Wedding Morning
924 Words
Chapter Three
I barely slept that night. Every time I drifted off, i remembered Luca’s cold eyes or the thick folder of rules would flash behind my lids and jolt me awake. By the time dawn crept through the windows, my hands felt numb and my stomach churned with a sick mix of dread and anger, dawn came so fast, and I hated it.
A soft knock pulled me from the bed. “Miss Aria?” Romero’s voice came through the door, careful and low. “Breakfast is ready if you want it.”
Food was the last thing on my mind. I opened the door anyway. He stood there in his dark suit, looking as tired as I felt. His eyes searched my face, gentle in a way that made the fear sharper somehow.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
I shook my head. Words wouldn’t come.
He didn’t push. He just nodded and stepped aside so I could pass.
The drive to the cathedral passed in a haze. I sat stiffly in the back of the car, gripping the seat until my fingers hurt. Each turn of the wheels felt like it was carrying me closer to the edge of something I couldn’t come back from.
“Breathe,” Romero said from the front. His voice was calm, steady.
I tried. It didn’t help much.
The cathedral rose ahead of us, huge and gray against the winter sky. Guards lined the steps. My legs felt weak as I climbed out of the car. Every step toward the doors made my heart beat harder.
Inside, the air smelled of incense and old stone. Guests turned to stare as I walked down the aisle on my father’s arm. Whispers followed me like smoke. I heard fragments, princess, alliance, Scuderi, Vitiello. My chest tightened until I could barely draw breath.
And then I saw Luca waiting at the altar.
He looked impossibly tall in his black suit, hands clasped behind his back, face unreadable. Those steel-gray eyes locked on me and didn’t waver once. I wanted to turn and run, but my father’s grip on my arm kept me moving forward.
“Remember your duty,” he murmured just before handing me over.
I nodded because I had no choice.
The ceremony itself blurred into a string of words I hardly heard. Vows. Rings. Promises made in cold, clipped voices. I repeated what I was told to say. My hands shook as Luca slid the ring onto my finger. His touch was brief, deliberate, warm enough to send an unwelcome spark up my arm.
When the priest declared us married, a murmur rippled through the crowd. I knew what they were waiting for. Everyone did. The old tradition. The sheets and the proof. My stomach twisted so violently I thought I might be sick right there.
Afterward, we were taken to a private suite in the hotel adjoining the cathedral. The door clicked shut behind us, and the sudden silence pressed in from all sides.
Luca leaned against the wall, watching me the way he always did, like he could see straight through every defense I had.
“You’re shaking,” he said. His voice was quieter than I expected, almost gentle, but it still carried that edge.
“I’m fine,” I managed, though the lie sounded weak even to me.
He pushed away from the wall and walked toward me slowly. He stopped close enough that I could feel the warmth coming off him.
“Fear keeps you sharp,” he said. “It keeps you alive. But you’ll learn to control it.”
I wanted to snap back, to tell him I wasn’t some animal to be trained, but the words stuck in my throat. Because part of me was terrified, he was right. And another part, small, traitorous, and infuriating, was hyperaware of how near he stood, how the air felt thicker around him.
A faint noise outside the door made me flinch. Footsteps, maybe. Or something else.
Romero’s voice came through the wood, low and careful. “Miss Aria? Everything all right?”
Luca’s head turned toward the sound. His expression didn’t change, but something in the set of his shoulders shifted.
Then another voice drifted in from the hallway, low, mocking, and unfamiliar.
“You don’t belong here, princess. Not tonight. Not ever.”
Ice slid down my spine.
Luca moved instantly, putting himself between me and the door. His hand went to the inside of his jacket in a motion so smooth it might have been instinct.
“Who’s there?” he called. His tone was calm, but it carried a promise of violence.
No answer. Just the soft scrape of movement retreating down the hall.
Romero appeared in the doorway a second later, gun already drawn, eyes scanning the shadows. “I saw someone,” he said tightly. “Gone now.”
Luca didn’t relax. Neither did I.
The candlelight flickered across the walls, throwing long shadows that seemed to move on their own. My pulse hammered in my ears.
Whoever had been out there wasn’t supposed to be.
And whatever they wanted, it wasn’t to wish us well.
I looked at Luca—at my husband—and for the first time since arriving in New York, I felt something close to relief that he was standing in front of me.
But the night had only just started.
And I had the sick certainty that surviving it would cost more than I had ever imagined.
- Writer
