I sit in the second row with my fingers woven through Matteo’s, his warmth traveling from my palm up my arm and into my chest, anchoring me. The sun kisses my skin. The guests settle around us in hushed reverence, their presence a soft hum beneath the moment.
“So, by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Marcello cups Marta’s face and kisses her with a hunger that leaves no doubt about who she belongs to. The crowd erupts, applause crashing over us, and even Valerio and Matteo, usually carved from stone, surrender matching smiles.
The rings on Matteo’s and my fingers catch the sunlight, a quiet reminder of vows still fresh, memories barely weeks old yet already etched into my bones.
We’ve only been married a short time, yet the days since feel unreal in their beauty. The wedding was everything I dreamed of and more, and somehow life afterward has been even sweeter. A fairytale I wake up inside every morning, my heart still floating despite the shadows that tried to follow me.
I am safe.
I am home.
And still, sometimes, I forget that this life is mine now. That I am allowed to breathe without fear. Allowed to want without punishment. Allowed to be touched with gentleness and claimed with devotion. I let myself believe in forever, even knowing the world has a way of trying to steal it.
Matteo’s thumb strokes over my knuckles, slow and deliberate, as if he feels the shift inside me before I do. He doesn’t look away from the altar. He doesn’t need to speak. His awareness of me is constant, unyielding.
As if my heart beats somewhere in his chest, and he was built to hear it.
I release a slow breath, feeling it catch beneath my ribs before it finally slips free. Peace has been scarce lately, something fragile and fleeting, but here, wrapped in warm light and quiet celebration, it feels real enough to trust. I let myself sink into it, if only for a moment, letting the stillness settle into my bones.
My hand drifts to my belly without conscious thought. It is still small, still easily hidden beneath silk and tailoring, but I feel it all the same. The subtle weight. The undeniable presence. Life growing quietly inside me—something carried through gunfire and blood oaths, in a world that has never been gentle with me.
Matteo notices immediately. He always does. His fingers tighten around mine, grounding and sure, while his other arm settles across the back of my chair in a way that is effortless and unmistakable, a silent declaration to anyone watching that I am his and under his protection.
I glance at him from the corner of my eye. God, he is devastating.
The sharp cut of his jaw, the dark stubble shadowing his skin, the weight of a thousand decisions etched into his gaze. Yet when his eyes shift to me, all that steel softens into something private, something unguarded, something meant for me alone.
Marcello and Marta make their way down the aisle, and soon the guests are ushered into the ballroom, a space transformed with candlelight and elegance. Voices blend together, laughter rising and falling as people mingle. I recognize familiar facesfrom our own wedding and others I have only ever seen in headlines and whispered warnings.
It strikes me then how strange this world is, how love can be toasted by men capable of so much destruction, how vows and violence exist side by side without contradiction.
Matteo and I stand together, taking in the room as waiters glide past with trays of champagne flutes and delicate bites, but my attention never truly leaves him. I should be admiring the décor, memorizing the details, yet all I can think about is how impossibly good my husband looks in his suit, how the fabric clings to strength and promise and possession.
Heat coils low in my body, familiar and insistent. This pregnancy has turned quiet want into something ravenous, something that flares without warning and refuses to be denied. No matter how many times Matteo takes me apart and puts me back together again, the hunger always returns, sharper, deeper, unrelenting.
“Bella?” His voice is soft, attuned to every shift in me as his fingers brush a loose strand of hair from my cheek. “Are you okay?”
I turn toward him, the heat humming just beneath my skin, alive and aching.
“I…”I lean closer, lowering my voice until it is meant for him alone. “I’m feeling a little… stimulated.”
The word leaves my lips like a confession, forbidden and dangerous.
“Stimulated?” A slow smile curves his mouth, dark amusement lighting his eyes.
“Matteo, don’t,” I murmur, looking away even as my body betrays me. “It’s these hormones. They’re driving me insane and I?—”
The words dissolve between us, heavy with meaning, suspended in the charged space where his restraint and my need collide.
“Come!”
He takes my hand without warning, his grip firm and decisive, pulling me just outside the ballroom where the music dims.
“Where are we going?” I ask, though my body already knows.
He glances back at me, a knowing smile curving his mouth, dark and unhurried. “Somewhere private,” he says softly. “Somewhere to take the edge off.”
