Massimo let out a shaky breath, his eyes hard and retributive before he turned toward me, with an intensity that made my skin tingle. “I was terrified, Miranda. Loving you is dangerous. But I couldn’t stop myself.” His voice was quiet, the words almost lost between us, but their meaning reverberated deep in my chest. A hesitant smile flickered at the corner of his mouth, hope shining through the cracks in his armor.
Tentatively, I reached over and placed my hand over his. My fingers trembled, tracing the tension that lingered in his knuckles. “I wish you had told me.” The words felt fragile, delicate as the pulse beneath his skin.
He shrugged, barely meeting my gaze. “You know now.” His voice was low, almost lost in the hush between us, carrying more weight than explanation ever could.
“So we are really married, then?” My question trembled on my lips, heavy with uncertainty and hope.
He slowly nodded, and a strange warmth spread through my chest, mingling relief with a flutter of anxiety. For a moment, the world stilled around us, our silence speaking volumes.
The warm glow of a lamp cast long shadows over the wooden desk as Cesar leaned in, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. “Speaking of your marriage.” Cesar grinned conspiratorially, as the rest of the brothers exchanged knowing glances and stifled chuckles. “Next weekend, my brothers and I would like to formally welcome you into the family by hosting a small get-together to introduce you to society.”
A flutter of nervousness churned in my stomach, my hand tightening instinctively around Massimo’s. The idea of being displayed before a crowd, of joining a family I still barely understood, made my heart race. I leaned closer to Massimo, my voice barely more than a tremor. “What does that mean?”
Massimo let out an irritated groan, his expression a mix of resignation and annoyance. I felt the tension in his fingers, the slight squeeze he gave my hand as if to reassure us both. “It means they are throwing a party to announce our wedding to the world.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Massimo
“Smile, brother.” Guilio chuckled, clapping me—hard—on the back as I gripped the edge of the table, trying to steady the nausea rising in my gut. I forced myself to stand still as the guests filed in, all eyes on me, their whispers swirling like smoke. “Today is your wedding day.”
“Fuck off, Guilio,” I spat, my jaw clenched so tight it ached. My knuckles whitened around the empty wineglass as I drained the last drops, the burn hardly dulling the resentment in my chest. Heat flushed my skin as I stormed toward the kitchen, the weight of every stare pressing down on me as my mind flashed back to Cesar’s office, not more than six days ago.
The moment Miranda shut Cesar’s office door behind her, a surge of heat flushed up my neck. I slammed my palm against his desk, rattling the pens and papers. “What game are you actually playing, Cesar? You know as well as I do that I don’t love her. And all that talk—what was the purpose?” My voice trembled between anger and disbelief, desperate for answers.
Cesar leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled and eyes narrowed in thoughtful calculation. “Someone needed to mend things, and I assumed you’d handle it. Apparently, I misjudged.” His tone was steady, but a flicker of disappointment crossed his face.
I clenched my fists, knuckles pale as I struggled for self-control. “You call me reckless, then shove me into a marriage Inever asked for. What happens when she figures out the truth? Did you even think about that? She now believes I’m in love with her!” My words came out hoarse, edged with panic that cut deeper than rage.
Cesar’s lips curled in a small, knowing smile. “That’s exactly what she needs to believe.” For a split second, I caught the glimmer of something sharper in his gaze—a hint of strategy, not mere damage control.
I pressed a hand to my forehead, pulse hammering. Guilio stood nearby, his posture loose and shoulders relaxed, but the grin stretched across his face reminded me of the Joker from Batman—it was creepy. I shot him a glare, finger stabbing the air between us.
“Stay out of this, Guilio. I don’t need your interference or your amusement.” My words came out sharper than I intended, but they made him lift his hands in mock surrender, smirk undiminished.
Cesar exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples as if the weight of responsibility pressed down. “Calm down, Massimo. This isn’t a catastrophe.” His gaze drifted toward the window, voice lowering. “Her believing you love her creates stability—it lets us all move forward. She’ll be more inclined to adapt, maybe even let her guard down. The goal isn’t just smoothing things over; it’s making sure our family stays intact.”
Aurelio, perched near the bookshelves, tried to mask his amusement, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him. “He’s right, brother. With your wife in her love bubble, she won’t question living here, or your relationship. Think of it as a clean slate—a second chance, whether you want it or not.”
Guilio, now with his arms crossed and one eyebrow raised, couldn’t resist a jab. “That’s if you don’t fuck it up again, Massimo.” His words lingered in the air, heavy with challenge and a faint trace of sibling rivalry.
Guilio’s laughter echoed in my head as I rinsed my wineglass, the chill of the water grounding me back in the present. The kitchen felt too bright, too sterile compared to the tangled emotions that clung to me. For a moment, I gripped the counter, counting my breaths, hoping the anger would subside before I had to face anyone else when I heard Luca say, “Massimo, Cesar wants you to meet the priest.”
I wiped the last drops from the glass and turned, the weight of everyone’s expectations settling onto my shoulders. The thought of meeting the priest felt surreal, as if I were about to step onto a stage and deliver lines I hadn’t rehearsed. My heart thudded in my chest—this was no longer just a family arrangement; it was a performance, and everyone was watching to see if I would play my part.
Standing straight, I laid the dish towel on the counter and strode past Luca, who, like the rest of my brothers, had given me a wide berth the last few days. The only one I tolerated near me was the one brother who would not be present for this charade Cesar had constructed.
Entering the formal sitting room—now nearly swallowed by the scent of lilies and roses—I hesitated for a heartbeat, my chest tightening at the sight. Cesar stood beside a priest, their conversation low and conspiratorial. My brother’s eagerness to escape these introductions was typical—he always left me to handle the formalities, content to play host and then slip away.
Cesar’s face brightened as I approached. “And here is the groom now, Father. Massimo, I’d like you to meet Father Jacob from Queen of All Saints Basilica. He was just telling me the history of the church.” He gestured between us with a flourish, as if orchestrating a performance for unseen guests.
Narrowing my eyes, I glared at my brother. “Oh, really?” My annoyance simmered beneath my voice, but Cesar, ever the diplomat, only smiled wider.
“Yes, and now that you are here, I can go retrieve your bride,” Cesar said, his words rushed as he made his exit, footsteps quick on the polished floor.
“Like I was saying,” the priest began, shifting his weight as he turned his polite smile toward me. “Queen of All Saints Basilica was established in 1922. Originally a parish, the church was elevated to a basilica in 2003...” His voice was steady, practiced, as if he recited these dates every day.
“You don’t say,” I groaned, forcing a tight smile and letting my focus drift to a wilting hydrangea on the mantel. My nerves buzzed beneath my calm exterior as I ignored the priest’s facts, vowing to get Cesar back when the time came, wishing I could be anywhere but here—anywhere but the centerpiece in someone else’s well-rehearsed script.
