me, looking down with guilty eyes for having dragged the whole family into this mess. My mother wouldn't even look me in the eyes, maybe feeling guilty for being part of this circus.

My sisters were sobbing, and they did look at me with a certain admiration, as if the man hadn't chosen me for this infamous deal.

On the other side of the room, two men who looked like movie henchmen sat wearing sunglasses, watching my every move. My biggest surprise was the priest standing right in front of me-did he know I was here completely against my will?

My heart was about to explode from my chest. I didn't even know the first name of the man who would be calling me his wife in just a few minutes. I didn't know his face, let alone his scent. I had no idea if he spoke properly, if he liked to read, or what his favorite color was.

I stood frozen, staring at the wooden door at the end of the aisle, waiting for my executioner.

When the doors opened, the rain and thunder took some of the attention away, but soon I noticed his silhouette stepping out of a car. I couldn't focus my eyes enough to fully take in his face-everything seemed blurry. Maybe my nerves were taking a terrible toll on my heart, which was racing uncontrollably.

"My life ends here," I thought at that moment.

He finally started walking, and I was able to see him clearly.

There's no exaggeration when I say his face looked as if it had been sculpted by angels in heaven. The deepest brown eyes I had ever seen were framed by perfectly thick eyebrows. His chiseled jawline was flawless, and his athletic build caught my attention so much that I avoided blinking. His lighter brown hair made his face even more striking.

I was hypnotized by him, captivated by his gaze.

But his cold and empty expression drew even more of my attention.

He didn't smile, didn't walk slowly, and didn't show any emotion. He walked as if he was closing a business deal and needed to hurry to the next one.

He finally reached the altar, but he didn't look me in the eyes.

His first full sentence was, "Let's get this over with, I want to leave this place as soon as possible."

And then the priest began what was probably the quickest ceremony of his life.

"Bianca Sanchés, do you accept to marry Mr. Monteccio?"

What the hell was that? – I thought immediately. Not even at the altar could I stop hearing the word 'Mr.' followed by a last name? Didn't I even have the right to know the first name of the guy who was buying me?

I said the most tearful "yes" of my entire life and kept staring at his face, maybe hoping to find at least a bit of empathy.

But it was clear I wouldn't find anything other than what he was already showing me: a horrible mood and that empty, lifeless expression.

"Mr. Monteccio, do you take Bianca Sanchés as your wife?"

"Hm... I do."

I didn't understand his hesitation. Hadn't he bought me, after all? Hadn't he negotiated all of this just for the pleasure of humiliating my foolish, gambling father?

I had never in my life felt as much hatred for my father as I did that day. Over the years, he had lost our car, our house, and all the sense of security a man should provide for his wife and daughters. And on that day, he managed to lose his own daughter! Even if I lived a thousand years, I could never forgive him for that crime.

I know it seems absurd for someone to buy a wife, and the reason wasn't even clear to me. It was a mess. Such a handsome and wealthy man could have any woman he wanted, so why buy a poor girl? Just for personal whim?

"I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may kiss the bride," said the priest, trying to feign normalcy in that ridiculous situation.

"We don't have time for cheap romance. Bianca, say goodbye to your family, we need to catch a plane."

"But... there's a cake, there's at least a damn cake so I can pretend that this situation..." I was about to break down in tears. I thought after that monstrosity I'd have at least three more hours with my sisters and mother. And suddenly, all my expectations were thrown in the trash, like the hope I had of living a happy life.

"Trust me, you'll be able to eat all the cake you want away from this city, so say your goodbyes, and let's go."

He walked down the aisle, and at that moment, I realized nothing I said would make the situation any better. He wouldn' listen to me.

So I did what I was taught to do: I submitted.

I hugged my mother and sisters so tightly I thought I might break their spines. The tears overwhelmed me and brought me to the ground. I didn't want them to see me like that-I had always had so many dreams. But they were wiped out by my own blood.

My father approached me with open arms and tears in his eyes. What did he expect? That I would hug him and forget everything he had taken from me?

"What do you want? You sold me! Did you see that man's awful personality? I'm a piece of property because of you!"

"Bianca... my daughter... I'm so sorry! I love you, and there was no other way..."

"How about not gambling your daughter away at a poker table?"

"One day you'll understand everything better. That's not exactly how things happened, and I have faith... One day you'll forgive me."

"Father... look me in the eyes... There is no reason in the universe that could justify what you did to me today, understand?"

I took one last look at my girls and finally left for my new and terrible life.

He was already inside a limousine, not even waiting for me to open the door, not making any effort to leave room for a romantic gesture.

I got into the car with my hair ruined from the rain falling outside, but he didn't seem to care, not for a second.

I remained silent when, out of nowhere, he looked at me and handed me a bouquet of roses.

"This is for you," he said without looking at me.

"Oh, thanks..." I replied awkwardly, turning my gaze back to the landscape outside the car window.

"You don't need to thank me; Mike bought them and told me to give them to you, so... thank him when you see him."

Yes, he was a tremendous idiot, and it took me just a few minutes to conclude that with one hundred percent certainty.

"I'll thank him then. Let's just stay silent now!"

"I don't know what to say to you..." he said in a tone slightly lower than before, so I dared to look at him for a moment.

"Don't say anything; you've said enough for today... I accept that someone sent you to buy flowers to make the situation of you having bought me from my father a bit prettier for you," I said grumpily.

"It's not what it seems, Bianca. The situation is more complicated than you think, and I definitely don't feel like explaining."

"That's what I said: from now on, it's total silence."

I felt every part of my body aching, my head was pounding, and my stomach was in knots. I didn't even know where I was going; would I like my new home?

The silence grew more disturbing with each passing moment, and he remained glued to the screen of his phone.

I didn't know whether to be thankful for not having to make small talk with my strange husband, of whom I knew nothing-not even his name-or to start talking non-stop to extract any relevant information.

I then chose the middle ground.

"Can you at least tell me your name?"

"Is it relevant?"

"I think we just signed a very relevant piece of paper, full of relevant information about our marital status. The situation is already embarrassing and completely relevant to my future, so can you at least tell me something to ease this relevant feeling of frustration?" I said with wide eyes and my heart pounding in my chest.

"You're the most beautiful creature God has ever placed on Earth, and looking at you... for a second, I almost forgot this is nothing but a financial transaction. What other relevant information?"

He didn't take his eyes off me as he spoke, staring at me as if he were revealing the greatest absolute truth in that moment.

I didn't pretend that everything was okay, and without realizing it, I let a solitary tear fall from my eyes. I wiped it away quickly. The last thing I wanted was for him to see me as someone weak.

"Damn it, I always say the wrong thing. I swear it was meant to be a compliment; I don't want you to be this sad all the time."

"You're distancing me from everything I know because of money you probably don't even need, judging by that expensive suit and that car... How do you expect me to feel, Mr. Monteccio?" I said his name with disdain.

"I know it sounds horrible, but that's not exactly how things happened, Bianca."

"It's so unfair; you know my name, you know where I came from, you know who my parents are, you probably even know who I kissed in eighth grade, and I don't even know your name."

"Who did you kiss in eighth grade?" he said, furrowing his brow.

"Does it matter to you?" I gave a sarcastic smile. "Are you going to have the guy killed? He's probably a bald man with at least two kids living in the suburbs now?" I laughed again.

"It wouldn't be difficult for me; I'd really like to know the guy's name." Was he serious? At least he seemed to be, which made it even more interesting, yet ridiculous at the same time.

"You don't need to pretend to be jealous; financial transactions only require someone with a lot of money exploiting a poor soul."

He smiled.

And I can't describe his smile with as much perfection as it seemed at the moment; it was the most beautiful smile in the world. Even the smile hidden behind his scowl was capable of lighting up a city. I spent a moment noticing that until he returned to his natural state.

"Don't you want to know where you're going?"

"First, I want to know your name."

"Monteccio," he replied, looking me in the eyes.

"You're just Monteccio? Can I stop calling you 'sir' before I talk to you then?" I provoked him.

"I have a name, but it doesn't matter; everything you need is in OUR last name," he said, emphasizing the words.

"I'm Bianca SANCHÉS by birth and Monteccio... well, I don't need to explain that to you, right?"

"I don't think you noticed very well; you're Bianca Monteccio, and that's it. There will be no connection to your old last name, neither for you nor for the children we will have," he said seriously, as if he were reading a manual for a device he didn't know how to use but was vital.

"You even took away my last name; what a wonderful thing."

"You'll thank me sooner or later, but okay, I don't want to see you cry anymore. Do you want to know my first name? Is that what bothers you?"

"I think the part about the children bothered me more, based on the fact that I don't even know you, but let's start with the name anyway."

"I'm Peter," he said emotionlessly but still looking at me.

"Was that hard?"

"More than you can imagine, but I want to establish something close to respect with you. Do you understand?"

"I think getting married is the complete opposite of respect, but I understand your point. You just want to make sure I won't plan your murder at night." Of course, it was a joke, but he didn't take it that way.

"Even though we're not romantically linked, we are now husband and wife, which means I'll take care of your safety above all else, and I hope, at the very least, you do the same for me. Do you understand?"

"It was just a joke!"

After a disturbingly silent journey, I finally arrived at the apartment of the man who now had a name and a face.

The apartment was completely gray, in various shades, with expensive marble flooring. Huge windows provided a perfect view of the city; everything was so beautiful, so luxurious that I was afraid to step on the floor and end up staining something.

But despite all the beauty of the place, it was... cold.

It didn't feel like a home; it was so quiet, with thousands of doors and security measures, cameras, and no human warmth.

"I'm going to show you the apartment, okay?" he said, taking off his blazer.

"Okay," I said awkwardly.

He showed me every room in the huge apartment patiently, telling me the names of the staff who worked there and where I shouldn't go under any circumstances, not even if I were dying.

I couldn't enter his office, let alone his bedroom.

At least he had the sensitivity to put me in a separate room, which he promised I could decorate my way.

"Anything you want to eat or drink, you can ask Rosa; she's always around. I just asked her not to come today so I could take the time to show you everything."

"Peter... Can you tell me the motivation behind this? You clearly don't need the money; you can admit that this was all a mistake, that we have nothing to do with each other. You could find a supermodel to marry, and I could go back to taking care of my sisters and my mother!"

"Is the financial security of the women in your family what disturbs you? We can take care of that; just tell me, and I'll send money for them to live on."

"That worries me, but if I'm here today, it's because someone used money the wrong way, isn't it? But it's not just that; I have absolutely nothing to do with this place. It's outside what I was born to be. I can't be your wife; I can't get used to being a socialite; I can't live in a marriage without the main thing."

"You're talking about love?"

He said it with such disdain that it hit me hard.

"Don't you think love is important?" I said, filled with resentment.

"Love is dispensable; can't you see? Your mother probably married your father for love, and look where that got you. You're here today. Do you think your mother didn't consider for a second what it would be like to be with someone who could provide a nice house and security? You and your sisters would have grown up differently. And I can offer you respect and security; isn't that more important? That's how big businesses thrive."

"I'm not a damn business transaction, Peter; I'm a woman. I want to be loved and desired. You have no idea how much I dreamed of my wedding day."

I was about to drown in tears again; it all seemed so silly that I held my feelings inside.

He approached me awkwardly, placed his hand on my chin, and pulled it up so I could look at him. I was staring at the ground, trying not to cry again like a helpless girl, even though I was in exactly that situation.

"I'm sorry that you dreamed of love; I'm sorry that I ruined your big moment, but I can't offer you that, and I don't think you really want it. This romantic idea they sell in movies only leads to ruin. What I can promise is that you won't lack anything; you'll be taken care of and protected in any situation. I also promise fidelity; I promise I'll never put you in a situation where everyone sees you as a complete fool. Believe me, Bianca, that's more than most women have."

"Okay, so I shouldn't expect anything then."

"I didn't expect you to be so beautiful. You confuse me every time you blink." He leaned in a little more, and even though I was bursting with anger, I didn't flinch for a second.

But he regained his awareness of what he was about to do before crossing a line he himself promised not to cross, no matter what happened between us after that absurd arranged marriage.

"I need to go to the office; you can stay here and settle in. Is that okay with you?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"You can call Mike and take a walk around; under no circumstances can you leave the apartment without being accompanied. It's too dangerous!"

"Dangerous? I'm a nobody; for God's sake, no one cares whether I go out alone or not. Do I really need someone hanging around me all the time?"

"Can you obey without questioning and believe that I'm thinking about your safety?"

He seemed to be inventing a reason for the obvious: he wanted me to be a prisoner in the life he had created.

"Damn it, Bianca, you're a billionaire woman now; billionaires don't walk around without a reason! Do you understand the reason now, or do you need me to draw it out for you?"

"Okay, Peter, I should obey you without questioning any absurdity you tell me because you bought me after all, and no one has the right to take your doll out of the box without your consent."

"If that ridiculous justification helps you remember that you can't leave without Mike, that's fine by me. I don't care what you think of me as long as you do what I say, understood?"

"I already understand; I'm not an idiot." I walked toward the living room, and at that distance, I was free to ignore his expression.

"No, promise me! Give me your word that you'll do things the way I'm saying... Come on, I want to be able to confirm it with your word."

"I don't know why this is so important, but okay."