45. Forty-Five #3
I considered my options. Walking alone down the aisle would make a statement, but it would also spark whispers and create a spectacle that would overshadow what this day was truly about.
“Frank,” I said, turning to the man who had protected me faithfully since I was a little girl. “Would you walk me down the aisle?”
Frank’s normally impassive face registered genuine surprise. “Me? Principessa,* I—“
“Please,” I said, reaching for his hand. “Frank, please. All these years, you’ve kept me safe. You’ve been loyal. That’s more than my father ever did. You’ve been more of a father to me than he ever has. Please walk me down the aisle and give me away to Arrow.”
I thought he might refuse. Frank was old-school and prided himself on carrying himself with honor, and I wondered if that honor would override his affection for me. He straightened, his expression softening, and then settled into pride. “It would be my honor.”
Luna squeezed my hand. “I’ll go tell your father.”
“No. I’ll tell him myself.” I straightened my shoulders, gathering my courage. “He deserves to hear it from me.”
Luna hesitated, then nodded. “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”
When she left, I turned to Frank. “Will you send him in?”
Frank disappeared briefly, returning moments later with my father. Giovanni Virelli wore a tailored black tuxedo, his silver hair perfectly styled, his expression carefully neutral. But I could see the tension in his jaw, the calculating look in his eyes as he assessed me.
“You look beautiful,” he said after a moment of silence. “Like your mother on our wedding day.”
The comparison should have warmed me, but out of his mouth it felt like another manipulation—another attempt to use my mother’s memory to control me.
“I’m not walking down the aisle with you,” I said without preamble.
My father’s expression hardened. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. I’m not letting you give me away.” I met his gaze steadily. “I’ve asked Frank to walk me down the aisle.”
His nostrils flared, the only visible sign of his fury. “You would humiliate me like this? In front of everyone?”
“This isn’t about humiliating you,” I replied calmly. “This is about honoring the truth. You didn’t protect me. You didn’t love me. You used me as a pawn in your games. And I’m done.” I shook my head. “No. You don’t get to play the proud father today.”
My father’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “You’re making a mistake, Harlowe.”
“No. For once in my life, I’m making my own choice.” I gestured toward the door. “You’re still welcome to attend the ceremony. But as a guest, not as the father of the bride.”
I thought he might strike me. His hands curled into fists at his sides, his face flushing with anger. But then, with visible effort, he regained his composure.
“You’ve made a grave mistake, figlia.* One that will cost you,” he said softly, his voice dropping to that dangerous register I remembered from childhood. “You think marrying him gives you power, protection. But you’re more naive than I thought if you believe a Romanov will ever truly love you.”
“Maybe not,” I acknowledged. “But as I have told you already, he’s never pretended to be anything other than what he is. That’s more than I can say for you.”
“You think you know what you’re doing,” he said, his voice deceptively soft. “But you’re still that little girl playing with knives too sharp for her hands.”
“No,” I replied, straightening my spine. “I’m not a little girl anymore. And these aren’t your knives.”
He studied me for a long moment, his amber eyes—so like my own—searching my face as if seeing me clearly for the first time. Whatever he found there made his jaw tighten.
“When he breaks you,” my father said finally, “don’t come crawling back to me.”
“I won’t break,” I told him, the certainty in my voice surprising even me. “And if I do, I’ll put myself back together. I’ve had practice.”
The barb hit its mark. A flash of something—not quite regret, Giovanni Virelli wasn’t capable of that emotion anymore—crossed his face before his expression hardened again.
“Goodbye, Father,” I said, the words feeling like a final door closing between us.
He turned without another word and left the room, his footsteps echoing down the hallway like the fading drumbeat of my old life.
Frank moved to stand beside me, his weathered face solemn. “Are you sure about this, Principessa?”*
I nodded, swallowing past the tightness in my throat. “More sure than I’ve been about anything.”
Frank offered me his arm, and I took it, grateful for the steadiness of his presence. Outside the preparation room, Luna waited, her face lighting up when she saw me.
“It’s time,” she said softly, adjusting my veil one last time.
The cathedral doors loomed before us, massive and ornate, like the entrance to another world.
Beyond them, I could hear the murmur of voices, the soft swell of music.
Everyone who was anyone in our world had gathered to witness this union—Virellis and Romanovs, enemies forced into the same sacred space by the promise of an alliance.
Or the spectacle of a bloodbath.
Luna squeezed my hand once more before taking her place in front of the doors to make her way down the aisle.
I drew a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle around me like my veil.
Once she was halfway down the aisle, two little girls—some Romanov cousins children—started skipping down the aisle, sprinkling red rose petals.
“Last chance to run,” Frank murmured, his voice gruff with emotion, and offered me his arm.
I smiled, though he couldn’t see it through the veil, and squeezed his arm. “I’m not running ever again.”
* Princess
* Daughter
* Princess