Agony burst in his heart.
Yet it wasn’t for the loss of his stupid pride.
It was for the loss of his carita.
For if he did this thing, if he stopped what he’d put in motion, then the loss of pride would be nothing compared to what would happen next. What would surely happen.
Darcy and Matteo. Together.
For the rest of his life, he would have to watch them loving each other. Watch them marry and have children. Watch them as they lived life.
While he lay in his cold, safe coffin slowly dying inside.
A trickle of sweat slid down his neck.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Matteo whispered at his side. “I’m the one getting married, not you.”
These were the first words spoken between them since the moments in front of Darcy, when Marcus had been filled with a territorial rage he hadn’t been able to contain. Now all he felt was overwhelming pain and defeat. “I’m fine.”
“Yeah, right.” His brother snorted.
Their mother, in the front pew, frowned at them. Marcus could almost see the words in her head.
Behave. Both of you. Don’t make a fool of me.
Always about her. Typical.
“I’m worried about you, Great Man.” Matteo’s voice was quiet, but deadly serious.
He glanced over. Met two brown eyes filled with concern and love.
His brother’s gaze sliced him to the core. Ripped open the memories he held of this brother. This piccolo fratello, whom he’d met for the first time at twelve, when his mother had been forced to take him in after his papa’s death. Two-year-old Matteo had been the only source of love and acceptance he’d found in that chilly, unwelcoming home. His fratello aveva had latched onto him with hero worship. Had begged him to come with him to his football practices. Had cajoled him out of his dark, dingy bedroom in the basement to play and laugh in the Italian sunshine.
A memory pierced him.
Matteo’s small hand slipping confidently into his as they walked towards the park.
“What?” His brother’s forehead creased in worry. “What’s wrong?”
Marcus jerked his gaze away and closed his eyes.
He was wrong. About everything.
His entire life was wrong.
Yet there was one thing he could do to make amends to the two people he loved in the world.
He could give them each other.
The decision was made.
“Come with me.” His hand shot out and latched onto Matteo’s arm.
“What are you doing?” His brother yanked back, but the pain and love and anguish running through his veins was a match for his younger brother’s astonished reaction.
He didn’t let go as he tugged a struggling groom off the altar.
The crowd’s buzz burst into a frenzy and he heard his mother’s sharp cry right before the solid wooden door of the presbytery closed behind them.
“Are you crazy?” Matteo’s face was filled with a mixture of shock and antagonism.
The confession stuck in his throat, yet he forced it out. He owed them. “I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t hear that.” His brother stared at him. “Those words are not in your vocabulary.”
He grimaced at the sarcasm. “I mean it. I am sorry for not being the brother I should have been.”
“Okay.” Matteo shrugged, trying for nonchalance. Yet his body was held tight. Tight with old disappointment. “This isn’t the time, though, to say your mea culpas. Anyway, it’s too late. Too late by years.”
“It is not too late.” He jerked around and started to pace the room, a frantic need to make it right pounding in him. “It is never too late.”
“We could have this conversation another time.”
“No.” He glanced at his brother, then away. The disillusionment he saw in the brown eyes hurt. Hurt like a punch in the gut. “We have to have it now.”
“Now is not the time for my cold-as-ice brother to have a meltdown.” The words held a certain fascination in them. “You losing your cool is something I’ve wanted to see for a long time. However, you’ve chosen the worst possible moment.”
His pride roared, but he shut it down. “I am not losing it. Actually, you could say I’ve come to my senses. Finally.”
His fratello leaned on the door and folded his arms in front of him. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m about to get married.”
Marcus wrapped a shaking hand around his sweaty neck. He looked at his brother, allowing him to see the turmoil, the emotions. “No, you are not. I’m calling off the wedding.”
His brother straightened and his mouth grew grim. “The hell you are.”
“I am.”
“You say you’ve come to your senses. That you’re sorry.” Matteo’s harsh laugh echoed in the cool, dark room. “Still, some things never change do they?”