Chapter 10
Chapter ten
Ginni
Iwoke up today feeling like I was floating on pure joy. And that feeling hasn’t left. Why would it? It is my wedding day.
Everything is perfect. The flowers arrived exactly on time, each white rose and sprig of baby’s breath exactly as I specified. The cake is a work of art, two perfect tiers of vanilla sponge with buttercream roses that look almost too beautiful to eat.
Even the morning sunlight filtering through the upstairs windows as I collected my deliveries felt like a blessing from the universe itself.
And my dress... oh, my dress is absolutely divine.
Standing in front of the full-length mirror, I can barely contain my excitement.
The beaded gown was definitely the right choice.
Carlo has such good taste. The way the light catches on every bead makes me feel like I’m wearing captured starlight.
My hair falls in perfect waves around my jawline, each strand positioned exactly where it should be, and the delicate tiara catches the artificial light like a crown of diamonds.
I look exactly like the bride I’ve always dreamed of being.
Today is the day. Today, Carlo becomes mine forever. Legally, officially, eternally.
I take one last look at myself in the mirror, adjusting a tiny wrinkle in the silk and making sure the tiara sits at the perfect angle. This moment has been five years in the making. I’ve imagined this day thousands of times, but reality is even more beautiful than my fantasies.
I gather my bouquet carefully, inhaling the sweet scent of the white roses and baby’s breath.
Classic and romantic, timeless and elegant.
The florist followed my specifications perfectly, down to the exact shade of ribbon wrapped around the stems. Every element of today has to be perfect because this is the most important day of our lives.
I practically dance down the hallway to the bedroom, my heart beating so fast I feel dizzy with happiness. My silk slippers make no sound on the hard floor, and I pause in the doorway for just a moment to compose myself. This is it. This is really happening.
Carlo is sitting up against the pillows with the gray sheet draped modestly across his lap.
He looks incredible, all tousled dark hair and olive skin against the white bedding, like something from a classical painting depicting ancient Roman gods.
My husband-to-be. The man who’s about to promise himself to me forever.
“Good morning, my love,” I say breathlessly, unable to keep the joy from spilling over in my voice. “Are you ready for the most important day of our lives?”
His eyes widen as he takes in my appearance, traveling from the tiara down to the flowing skirt of my gown and back up to my face. I see his throat work as he swallows hard, and there’s something in his expression that might be awe. “Ginni, please. You don’t have to do this.”
“Of course I do,” I laugh, setting the bouquet carefully on the nightstand where it will be visible in the camera frame for our ceremony. “It’s our wedding day! The day we’ve both been waiting for, even if you didn’t realize it yet.”
I reach into the drawer and pull out the ball gag I ordered specifically for this occasion. It’s beautiful in its own way, black leather with silver buckles that catch the light. Carlo’s face immediately drains of color, all that lovely olive tone fading to something pale and stricken.
“What the fuck is that?”
“Language,” I chide gently. “Think of it like blinkers for a horse. It’s a way to soothe your nerves. I understand that things have been moving rather fast, and you’re probably feeling overwhelmed by all these new emotions. This will help you relax and just let things happen naturally.”
I’ve researched this extensively, actually. The psychology of choice paralysis, the way too many options can create anxiety and prevent people from embracing what they truly want. Sometimes removing the burden of decision-making is the kindest thing you can do for someone you love.
“Ginni, no. Don’t you dare...”
But I’m already moving, and Carlo is still chained to the bed with nowhere to go.
He struggles, jerking his head from side to side, but there’s not much he can do to stop me.
I work the ball between his lips with gentle but firm pressure, the way the instructional videos showed me, then secure the straps behind his head with practiced efficiency.
My heart flutters as I step back to admire my work.
There’s something so beautiful about relieving Carlo of the burden of free will and autonomy.
He deserves to be carefree, to not have to worry about making decisions or saying the wrong thing or overthinking every moment.
I’m taking care of everything for him, the way a good spouse should.
“There,” I say softly, reaching out to smooth his hair back from his forehead. “Doesn’t that feel better? No pressure to find the right words or worry about what people might think. Just you and me and this perfect moment.”
Carlo makes a muffled sound of protest behind the gag, but I choose to interpret it as gratitude. His eyes are so expressive, telling me everything I need to know about how moved he is by this gesture.
This is our version of wedding rings. Modern, discreet once I take the ball gag off. Perfect for everything we are to each other.
And best of all, it means one day, when Carlo is truly ready, we can exchange traditional rings. We are saving some joy for the future, and the beauty of that is bringing tears to my eyes.
I settle beside him on the bed, careful not to wrinkle my dress, and place my laptop across both our knees.
The weight of it is reassuring, solid and real.
My hands are trembling slightly with excitement as I open the video call application, the same nervous energy brides have felt throughout history.
“Here we go,” I whisper, my voice barely audible as I click the link the celebrant sent me yesterday evening. “Our new life is about to begin.”
The screen connects after a moment of loading, and I’m looking at a middle-aged woman with vibrant purple hair and a nose ring.
She’s sitting in what appears to be a home office, with crystals on the shelves and certificates visible on the wall behind her.
Wind chimes hang in the corner, and there are plants everywhere, giving the space a very earthy, spiritual feeling.
Exactly the kind of person who would understand unconventional love.
“Giovanni and Carlo?” she asks brightly, consulting notes on her desk. Then her eyes fall on Carlo, and they widen considerably as she takes in the ball gag.
“Yes, that’s us!” I beam, my smile so wide it almost hurts. “Thank you so much for doing this on such short notice. We’re both so excited we could barely sleep last night.”
The celebrant’s gaze keeps drifting to Carlo, who’s making soft sounds behind the gag. Her expression is uncertain, professional concern warring with obvious curiosity. “Is... is he okay? That’s quite an unusual accessory for a wedding ceremony.”
“Oh, that,” I wave a hand dismissively, as if this is the most normal thing in the world. “It’s his kink. And he’s very shy about public speaking, performance anxiety, you know how it is. This helps him feel more comfortable and present in the moment. Doesn’t it, darling?”
I slide my hand behind Carlo’s head and give his hair a gentle but firm tug, making him nod. The movement is perfectly natural looking, exactly as I intended. “See? He loves it. It’s actually quite romantic when you think about it.”
The celebrant looks uncertain for a moment, glancing between us with the expression of someone trying to decide whether this falls within the bounds of normal human behavior. Then she shrugs, clearly deciding that she’s seen stranger things in her line of work.
“Well, I’ve certainly performed ceremonies for couples with... unique preferences. Each relationship has its own dynamic. I’ve received both your birth certificates, and I’ll mail the marriage certificate to the address you provided within three business days.”
Carlo makes a strangled noise behind the gag, and I feel a surge of pride at my own efficiency.
Actually, it was surprisingly easy once I knew how.
I’ve always known Carlo’s full name, and I figured out his date of birth because I know how old he is and that his birthday is May 5th.
I also know he was born here in London. I even know which hospital because one time, at a dinner party, he mentioned that he was giving a donation.
That information, together with fifteen pounds, is enough to order a birth certificate from the General Register Office in England.
“Shall we begin?” the celebrant asks, consulting her notes again and adjusting something on her computer screen.
“Please,” I say, my voice breathy with excitement and barely contained emotion. “We’ve been waiting for this moment for so long.”
She starts with the standard opening, her voice taking on the formal cadence of someone who’s performed this ritual hundreds of times.
She talks about love and commitment and the sacred bond of marriage, about two souls choosing to walk through life together.
I hang on every word, my heart swelling with each phrase.
This is really happening. Carlo and I are really getting married.
The words wash over me like music, like poetry, like everything beautiful I’ve ever read about love and devotion. This is what I’ve been dreaming of since I was sixteen years old, sitting in family dinners and watching Carlo across the table, imagining a day when he would be mine forever.
“Marriage is not just a legal contract,” the celebrant continues, “but a spiritual and emotional bond between two people who choose to share their lives, their dreams, their futures. It’s about trust, respect, communication, and above all, love that transcends all obstacles.”