28

Stefan

After the evening in Civitella in Val di Chiana, I doubted Veronica would appreciate that we'd be married in the Basilica of Santa Croce in Florence, alongside the resting places of Michelangelo, Galileo and Machiavelli, before the eyes of God and a handful of witnesses and fucking throngs of tourists. Tourists were unavoidable this time of year. I could almost tolerate them.

It had taken an exorbitant contribution to book the basilica, but it only concretized my thinking. Money was what everything came down to and that included the church. But I had to admit, this was a magnificent display of devotion and art, even if it was wasted.

I stood at the altar, waiting for my bride. The rope did little to keep curious visitors at bay. Beside me stood Eric as witness and another man arranged by my attorney. I didn't know who he was. In the front pew sat Veronica's grandfather, the great Marcus Kingston, his expression unreadable. At his side sat Robyn. Smaller than Veronica but not by