This isn’t what any woman would dream of. No matter how beautiful the chapel or the dress or even the man himself, the wedding feels cold. “Is that your way of letting me off the hook?”
He shakes his head slowly. “I didn’t dream of this at all, bella. It presumed too much, more than I deserved. But now that I have you, I can’t let you go.”
His words move me more than they should. In the clear light of day, in this dress, with this man in front of me, I want more than anything to forgive and forget. To give us a real marriage, no matter how it started. But I can still see the mottled flesh of that man’s knees, still smell blood in the air. Even if I can somehow forget the kidnapping, I can’t forget death. It hangs over the ceremony like a shroud, the worst possible omen to a lifetime together.
Giovanni reaches into his pocket and pulls something out. “I should have given you this earlier.”
The small antique ring takes my breath away, the diamonds glittering, the setting both stately and demure. It’s exactly the kind of ring I would have dreamed about.
“You picked this out?” I ask, my voice wavery.
“It was my mother’s.” He looks unspeakably earnest and young in that moment. “Something old. For good luck.”
It feels like there’s a massive weight on my chest. I can’t draw in enough air to respond, but I wouldn’t know what to say anyway. I love that he feels there’s hope for us, even while I know there isn’t. I love him, even knowing the monster he’s become.
In the end I don’t have to say anything. He takes my hand and we walk down the aisle together to where the others are waiting. Juliette looks nervous, but she tries to cover it up with a smile. Even Lorenzo seems concerned, looking me over as if checking for injuries.
Only the priest seems oblivious to the tension. With his thick glasses and squinted eyes, I’m not sure how well he can see us.
Giovanni holds my hand while Father Michaels speaks. Maybe he thinks I’ll bolt if he doesn’t hold me. But the way he brushes his thumb across my palm, back and forth, feels more reassuring than confining.
“Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
Giovanni doesn’t hesitate. “I do.”
Father Michaels continues with his speech, about honoring and obeying, loving and cherishing. “Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
And the truth is, I do love Giovanni. I cherish him. That’s not enough to make a marriage, not in this mansion, not in the life. What is honor when we’re violent murderers? What is obedience when we’re ruled by greed?
He squeezes my hand gently, his dark gaze unwavering.
“I do.”
Chapter Nineteen
A sense of numbness buoys me through the ceremony and the small, tense wedding lunch. Giovanni excuses himself to handle some business, and I say my goodbyes to Juliette. That leaves me alone in my bedroom, awaiting my wedding night like some terrified virgin.
“What do you think?” I ask softly. “Should I forget what he did and try to move forward with him?”
Lupo doesn’t move, just looks at me with those dark eyes. He was already sitting on the bed when I came in, having made himself comfortable. His tail is still tucked around his body, not wagging. He doesn’t trust me completely, but sharing this comfortable prison has brought us closer together.
“Still mad at me for trying to leave? I don’t blame you. But I would have come back for you, I swear.”
He rests his head on his paws.
I sigh and turn back to my drawing pad, where I’m shading his fur. There’s a lot of it, which makes it a fun and challenging exercise. Something that should take my mind off tonight but doesn’t.
“I’m giving up on men,” I say, putting down my pencil. “It’s dogs only for me. I’ll put a sculpture of you in the conservatory. What do you think?”
He growls low in his throat.
“Or maybe not.”
Then I realize someone’s coming to the door. Lupo growls and slinks off the bed to hide underneath.
The lock turns, and Maria walks in carrying a large white box with silver wrapping paper hanging off. She looks apologetic as she holds it out. “A wedding present from Juliette. Romero had to open it first.”
To check for weapons. So much for forgetting the past. I’m still living in it.
I take the box and push aside the wrapping paper. Sapphire satin cups nestle against thin tissue paper. Delicate cream lace lines the bottom and the straps. Oh God. She got me lingerie. For my wedding night.
A blush heats my cheeks. Romero and Maria saw this. “So I don’t even get privacy now?”
Humiliation burns, mixed with anger that I’m trapped here, that I gave up my one chance to escape for a man who died anyway. A man who was probably here to hurt me. Everything is twisted and upside down.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs.
“Don’t pretend like you care about any of this. You’re helping him keep me here.”
“He won’t hurt you.”