Chapter 1

Two hours before the wedding, the officiant handed me the program.

"Miss Ricci, is this arrangement for the officiant acceptable?"

The officiant slot had Gianna's father's name written in it.

The speech my dad had prepared for half a month was compressed into one line: "The bride's father thanks the guests."

I picked up the pen and crossed out the groom's name.

"Of course it's fine. Let Uncle Sal walk his own daughter down the aisle too while he's at it."

Before the wedding even started, I'd decided not to marry Marco.

That wedding ring, I pressed it onto the first page of the speech my dad never got to finish.

Gianna Hayes. Marco's childhood friend.

In Marco's phone, her chat had been pinned for seven years.

Salvatore Falcone was Gianna's father.

I confronted Marco. "My dad is marrying off his daughter, and all he gets to say is thanks everyone?"

He frowned. "Uncle Sal is an elder. Give him some dignity. Your dad is family. Don't fight over this."

In my last life, because of that one word—family—my dad had to stand on the sidelines clapping the whole time.

Three months later, he died of a heart condition. I found that unfinished speech among his things.

The first page read: "Marco, today I give you the person I've been most reluctant to let go of in my entire life."

Later I understood.

The person he was most reluctant to hand over had been placed behind someone else by Marco, again and again.

Marco stared at the black line for two seconds and smiled.

"There are outsiders here. Save the anger for home tonight."

He pulled the program from my hand, crumpled it, and tossed it in the trash. Then he gestured toward the door.

"Print a clean one."

The staff member blinked and hurried out.

Marco looked down at me.

"I know you feel for Uncle. Worst case, after the officiant's speech, we squeeze in one more minute. If you're still unhappy, I'll bring a gift to your house tonight and apologize. That good enough?"

He said it lightly, like he'd already handled everything for me.

I looked at him. "He prepared three minutes."

"The schedule is tight. Everyone has to give a little."

Marco bent down and retied the wrist corsage for me, his fingertips brushing the skin reddened by lace.

"Sal's getting old. He cares about face..."

"But our dad is family. He won't really hold this against us."

Our dad.

He said it so naturally.

In my last life, I was fooled by these small details for too long.

He remembered I liked my milk warm. He'd drive to my office when it rained. He walked in without formality, calling them Mom and Dad.

One year on my birthday, he went to help Gianna Hayes move things and didn't show up until midnight.

I said a few words to him. He bought a cake and sweet-talked me all night.

The next day I thought, forget it. He didn't mean it.

Later, this happened more and more.

Every time I got angry, he'd coax me a little, and I'd tell myself he wasn't malicious, just busy.

Now I realize—I was the one who taught him, again and again, that Valentina didn't matter, just coax her and she'd be fine.

But when it came to someone actually having to take a loss, he always thought family was easiest to talk to.

The new program was brought in quickly.

Marco took the pen and signed.

I reached out. "I don't need to sign?"

He tilted his head and actually had the nerve to smile.

"Whatever you sign right now will be full of fire. Sign when you've cooled down."

"I didn't say I agreed."

"Come on, the wedding's in an hour."

He clipped the pen back to his chest.

"Don't say you're calling it off and then sneak off to cry. I don't have time to coax you twice today."

Like countless times in the past seven years.

I'd say break up. He'd show up at midnight with late-night snacks.

I'd say I don't want to see him. The next day he'd be downstairs to pick me up for work.

In the end, even I got used to it. Angry words were just a step he could skip over.

He never seriously considered that one day, when I said I wasn't getting married, I really meant it.

A cough came from the doorway.

Dad stood there holding a blue folder.

His new suit cuffs were a little tight. The leather shoes were new too. To avoid blisters today, he'd worn them downstairs every night for a week.

The folder wasn't fully closed.

Every page had a number in the upper right corner.

Forty-seven seconds.

Fifty-three seconds.

One minute six seconds.

He was afraid he'd speak too slowly when nervous. He'd practiced with a timer for half a month.

"What are you two talking about?"

Dad walked in smiling.

"Nothing."

Before I could speak, Marco had already taken his thermos.

"Uncle, Valentina is standing up for you. I said we'd add a minute at the end."

Dad's hand paused, then he waved it off.

"Don't add. So many people outside waiting to eat. I'll just say thanks everyone. That's fine."

Marco smiled.

"See? I knew Uncle was the easiest to talk to."

He unscrewed the cap and tested the temperature.

"Water's still warm. You can soothe your throat later. If you forget your lines on stage, it's fine. I'll be right there."

Dad laughed at that.

"I'm just afraid I'll get nervous and call Valentina by the wrong name."

"That won't do. Take your time."

Then Marco turned to the officiant and added one more thing.

"Don't rush Sal either. It's rare for the old man to be happy. Let him talk a little longer."

Dad's hand holding the cup went still for two seconds.

"Right. Mr. Hayes is an elder. He should get to say his fill."

He always smoothed things over for everyone.

The phone rang.

It was Gianna, asking if the last-minute schedule change had made things messy.

Marco lowered his head to reply.

【It's fine. Valentina can't bear to give up her dad's few minutes. I'll coax her and it'll be fine.】

I stared at the word "coax."

So my dad's three minutes, prepared over half a month, weighed about the same to him as me throwing one tantrum.

Dad had already sat in the corner flipping through his speech.

I walked over.

"What's the first line?"

He quickly covered the paper.

"No peeking."

"Why?"

"Practiced half a month. At least leave me some suspense."

His ears were a little red.

"You'll know when I'm on stage."

I looked at those three pages.

"Okay."

"Then I'll wait for you to finish reading."

Dad blinked, then smiled.

"Then it's settled. Don't complain I'm cheesy."

"Okay, Dad. I'll listen carefully."

I sat back down at the vanity mirror.

I'd already decided not to go through with this wedding.

But I didn't leave immediately.

Dad had waited a long time for this day, and he'd prepared half a month of speech.

In my last life, he never got to read those three pages to me before he died.

I didn't want to tell him now that the wedding was canceled. I wanted to wait until he got on stage and hear what he'd prepared with my own ears.