The Bride Who Never Showed

I spent the whole night tossing and turning. Each time I closed my eyes, I found myself reliving every moment of the past 12 years with Carlo.

I once held a special place in his heart. No matter who said I wasn't good enough for him, he would always stand firmly by my side.

When my mother, Elena Santoro, was still alive, she once patted his hand and entrusted me to him. He nodded deeply. His eyes had been filled with determination. "Please don't worry. I love Giada more than I love myself. I'll never let her suffer any injustice.

"I promise we'll be married at your estate, so you can witness her walking down the aisle with your own eyes!"

The vow he made then was as solid as rock, as if it would never fade. However, I had forgotten that time could erode even the most solemn promises of love.

The day before the wedding, I noticed a white dress in the living room. Its hem was trailing across the floor. A bold red rose was embroidered across the chest.

Adriana came up to me eagerly. "Giada, look! I made this wedding dress for you myself. Carlo said you have a fondness for rustic elegance, so I went out of my way to design it based on vintage photos. It took me ages!"

Even though I had already resolved to move on, I couldn't stop myself from frowning at the sight of this so-called wedding dress.

Seeing my reaction, Adriana froze for a moment and slowly stepped back. "Scusa, Giada. I shouldn't have overstepped and upset you. I just thought you might like this dress… I'll take it apart immediately!"

She then lifted a pair of scissors toward the dress, only for Carlo to burst out of the study and grab them from her. "How many times have I told you not to touch scissors? What if you end up hurting yourself?"

Holding back tears, Adriana spoke in a trembling voice. "Carlo… did I do something wrong? Giada seems upset with me…"

Before I could even explain myself, Carlo fixed me with a stern, grim expression. "Adriana spent four months making this wedding dress for you. Do you have any idea how many nights she stayed up working with the designers?

"Is this how you repay everything she's done for you? If it weren't for her, you wouldn't even have a wedding dress. You'd better apologize!"

Facing his scornful gaze, a surge of amusement rose in my chest. When I had tried to talk to him about the wedding dress before, he had explicitly told me not to disturb him; he wanted to take Adriana to Stalland to help her clear her mind.

Indeed, Adriana had always been far more important to him. When she said she was heartbroken, he had stayed up all night comforting her. On my birthday, he had rented an entire movie theater just so she could watch a romance film.

When I had a high fever from working around the clock, all he said was, "Sleep more and you'll get well." On the other hand, he had arranged for a private doctor to tend to Adriana's minor scrape.

This was my wedding, and I had done everything I was supposed to do. However, with Adriana involved, Carlo had made it seem that she was the one who had handled everything on my behalf.

As a result, the Romano family saw me as someone who avoided responsibility, and they all held me in contempt.

Even now, my wedding dress and Carlo's suit lay untouched in the guest room closet. He hadn't so much as looked at them, and yet he demanded that I apologize to Adriana. The more I thought about it, the deeper my disappointment grew. My face darkened.

Carlo let out a cold laugh. "So, you won't apologize, huh? Fine. The wedding's off. It won't happen until you set things right with her!"

In an instant, I released my tightly clenched hands and looked at him seriously. "Fine."

With that, I went back to my room to pack my things.

According to Luca Rinaldi, the olive trees in Tuscanica had borne fruit. I wanted to go back and see them as soon as possible.

I had planted those trees with my mother, back before my parents had taken me to Firali.

In the living room, Carlo tried to comfort Adriana, yet beneath the surface, a storm of restlessness raged. He shot a glance toward the guest room. Out of Adriana's sight, he sent a message to his assistant, Massimo Greco.

A reply came almost immediately: "Mr. Romano, Ms. Castellani has indeed rescheduled her flight. Would you like me to confirm the details?"

The tension on his face softened, and he texted back, "No, it's fine."

I had just finished packing when Carlo's message arrived: "Since you agreed to marry me, you should work on your temper. Adriana has only wanted what's best for you. How could you upset her like that?

"Anyway, the family will be having lunch at noon. I'll take her there first and have the driver pick you up. Apologize to her afterward, and we'll put this matter behind us. Our wedding is tomorrow. Let's not spoil the mood for everyone."

At the Romano family luncheon, Carlo appeared with Adriana by his side.

As the driver knocked on the door, I took one final look at my luggage. Perhaps this was for the best.

As Carlo had proposed to me in public, it only made sense that I called off the wedding in public too—a true full-circle moment.