Of course she is. She just walked into a church expecting one thing and got something else entirely. She's standing in front of a man she's never met, about to bind herself to him for life, and she has no idea what kind of husband I'll be.
Does she think I'll hurt her?
Does she think I'll demand things from her? Use her? Take what I want because she has no power to stop me?
My jaw tightens.
She has no reason to be afraid. Not of that. Not of me.
I'm not going to touch her.
The thought settles in my chest like a stone. Cold. Final.
I made that decision before I ever saw her face. Before I knew she was blonde or beautiful or that her body would make my blood run hot for the first time in two years.
This marriage is a transaction. A test. Pietro's way of proving I can be stable. Responsible. Worthy of the position I was born for.
It's not real.
She's not mine. Not in any way that matters.
I'll protect her. Provide for her. Give her whatever she needs to live comfortably under my roof. But I won't touch her. Won't burden her with a husband who can't stand, can't walk, can't be the man she deserves.
She volunteered for this marriage to protect her family.
Brave.
Stupid.
Both.
The priest continues. More words. More ritual.
I keep my eyes forward. Keep my hands still. Keep my expression carved from the same stone as the church walls.
But I'm aware of her. Every breath she takes. Every small shift of her weight. The faint scent of something floral drifting through the incense-heavy air.
Jasmine.
She smells like jasmine.
My cock twitches again.
Fuck.
This is going to be harder than I thought.
Antonella
"Do you, Antonella Romano, take Bruno Sartori to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
The priest's voice echoes through the church. Latin and English blending together in a ceremony that feels more like a business contract than a wedding.
I look at Bruno through my veil.
He hasn't moved since I reached the altar.
"I do."
