Her eyes widened in shock. She pulled back slightly, shifting farther up the bed. But I didn’t let go of her hand.
“What kind of oath is that?” she whispered. “I can’t let you die so I can live.”
“You said your life and death belong to me,was that vow meaningless?”
“Of course not! But what you’re asking for...” Her voice cracked, but I cut her off.
“I’m ordering you to choose life. Always. No matter what it costs, you have to live.”
Tears welled in her eyes as she held onto me with both hands, pulling herself close again. “How can I live without you?” she choked. “How do I go on, knowing that because of me, you…”
Her words broke off, replaced by a soft, heartbroken sob.
But I didn’t back down. “Swear it, Emily. If saving you means I die, then that’s the price. There may come a day when we step into something we can’t come back from. If I tell you to run, you run.”
She shook her head, refusing, but I didn’t look away. “If you love me, swear it.”
Her lips quivered. Her voice broke. “I do love you. You know that.”
“Then swear it.”
She stared at me, tears blurring her vision, her silence stretching into something unbearable. And finally, after what felt like forever, she gave a shaky nod and gave me what I asked for. “I swear.”
The relief that hit me tangled with heartbreak. I leaned in and kissed the tear sliding down her cheek, wishing I could take her pain but knowing this was the only way to protect her. Then the sound of a car pulling into the driveway shattered the moment, making fear flash in her eyes.
I cupped her face. “Don’t worry. It’s probably Maxim and Brando.”
“They’re here too?”
“They actually got here before us. Helped get the house ready.”
She followed me out onto the balcony, curiosity taking over. We stood side by side, watching two cars pull up into the courtyard. Maxim and Lorenzo stepped out of one. Giorgio and Brando got out of the other.
Then Emily’s gaze caught on someone else, a fifth figure stepping out of the second car.
“Don’t you think you brought too many people to get the house ready? And... who’s that older man?”
“The priest who married my parents. I asked him to marry us too. That way, I can make up for the formal, stiff wedding we’ll have in Rome.”
She stared at me, speechless. Then the shock faded, replaced by something softer. She threw her arms around my neck, laughing through her tears. “I think ‘Wife-killer’ is a fitting nickname for you, because I might die of happiness right here, and it’ll be all your fault.”
Before I could say a word, there was a sharp knock at the door. It opened before I could respond, and I already knew who it was. Brando strolled in, dressed to impress and radiating his usual smug confidence. He tossed a garment bag onto the bed and smirked. “Alright, groom needs to get out. We’ve got work to do.”
Emily and I turned to him. My brow arched, my voice thick with doubt. “We?”
Brando didn’t answer right away. He whistled, loud, like he was calling a dog. When no one came, he yelled, “Giorgio! Get in here!”
A second later, Giorgio walked in, already scowling. “What now?” he grumbled.
“What’s going on here?” Emily asked, clearly entertained.
Brando threw an arm out in Giorgio’s direction like he was introducing royalty. “We’re here to handle all the important details, obviously. You didn’t think we’d let you get married without a little pizzazz, did you?”
“Pizzazz?” Giorgio echoed flatly, arms crossed. “Pretty sure you dragged me into this so you wouldn’t have to lift a finger.”
Brando waved him off and turned to Emily with a grin. “Don’t worry, little bird. By the time we’re done, you’ll have the perfect wedding look. And I’ll make sure this guy,” he said, jerking his thumb toward me, “doesn’t ruin it by being too serious.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, already regretting letting him near this day. “Brando, do you even know what you’re doing?”
