Nicolo nods once, gaze still on me. “We shall.”
My veil lifts. He does it himself—slow, careful, like he’s afraid I’ll break. The fabric slides back, and the world sharpens into unbearable focus.
He’s real. He’s here. And I have no idea how.
I swallow hard before whispering, “You shouldn’t be here.”
His mouth curves slightly. “Probably not.”
The priest starts speaking again, voice a distant hum. Words about vows and unity and God’s will. I hear none of it. My pulse drowns out everything but the sight of him.
He doesn’t look away. Not once.
The ceremony moves too fast and too slow at the same time. When the moment comes—the question, the one that should’ve belonged to someone else—my body moves before my mind catches up.
“I do,” I whisper.
Nicolo’s jaw flexes; his answer comes low and steady. “I do.”
Applause ripples through the church. My stomach twists. The sound feels wrong.
He takes my hand when the priest gestures, sliding the ring onto my finger. A simple band, gold, heavy in its meaning. His thumb brushes my skin, a quiet apology no one else sees.
I lean in, my voice sharp under the choir’s rising song. “Just because I’m marrying you, it doesn’t mean I forgive you.”
His gaze drops to my mouth.
“I know,” he murmurs. “I don’t want forgiveness.”
“Then what do you want?”
He leans closer, so close that no one else can hear him. “Time. To make up for it. To deserve you.”
My chest constricts. “You won’t.”
“Then I’ll spend the rest of my life trying.”
Something breaks in me—not fully, not cleanly, but enough to hurt.
He straightens, hand still wrapped around mine as the priest pronounces us husband and wife. The words echo off the cathedral walls, ancient and binding.
“You may kiss the bride.”
He hesitates. For a split second, neither of us moves. Then he reaches up, fingers brushing the side of my face. His touch is careful, reverent. His mouth meets mine in the softest, shortest kiss, more promise than possession.
It shouldn’t feel like home. But it does.
When he pulls back, the crowd erupts again. Eli stands near the front, unreadable, his jaw tight. Valentina dabs at her eyes. Alessia just stares at me like she’s not sure whether to smile or pull me away from all of this.
Nicolo doesn’t release my hand. We turn together, facing the aisle. The organ flares again, triumphant and cruel. He squeezes my hand once—a silent message.
I can’t bring myself to look at him. If I do, I’ll unravel completely.
We walk down the aisle side-by-side, the weight of every eye on us. Flashbulbs flicker. Voices blur. The scent of lilies turns sharp in my throat.
When we reach the doors, light spills through the stained glass, catching the gold of my ring. I stare at it: proof that the impossible just became real.
Outside, the crowd erupts in cheers. Confetti falls. Cameras click. The world looks at us like this was arranged, part of a strategic plan.
