DELUCA

THIRTEEN

In the back of the quiet limo, Francesco held onto Eleanor's hand as they made their way to the reception.

Eleanor still wore her veil, which had a slight tear in it. He knew it had to be his mother's doings. As if she knew he was thinking of it, Eleanor pulled it free from her hair and sat it on the limousine's seat before pulling out a select few pins from her hair, "This is killing me."

Francesco said little as they made their way to their next destination, but Eleanor had already expected that. He was his usual reserved self, likely preparing himself mentally for what was still in store for the evening.

She wished they stored liquor in the limo as Eleanor would need three shots just to feel like a normal human.

As they arrived Francesco stepped out of the vehicle, telling Eleanor to stay put as he would open her door.

They were instantly met with thousands and thousands of grains of rice as the wedding party stood in the street showering them with good luck. Francesco held tight as they rushed their way indoors to begin making nice with the hundreds of guests who had shown up to the reception.

The festivities were far from over, but at least they didn't have to remain so reformed. Now was the time to loosen up, if he couldn't do it on any other day, it would at least be today. The music was already heavy, and people had already lined the bar.

Francesco had chosen one of his favorite nightclubs in the city for the venue. It was industrial, but the now lights and flowers that covered it gave it a more feminine feel.

The bar was long giving many people space while the dance floor was large. He knew his family, they would all be drunk on the dance floor within a moment.

Francesco gave Eleanor a spin before pulling her back to him. She was dizzy and as he made his way to the bar his mood seemed to lighten.

Or maybe he was just playing the role of the doting husband... Eleanor wondered.

"What do you think, Mrs. DeLuca?" he asked. He gazed into her eyes as though remembering the callback from the night in the kitchen causing Eleanor to blush.

Did he know what he was doing to her?

The sly smirk on his face revealed that he in fact did.

"I think it's pretty good for a rushed fake wedding," Eleanor said with the same smirk.

Francesco only chuckled before pulling his wife towards the bar, the meal had been devoured before the ceremony so now all there was left was simply to party.

He ordered himself a scotch while Eleanor ordered herself a vodka cranberry. Francesco had never seen a wasted Eleanor, but this couldn't end well for her.

They both quickly downed their drinks before grabbing another. She felt more and more herself with every sip, feeling the hesitation from earlier slipping away. Eleanor glanced around at the crowd that had formed of jovial guests looking for the familiar face of Jemma.

Eleanor hadn't seen her since their moment in her room. She found herself shaky again, but it faded away when Francesco grabbed her and pulled her towards the dance floor.

Francesco pulled her to the center of the dance floor as everyone surrounded it. Giselle came up and tied a streamer around Francesco's wrist, then another on his right wrist.

Eleanor gave Giselle a questioning look as Giselle did the same to Eleanor's wrists.

One after one, members of the party did this until both Eleanor and Francesco's wrists were decorated.

"Hold tight," Francesco said as the music game on, fast and racing just as before. Eleanor was now completely confused, "It's called La Tarantella. It's a dance for good luck." Francesco explained over the loud music.

Suddenly the crowd began to move. All rushing clockwise causing the streamers to pull the two together.

Once completely wrapped in colorful streamers, the crowd switched the direction, now rushing counterclockwise.

The experience had been so fast and jarring that it sent Eleanor into a fit of laughter. Francesco found himself laughing aloud as well as the crowd eventually disbanded and joined the couple on the dance floor.

The vodka in Eleanor's system had caused her to loosen up and become more of her old self.

For once Eleanor felt like she had belonged here. Previously, she had only felt as though she was an outsider looking in on the family.

Tonight, she was the family.

The soon-to-be matriarch of something she hadn't yet completely understood.

But as she danced on the floor with the entire family, she didn't care. Everyone was all smiles and who cared if it was only due to the open bar?

Even Francesco had been laughing, going off with his friends at points where they'd all chant or sing something in their native tongue.

Even then Eleanor hadn't been alone as women came up to congratulate her, and men came up to offer her a good luck kiss, something she found completely bizarre.

As Eleanor stared at Francesco from across the dance floor, his white button-up partially unbuttoned giving him the casual look she rarely ever got to see, she couldn't wait for the wedding night.

Francesco sat at the table in a rare moment alone.

From his vantage point, he could see Eleanor talking to her mother. He never thought he had seen her smile more than tonight.

Despite the many people around, Francesco found it hard to focus on anyone else aside from Eleanor. It was fitting for a groom, but only a few knew Francesco had no business admiring her.

He wondered who chose the dress she wore. It was extremely form-fitting, showing off more cleavage than he was comfortable with.

At the very least, everyone knew to stay away from her. Even Francesco had been, always finding someone else to talk to when moments lulled. She hadn't seemed to notice at all, seeing as everyone in attendance had wanted to know who stole Francesco's heart.

All he wanted to do that night was to admire her from afar.

Enjoying the time when he hadn't had to hide his intrigue in her. If he truly allowed himself, Francesco lied to himself and told him this was all real and he would be pulling that dress off at the end of the night.

The mere thought of the actions caused a tightness in his pants that had nearly persisted ever since the night in the kitchen. She was truly driving him mad.

"You're supposed to look happy at your wedding, but you've had a pissy look on your face ever since she started socializing." Andreas took a seat next to Francesco, handing him a beer. Francesco only smirked, accepting the drink.

"She looks beautiful."

"That doesn't even describe half of it," Francesco murmured. Eleanor was sitting next to Ana placing a hand over her large stomach where Andreas' son rested.

"Ana looks lovely as well," Francesco commented. He could only hope he didn't have the same helpless look on his face when he looked at Eleanor.

For the entirety of his life, Francesco had only seen Andreas as a childish kid. He was always following behind Giuseppe and Francesco wanting to be a part of everything. He was his maternal cousin, but their mother had practically raised Andreas.

He had always moved recklessly, making Francesco constantly wonder if he would be a liability rather than an asset. It wasn't until Ana that Francesco had truly seen something shift in the man.

Even now, as Andreas rambled on about the nursery, Francesco was in awe to see that the boy he had always looked to had now been a man. He wondered if Giuseppe noticed as well.

"We can hardly afford the damn thing, but I am working..."

Francesco caught the end of the sentence, but he understood the greater part of it.

"Come to the clinic and I will see what I can do." Francesco offered.

"What?" Andreas froze for a moment.

The clinic of course hadn't been just that. It was a higher level of understanding that Andreas probably couldn't understand now, but he would soon know the weight of it all.

"If you're going to make more money for the bambino, you will have to work harder." Francesco offered. "You're just drunk and in a good mood. You don't mean that." Andreas said as if Francesco had grown two additional heads.

He couldn't help but chuckle, seeing the scared boy again. The same one that had appeared the night of the execution.

"Don't talk yourself out of good things. You're a Deluca and there is no reason that all of these men walking around here have higher ranking than you. But you're going to have to work hard."

"I understand," Andreas said quietly.

"I cannot protect you if you f**k up. You know the consequences, and you know blood will not protect you from them." Francesco said sternly.

He stood, having been away from Eleanor far too long now, "You know what happened with your father." The words held a heavier and more painful threat, but he hoped they were words that would echo in Andreas' head because Francesco hadn't lied.

When it came down to the greater good, he would easily sacrifice Andreas if he were to f**k this up.

As the thought trailed in his mind, Francesco went to find Eleanor.

The ride to the villa felt endless, the dark countryside rolling by in a blur of moonlight and shadows.

Eleanor, nestled in the passenger seat, had downed several glasses of champagne at the reception to quell the nerves gnawing at her stomach, but now the alcohol was taking its toll.

The Deluca family certainly knew how to throw a party—their wedding reception had lasted into the early hours of the morning, a whirlwind of laughter, dancing, and toasts to their union. As she sat in the car, her head resting against her hand, she fought the pull of sleep.

She wanted to stay awake, to see how this honeymoon would unfold. After all, it wasn't just the villa that intrigued her, but what came next—being alone with Francesco, away from the watchful eyes of family and strangers.

What would a honeymoon with Francesco entail? Eleanor's mind wandered, her cheeks flushing as she imagined the possibilities. She had grown close to him over time, but there was still an air of mystery around her new husband.

She shook her head, trying to dispel the intrusive thoughts. Jemma's warning echoed in her mind, reminding her that she still didn't truly know Francesco. He could be lying about everything.

Yet, as much as she tried to stay cautious, she couldn't convince herself that the Delucas would have anything to gain by marrying her under false pretenses. No, Francesco's kindness felt too genuine, his eyes too steady.

"You don't have to fight sleep much longer," Francesco said, his deep voice cutting through the silence. "We'll be there in a few moments."

The low rumble of the engine had been the only sound in the car for the past hour, and his voice was a welcome change, soothing her nerves like a balm. Eleanor straightened in her seat, rubbing her eyes.

"I wasn't falling asleep," she protested, stifling a yawn as soon as she said it.

Francesco chuckled, his laughter a rich sound that made Eleanor's heart skip. "You must not realize you snore when you sleep."

Her eyes flew open in surprise, and she turned to gape at him. "I was not snoring!" she argued, her tone half-offended, half-amused.

"No, not now," Francesco teased, his eyes glinting with mischief. "But in general."

Eleanor scoffed, rolling her eyes. "You're no Sleeping Beauty yourself."

"Senza senso," Francesco retorted, the corners of his lips twitching into a smile. "I don't snore."

His confidence was almost charming, and Eleanor couldn't help but laugh softly. The tension between them eased slightly, and for the first time in hours, she felt a sliver of comfort. T

hey passed a brightly lit square, its cobblestones gleaming under the streetlights. It felt strange to transition from the rural countryside to this small city, but it was a welcome change of scenery.

Francesco pulled the car to a stop in front of the villa, a doorman emerging from the shadows to greet them. Eleanor blinked, suddenly reminded that she was still in her wedding dress, crammed into the front seat of a car. Her muscles ached as she uncurled herself from her slumped position.

Francesco exited first, stopping the doorman before he could reach Eleanor's door. He opened it himself, extending his hand to help her out. The moment her feet touched the ground, she felt a wave of relief, her spine straightening after hours of being cramped in the car.

"Buonasera, signor Deluca. Signora Deluca," the doorman greeted, bowing slightly.

Eleanor blushed at the title, still not used to the formality of it all. Francesco, too, seemed a bit awkward, nodding at the man's words before giving him instructions about their luggage.

Francesco took her hand again, leading her toward the villa's entrance. The cool night air was a blessing after the stuffy car ride, and Eleanor yawned again, this time unable to hide it. As they reached the steps, Francesco came to an abrupt halt.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her brow furrowing.

"Another tradition," he replied, and before she could react, Francesco scooped her up into his arms, carrying her bridal-style toward the entrance. Eleanor let out an involuntary giggle, feeling both giddy and embarrassed as he carried her inside.

He didn't set her down in the lobby, nor in the elevator. The entire way to their room, she remained in his arms, her head resting against his chest as her eyes fluttered shut, her exhaustion finally winning the battle.

By the time they reached the door of their suite, Eleanor was on the verge of falling asleep. Francesco unlocked the door with one hand and gently set her on her feet, his arm lingering around her waist for a moment longer than necessary.

Eleanor looked around the villa, taking in the space. It was cozy, more modern than she'd expected, and though it lacked the grandeur of the castle, it had a warmth that made her feel strangely at home. The fireplace crackled softly, and the large bay windows offered a stunning view of the city lights below.

A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts, and Francesco stepped aside to handle their luggage as Eleanor wandered deeper into the villa, searching for the bedroom.

The dress had grown unbearably tight around her chest, and all she could think about was changing into something more comfortable.

Finally, she found the master bedroom, complete with a balcony that overlooked the city. The room was quaint but luxurious, the bed large and inviting. Eleanor sighed in relief as she attempted to remove her wedding gown, but the intricate lacing at the back made it impossible to undo alone.

Frustrated, she flopped face-first onto the bed, not caring that her makeup was probably smearing into the pillows.

She heard footsteps approaching and knew it was Francesco before he even spoke.

"Do you need help?" he asked, his voice filled with amusement.

"Please," Eleanor groaned. "I think your sister is trying to kill me with this dress."

Francesco laughed softly, sitting beside her on the bed. "Let me see what I can do." He began working on the laces, his fingers fumbling slightly as he tried to undo the knots.

Eleanor relaxed under his touch, sinking deeper into the bed as the tension slowly left her body. She could feel every brush of his fingers against her skin, her pulse quickening despite her exhaustion.

As tired as she was, she couldn't ignore the warmth that spread through her whenever he was near. It was as if her body was drawn to him, craving his touch.

After what felt like an eternity, Francesco finally loosened the last of the laces, his fingers brushing against her bare back as the dress fell open.

"Done," he said, his voice husky.

Eleanor sat up, clutching the front of the dress to her chest. She glanced at him, her heart beating faster, but before she could say anything, Francesco quickly stood and backed away.

"You can change," he said, his voice a little too hurried. "I'm going to shower in the other room."

He was gone before she could respond, disappearing into the hallway. Eleanor sighed, both amused and slightly disappointed.

It seemed she wasn't the only one feeling the tension between them. But she wouldn't push it tonight. They had time—time to figure out what this marriage would mean beyond the legalities and the public appearances.

For now, she would take it slow. She was his, for better or for worse.