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We left. Hiding out in Bali. Maxwell had a place there, and in the dead of night, the three of us fled. I worried day in and day out about the safety of my father. If anyone was going to be able to mend the broken and restore peace, though, it was him. He called me as often as he could, letting me know he was safe, that the war between two of the oldest families in the Cosa Nostra was starting to die down. We had a long way to go, but the brutality, the killing, it was slowing. My father said there was a lot of bad blood that needed to be cared for.
I couldn’t help but place blame on myself, but DeLuca often told me that it wasn’t my fault. Ferro betrayed the family. Not us. Not my father. Him.
Tonight, as the sun is setting, a calming mixture of yellow, orange, and purple paints the horizon of the ocean. I look in the mirror at my strapless, floor-length flowy dress. The bustier hugs my chest tightly, making a sweetheart neckline, turning into an empire waistline before flowing out from my hips and legs.
This is the dress I will wear at my sunset wedding, to marry DeLuca. A man who mere months ago stole me in the night. One who had plans to kill me but instead revived me. I’ve never known love, obsession, or deep wanting for another human until I met him and became prey in his hands.
I smile, tucking my long black hair behind my ear as it falls in natural curls. My makeup is light, the new smattering of sun-kissed freckles peeping through my foundation. My eyes are vibrant, alive with knowing that I will forever be his by nightfall. I will be branded by my keeper.
There is a knock on the door.
“Yes?”
“Arabella. You look beautiful,” Maxwell announces himself, stepping into the room. I smile at him through the mirror, righting my dress one more time.
“You think? Is it too much, too little?”
“Just right. DeLuca will be very happy. You’re glowing.”
His compliment warms me, calming my doubts just a bit.
“Thank you, Maxwell,” I return with a sweet smile. Maxwell and I have become very good friends. Which Lord knows I need. Being on this island in hiding can be very isolating, especially on the long days that DeLuca is away in his office, helping with things back home and my father.
“You’re nervous. Don’t be.”
“That obvious?” I turn, taking his arm that he has waiting for me. In place of my father, I asked Maxwell to walk me down the aisle to my future husband. I’ve been married before, had a big, flashy wedding, yet this feels like the first time. I’m more excited and nervous and a whole lot of other emotions.
Love. It’s because I’m in love with the man at the end of that aisle. My stomach is running rampant with nerves, my core slick with desire to marry him and then get lost in the sheets. With everything going on, we haven’t been able to make love in days. To most, that seems like nothing, but for us, that is everything. We come alive, we connect most, we breathe each other in and out when we are making love. It’s all that matters. All that ceases to exist.
“It is, but I can tell you it’s going to go great. Nothing to worry about,” he assures me. Squeezing his forearm, we exit the villa doors and step onto the sand.
That’s when my eyes fall on him. The man I love. He wears khaki pants, bare feet like me, and a halfway buttoned-up white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing his tan arms covered in a few intricate tattoos. I hear myself whimper, thankful when Maxwell acts as if he didn’t.
DeLuca looks me over, his bottom lip catching between his teeth, his chin lifting, and his body igniting, matching my feelings exactly. We are aligned and in tune. I hope we don’t tear each other apart tonight… or do I? My legs feel heavy, as if I would collapse without Maxwell’s assistance, but DeLuca’s look—his molten desire is bleeding into the sand, traveling to me, and up into my body. I need him. The lily-covered arch and the priest are just a blur at this point. I see no one and nothing but my man.
Once I reach him, he takes me, not just my hand. No—he engulfs me, bringing my front to his, our bodies molding to one another. One arm bands around my back, the other around my neck, his hand gripping it and taking a possessive hold on me. He growls down at me, warning me that he won’t let this ceremony last long. I don’t want it to either.
“Make this fast, priest,” he demands, awakening a thousand goose bumps across my chest, back, and arms. We stare into each other’s eyes the entire time. Speaking without words, promising each other not only a night of love, passion, and possession, but a lifetime of it. His thumb rubs circles with the right amount of pressure on my neck, his other hand kneading at my back. I swear it’s as if we are fucking right now, and we are still both fully dressed.
