When we finally pulled apart, he didn’t move far.
“Hi,” Matteo murmured, his lips still hovering inches from mine.
The word shouldn’t have done anything to me.
It did.
A shy smile tugged at my mouth before I could stop it, my cheeks warm beneath the veil.
Then reality rushed back in.
We turned together to face the cathedral, the sea of guests on their feet, clapping and smiling and celebrating us. The sound was thunderous now, undeniable.
Hand in hand, we descended the steps of the altar.
Down the aisle we walked, slower at first, composed – until halfway through, Matteo glanced at me with a crooked grin, and something broke loose inside my chest.
I laughed.
He laughed too.
And suddenly we were running.
Fast enough that my dress swayed and my bouquet bounced.
Fast enough that it felt like freedom.
A secret shared between just the two of us.
We burst through the cathedral doors into the bright rush of daylight, cheers following us out into the open air.
The limousine door was already open.
We climbed in without stopping, breathless and smiling, the door shutting behind us with a soft, final click.
The church faded away as the car pulled off, carrying us toward the Hamptons.
I glanced over at Matteo as he settled back into the leather seat of the limousine, one arm stretched along the backrest, posture relaxed like this wasn’t one of the most surreal moments of my life. Sunlight spilled through thetinted windows, catching the sharp line of his jaw, the clean cut of his suit.
He was already looking at me.
“You wore the flower clip I got you,” he said, a smile tugging at his mouth – soft, genuine.
My hand lifted instinctively to my hair, fingers brushing the red bloom tucked just behind my ear. “I did.”
His gaze lingered, unhurried. “You looked beautiful walking down the aisle. And right now…” His eyes dipped to my lips, then returned to mine. “You’re stealing my breath away.”
Heat rushed straight to my face. I suddenly had no idea what to do with my hands, my posture, my expression. And my dress wasn’t exactly comfortable.
Compliments from Matteo hit differently – too intimate, too sincere for a man I was supposedly not involved with.
I swallowed. “Thank you. You look very handsome too.”
One dark brow arched. “Did Francesca DeMone just compliment me?”
My smile disappeared before I could stop it. “Not DeMone anymore…”
The words felt heavier than they should’ve.
