The Wedding of Strangers
873 Words
CHAPTER SIX
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EVELYN
I always imagined my wedding day would feel magical.
Warm.
Hopeful.
Full of love.
Instead, it felt like a funeral.
The Rossi estate had been transformed overnight — white roses, crystal chandeliers, gold-trimmed chairs. Everything looked perfect. Beautiful. Expensive.
And completely wrong.
I stood in front of the mirror in a silk gown I didn’t choose, surrounded by people I didn’t trust, preparing to marry a man I didn’t love.
A man I barely knew.
Lucia, my cousin, tightened the last button on my dress. “You look beautiful,” she whispered.
I didn’t feel beautiful.
I felt trapped.
“Lucia,” I said quietly, “am I making a mistake?”
She hesitated, too long. “I don’t know.”
Honesty.
Painful, but real.
I took a shaky breath. “I don’t want this.”
“I know,” she said. “But maybe… maybe it won’t be as bad as you think.”
I almost laughed. “I’m marrying Alexandro Valenti.”
She winced. “Okay, maybe it will be bad.”
I turned back to the mirror.
The woman staring back at me looked like a stranger elegant, composed, and heartbreakingly resigned.
A knock sounded at the door.
Marco stepped inside. “It’s time.”
Time.
Time to walk down an aisle toward a man who had watched me from shadows.
Time to sign away my freedom in front of hundreds of witnesses.
Time to become a Valenti.
My stomach twisted.
Lucia squeezed my hand. “You’re stronger than you think.”
I wasn’t sure.
But I walked anyway.
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ALEXANDRO
I hated weddings.
Too many people.
Too many eyes.
Too many lies dressed in silk and champagne.
But this wedding wasn’t about celebration.
It was about power.
The Valenti and Rossi families stood on opposite sides of the aisle — a silent reminder of decades of rivalry. Men who had tried to kill each other now stood shoulder to shoulder, pretending unity.
All because of her.
Evelyn.
When she appeared at the end of the aisle, the room fell silent.
She looked… breathtaking.
Not because of the dress or the flowers or the lights.
But because she walked like a woman marching into battle, chin high, eyes steady, heart guarded.
Strong.
Defiant.
Unbroken.
For a moment, something inside me shifted.
Not desire.
Not affection.
Respect.
She reached the altar, and her father placed her hand in mine. Her fingers were cold. Mine were steady.
“Ready?” I murmured.
“No,” she whispered. “But I’m here.”
That was enough.
The ceremony began, vows spoken, rings exchanged, promises made that neither of us believed in. The priest’s voice droned on, but all I heard was her breathing.
Steady.
Controlled.
Brave.
When it was time to seal the marriage, the priest nodded.
“You may kiss the bride.”
Evelyn stiffened.
I leaned in, slowly, giving her time to pull away.
She didn’t.
But she didn’t lean in either.
So I brushed my lips against her cheek — respectful, distant, symbolic.
A kiss that said:
We are strangers.
We are allies.
We are not enemies today.
The room erupted in applause.
But Evelyn didn’t smile.
And neither did I.
---
EVELYN
The reception was a blur of forced congratulations and fake smiles. People toasted to our “union,” our “future,” our “peace.”
Peace.
If only they knew.
Alexandro stayed close, not touching me, but always near. A shadow. A shield. A reminder.
When the crowd thinned, he finally spoke.
“Are you alright?”
“No,” I said honestly. “But I will be.”
He nodded. “Good.”
I studied him, the man I was now legally bound to. He looked calm, unreadable, composed.
“Why didn’t you kiss me?” I asked quietly.
He met my eyes. “Because you didn’t want me to.”
I blinked.
I hadn’t expected that answer.
He continued, “This marriage is a contract, Evelyn. Not a cage. I won’t force anything.”
Something warm flickered in my chest, relief, gratitude, confusion.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
He nodded once. “We’ll take this one step at a time.”
One step.
One day.
One year.
A marriage built on necessity, not love.
On strategy, not trust.
But as I looked at him — really looked, I realized something:
Maybe this wouldn’t destroy me.
Maybe it would change me.
---
ALEXANDRO
When the night ended, I escorted her to the car. She hesitated before getting in.
“This doesn’t mean I trust you,” she said.
“I don’t expect you to.”
“And it doesn’t mean I like you.”
I almost smiled. “I know.”
“But…” She paused. “I’m willing to try.”
That surprised me.
More than it should have.
I opened the door for her. “Then we start there.”
She nodded and stepped inside.
As I walked around to the driver’s side, one thought settled in my mind:
This marriage was supposed to be a weapon.
But Evelyn Rossi was not a weapon.
She was a wildfire.
And I had just agreed to stand in the flames.
- Writer
