An elegant melody glided towards us, and I opened my eyes to find we were still in the same place. With an encouraging tug on my hand, Santino guided me down the aisle, clearly worried I would bolt if he left me to do it myself.
My cheeks flamed crimson with all eyes on me. I was very thankful for my veil at that moment, hiding me from sight. I felt protected under it, but as soon as we reached the priest, Santino lifted it over my head.
I stared up at his face, seeing him clearly for the first time today, not through sheer netting, and struggled to find my next breath. He looked outrageously handsome in his tuxedo. I could almost forget that he’d just threatened to kill my fiancé to get me here only an hour ago.
Cristo.Callum. And mypapi. Would they think I got cold feet and ran away, or that Santino came for me? Shit. That was a whole other situation to deal with. One nightmare at a time.
The priest began speaking in Italian, welcoming the guests as Santino’s dark gaze travelled down my neck. He frowned.
“Where’s your locket?” he asked, his booming voice echoing off the stone arches as he interrupted the priest without giving a shit.
“What?”
“Yourmamma’slocket? Why aren’t you wearing it?”
My fingers instinctively shot up to the diamond necklace that Callum had given me as a present this morning, and my lips parted. There was only concern in his eyes, and it made something inside me melt a little that he knew enough to care.
“Callum gave me—”
“Take it off,” he ordered, his voice lethal. He held his palm up between us and waited, challenging me to disobey his command. I slowly reached up and unclasped it, my gaze shifting to his family, who were all watching with confusion, and placed it in his hand. He threw it over his shoulder as if it were a piece ofrubbish and not a necklace worth thousands of euros. “Where’s your locket?”
I grabbed the tulle of my skirt at my thigh and bunched it, lifting the hem of the dress up one of my legs. I wanted my mum close to me today, so I had to wear it somewhere. His gaze ran down my shin with predatory hunger, making me want to break out in a sweat.
Cristo. Not in church. And not for this man. Come on, body, get with the new programme.
But when he dropped to one knee and tenderly unfastened the necklace from my ankle as if it were the most precious treasure known to man, all logic went out the window. There was only reluctant swooning, especially when he placed a soft kiss on my knee before lowering the dress again.
My cheeks burned as he gestured for me to turn around, then placed the locket around my neck where it belonged. I tried to hold back the sudden rush of overwhelming emotions I’d kept bottled up all day. When I turned back to face him, I quietly mumbled a thank you, but I couldn’t look at him. I didn’t want to feel anything other than hatred or anger towards this man.
“Shall I continue?” the priest asked, glancing between us.
“Wait. One more thing,” he said, grabbing my left hand and rolling his thumb over Callum’s engagement ring. He growled, then tugged it off my finger, making me yelp. I peered up at him in shock.
He threw that damn thing over his shoulder, too.
Someone in the audience laughed. I was sure it was Raffaele.
“Raya? Did you get it?”
My head whipped around to see who he was addressing. A pretty woman, probably around my age, stood up, nodding. She stepped forward with her eyes cast down and handed Santino a velvet box. He opened it and picked out the most stunning ring I’d ever seen. It was an elegant, oval diamond on a thin gold band. I had no idea how many carats it was, but I knew it looked heavy. He slid it onto my finger as my mouth hung open, staring at it in awe. Oh no, I loved it. It was so much more me.
“Much better,” he husked, rolling his thumb over my fingers again. “Please continue, Father. I promise to behave.”
My gaze met his, and he smirked. The dark twinkle in his eyes told me everything I needed to know. This man never behaved. That I was standing at the altar wearing his ring proved it. And now I was about to become his wife.
The ceremony passed in a blur of Italian Bible readings and Catholic vows. Then the priest asked the questions I’d been dreading.
"Are you here to enter into a marriage freely and without coercion?"
There was no flowery language or poetry in the traditional vows. Just consent. And that hung heavier than anything. I found the courage to meet Santino’s gazeas my lips trembled with anger. He’d taken my consent away from me, and he knew it. If I had a true choice, we both knew I wouldn’t be marrying anyone today.
“I am.”
Those two words packed a punch straight to my gut. Santino lifted his chin, holding my gaze as an angry tear slipped from the corner of my eye. He didn’t smile as I expected. Maybe victory didn’t taste as sweet as he’d thought. Let him see. Let him know I didn’t choose this. That I didn’t choose him. I was coerced into it.
The questions continued, asking whether I was prepared to love and cherish him and accept children lovingly from God. Prepared? Try forced. But I agreed robotically and said my vows through gritted teeth, burning with fury. When it was Santino's turn to say his vows, I wasn’t prepared for the reaction my traitorous body would have to his deep, husky Italian and intense gaze.
"Io, Santino Vincenzo Buccini, prendo te, Arianna Caruso, come mia sposa e prometto di esserti fedele sempre, nella gioia e nel dolore, nella salute e nella malattia, e di amarti e onorarti tutti i giorni della mia vita."
