“Elena Vasquez, do you take Vincenzo Orsini to be your lawful husband? Do you promise to be faithful to him in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer?”
He paused, tilting his head, “to love and to honor him, to cherish and respect him, all the days of your life?”
My heartbeat thundered, almost deafening in my ears.
I forced my voice steady, though it emerged quieter than I intended, trembling like the final leaf on a gusty branch.
“Yes... I do.”
The priest nodded solemnly, his eyes reflecting the weight of duty and ritual, then turned to Vincenzo.
“And do you, Vincenzo Orsini, take Elena Vasquez to be your lawful wife? Do you promise to be faithful to her in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, to love and to cherish her, to honor and protect her, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?”
The question hung in the air, heavy as marble.
Vincenzo didn’t answer immediately.
Those few seconds stretched endlessly, each one a tightrope I felt I might fall from.
My pulse spiked, my hands trembling slightly inside the folds of my gown.
I could feel every eye on us—on me—waiting for him, and the weight of it pressed like stone against my chest.
He simply stared at me, his expression unreadable.
Cold.
Perfectly still, a mask of control that made it impossible to tell whether he was weighing his words, second-guessing this mad, impulsive act, or simply savoring the power he wielded over the moment.
The air between us seemed to pulse with that unspoken authority, a pressure that made it hard to breathe.
Finally, his voice came.
Low, deliberate, and carrying a certainty that made the world around me seem to fall away.
“Yes.”
I let out a shaky breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, relief and fear knotting together in a dizzying rush.
The priest’s voice carried forward, echoing in the cavernous hall with the rhythm of centuries-old ritual.
“Let the rings be brought forward as a symbol of your eternal commitment.”
An attendant stepped up swiftly, moving with quiet precision, and presented an open velvet box containing two gleaming bands.
The priest blessed them briefly with a short prayer, nodding to us to begin.
“Elena, you may place the ring on Vincenzo’s finger and repeat after me: ‘With this ring, I thee wed, as a sign of my love and fidelity.’”
I lifted the larger band from the box.
It was heavy, cold against my skin, a weight that felt both literal and symbolic.
My fingers trembled as I reached for Vincenzo’s left hand.
When our fingers brushed, a sudden jolt shot through me—electric, unsettling, a spark igniting some hidden corner of my body.
His hand was steady, surprisingly warm, the skin rougher than I had imagined from a man who commanded from shadows.
