Smile and Bleed
1093 Words
[Nico's Pov]
The car was quiet. Too quiet.
I could feel the weight of Livia’s eyes burning holes through the back of my skull. She sat opposite us in the long, luxurious black limo, legs crossed like a queen, one manicured brow slightly arched as if she was silently calculating how to kill me and make it look like an accident.
Sofia, on the other hand, was texting furiously, probably writing a list of things I was forbidden from doing at the reception—like breathing too loud.
And Dante?
Dante was... staring out the window. Not tense. Not relaxed either. Just unreadable, like he always was.
I cleared my throat. “So... how long is the ride?”
Dante didn’t even blink.
Livia sighed dramatically. “Just long enough for someone to reconsider their fashion choices,” she muttered, clearly side-eyeing Sofia.
“I heard that,” Sofia snapped.
“Good.”
And here I was—awkwardly married into this mess. I stared down at my hands, which were folded in my lap like I was in detention.
“Don’t slouch,” Dante said without even turning to look at me.
I blinked. “Huh?”
“You look like you’re being taken to court, not introduced to high society.”
Livia snorted. “He’s just nervous, Dan. Be nice. You did marry him without warning.”
Dante turned to her with a flat smile. “Wasn’t exactly a fairy-tale wedding for me either.”
“Right, because showing up to your own wedding would’ve been too mainstream,” Sofia said, not looking up from her phone.
I bit my lip to hide a laugh. The tension between them was so thick you could cut it with a butter knife. And yet, they were all so... elegant about it. Like aristocrats fighting with poison instead of swords.
“You okay?” Dante murmured under his breath, his voice just low enough for me to hear.
I turned to him, surprised. His hand rested lazily on his knee, but his fingers inched toward mine.
“I’m fine,” I said. “It’s just... a bit overwhelming.”
He hummed. “You’ll get used to it.”
I wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be comforting or a threat. Finally, the car slowed.
Livia peeked through the window and beamed. “We’re here! Time to smile and let's make sure not to mess up, Dan.”
Sofia tossed her phone aside. “She's right, Let’s try not to make headlines," and then she looked at me saying, "...especially you. Do not embarrass us, behave."
God, they are making me nervous.
And yet I nodded. Dante turned to me one last time before the door opened. “Stay close. And no matter what they say or ask—smile. Even if it hurts.”
I nodded, my heart thudding. “Got it.”
The door opened, and camera flashes greeted us like a thousand lightning bolts.
Showtime.
As soon as our polished shoes touched the carpeted steps of the grand hotel entrance, it was as if hell broke loose. Reporters swarmed like a pack of starved wolves, microphones extending toward us, voices overlapping, shoving each other, shouting questions with all the grace of a market brawl.
“Mr. Dante! Why didn’t you attend your own wedding?!”
“Is the marriage real, or just another Rossi PR stunt?”
“Are you not happy with your groom? What's his background?”
“Did your family force you into this union?”
“Is this marriage related to the expansion in Sicily—?”
A flash nearly blinded me, and I instinctively flinched, my body tensing like prey caught in headlights.
Just then, I felt it. A firm hand on my waist. Warm. Steady. Possessive.
I turned slightly—and there he was.
Dante.
Unbothered by the chaos. Unrushed. Cool as ever. He leaned down just enough so only I could hear, his lips dangerously close to my ear.
“Don’t worry,” he said softly. “I’m here with you.”
That stopped me cold.
I blinked at him.
I’m here with you.
Nobody had ever said that to me before. Not like that. Not with that calm, quiet certainty that made my chest feel like it was cracking open and spilling warmth everywhere. He didn’t say it as a show. He didn’t shout it for the cameras. He said it for me.
And just like that, I felt the heat crawl up my neck.
Oh god.
Was I blushing?
No, no, no—this wasn’t the time to be soft. Not in front of the entire damn Italian press.
I looked away quickly, trying to focus on walking, but Dante’s hand stayed firm on my waist as he guided me through the chaos like it was nothing. Like he’d done this a thousand times.
And me? I had never walked through a crowd of flashing cameras, reporters barking like wild dogs, and people whispering as if I were some uninvited guest at a royal wedding.
“I—uh—should I say something?” I muttered under my breath.
Dante chuckled low. “No. Smile. Keep your head up. And walk like you belong here.”
“I don’t.”
“You do now.”
I glanced at him.
He didn’t even look at me when he said it, but the words still hit like an anchor thrown into stormy seas. We finally crossed the threshold into the grand lobby of the venue—velvet drapes, glittering chandeliers, and too many people who smelled like power and perfume. The chaos of the outside world faded behind us as the doors shut, but the pressure inside... was different.
Whispers buzzed in the air like flies around a fresh wound.
“Is that him? The boy Dante married?”
“He’s... young.”
“Cute.”
“Suspicious.”
“Too soft.”
I heard it all. Every word. Every glance. Every judgment crawling over my skin like cold fingertips. I felt small again.
Like I didn’t belong.
Until Dante leaned in, his fingers tightening slightly around my waist as he spoke without moving his lips.
“Remember what I told you.”
I looked at him. “What part?”
“Smile. Even if it hurts.”
So I did. A soft, polite smile.
Because I had to.
Because that’s what you do when you marry into a world that was never built for you.
You smile.
Even if it bleeds.
- Writer
