“I do,” I say, and it sounds like someone else’s voice entirely coming out of me.
Nevertheless, I slide the ring onto her ring finger, where it had just been hour before, and then look back up to her.
“Rosalie, do you take Alessio Fiorelli to be your lawfully wedding husband, in sickness and in health, for better or for worse, and promise to honor him?”
Rosalie feigns tears, takes a shaky breath, and says, “I do.” Then she slides the ring onto my finger.
There are a few chuckles from behind us.
“With the power invested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife, you may kiss the bride,” the priest waves a hand excitedly.
It’s all show to me. We’re already married, none of this really mattered. It was all for the crowd, all for the media. All for Eivor.
Still, my role in all this is not over, and it won’t be for quite some time.
I step closer to Rosalie, grab her by the waist, and lean down to kiss her. She leans up to meet me in the middle, and I kiss her firmly. Her mouth melts against mine, warm and tasting like strawberries.
I feel nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
To the tune of cheering and clapping, Rosalie and I disappear down the aisle and into the hallway of the cathedral.
“You’ll have pictures, then ten minutes to yourselves before you need to leave for the reception,” Soren tells us.
I nod and follow Rosalie outside, where we are photographed in several different poses, along with family. Even my brothers get in on the pictures, despite Tommaso hating his picture being taken.
By the time we’re back inside I feel a chill to my bones despite the whiskey I had before the ceremony. Rosalie’s cheeks are pinker than what the blush intended to be.
“Ten minutes,” Carmine reminds us.
Again, I nod and simply take Rosalie’s cold hand, allowing her to lead me to the room where we can speak and sit in private. For ten whole minutes. Great.
Rosalie steps in first, and I close the door behind me. She doesn’t speak to me, at least not right away.
I sigh and sit down on a loveseat in the corner of the room while she begins to take her veil and several pearl accented pins out of her hair.
“I need your help with my dress,” she admits.
I glance toward the window, it’s covered by curtains, but it still makes me nervous. Anyone could know we’re in here and try that stunt again.
“Damian is outside the door, and there’s four guards watching the perimeter of the cathedral,” Rosalie tells me, as if reading my mind. “So, don’t worry. Besides, I don’t think they’ll try that shit again.”
I can’t help but chuckle at the way she words it.
“Perhaps you’re right,” I agree. I stand up and step over to her.
I help her undo the ribbons at the back of her bodice, before helping her out of her wedding gown. She’s far from naked. She has a knee-length slip on, and undergarments under that. Still, I look away from her as she pulls on a different simpler but still elegant white dress that stops at her knees and has a square scalloped neckline. She keeps her jewelry on, and replaces her white high heels with silver kitten heels.
All for me to stay in the same tux I got married in. It’s odd how that works.
Rosalie even changes her hair. She pulls it halfway down in the back so it’s not all behind her head. I keep mine as it is, not wanting to bother with it. I’m sure it’ll become a bit of a mess as the night goes on.
“You look great,” I tell her with a tight-lipped smile—attempting to be cheerful despite the numbness still surrounding my emotions.
Rosalie looks me up and down and raises a brow, as if to tell me that she is well aware of how good she looks. Then steps closer to me and fixes my bowtie.
“You look good as well,” she compliments me. “Though I wish we could have done a first look.”
