At our wedding rehearsal, Dante Corleone brings Lucia Ferrante, the fiancee of his late brother, Davide. "Davide died protecting me in that shootout on Thanksgiving. Without him, I never would've become Don to the Corleone Famiglia," Dante says. "We have the rest of our lives together, Camilla, but this is Lucia's only chance." So I stand below the stage, watching my fiance drop to one knee before another woman in a wedding dress and reverently kiss the back of her hand. Then the priest turns to Dante and asks awkwardly, "Do you wish to stand before God and recite your vows to Ms.
Ferrante?" Lucia bursts into tears and throws herself into Dante's arms. "Camilla, I'm not trying to steal anything from you," she sobs. "I just want to exchange the vows Davide never got a chance to give me before he died. If Dante is willing to stand in for his Fratello and marry me just this once, I'm sure Davide wouldn't mind." Without a second thought, Dante steps up to the altar. I stand below, watching him slip the very wedding ring I designed onto Lucia's finger. I look down at my own empty ring finger. And suddenly, it all feels so pointless. The vows could be borrowed. The ring could be
borrowed. Even my man could be loaned out to comfort another woman. In that case, I'm done with this wedding.
