13. Aurora
13
Aurora
I’m nervous, but not for the reasons most people would expect.
Sure, I’ve already had a bunch of glances thrown my way, but I think for the most part, they’re looking at Ren.
We’re two people who weren’t invited, and by the bounce of my brother’s knee, I can’t help but wonder if some of these people aren’t very fond of him.
Truthfully, I’m not worried about them.
I’m worried about Rocco.
I wish I could have joined him and helped him get through this challenging moment.
Instead, I got stuck with Ren—another nervous wreck.
“I told him it was a bad idea to bring you,” he mutters, reading my thoughts with ease.
“Even when I want to kill Rocco, I don’t have the strength to let him go somewhere that might lead to his death.”
Turning my attention toward the altar created with an arch made up of pretty flowers, I see the groom chatting up the officiant.
He’s been plucking at his wrist cuffs for a while now.
He seems nervous despite the smirk on his face.
Would Rocco be the same if he were the one waiting for me?
I try to imagine it, a big wedding and all.
I don’t think we’d have this many people here to celebrate, but that’s okay.
I think I’d want something smaller, quieter.
There are only so many people I’d want to see me in a wedding dress.
I feel like a freaking kid, dreaming about the future while getting all worked up.
It makes my cheeks warm and my heart flutter in my chest.
“ About time ,” Ren grumbles under his breath.
Rocco returns with Eliza.
While she goes to steal her husband away, he slides in next to me.
Without much thought, his palm finds my thigh.
One squeeze is all it takes for him to show that he’s alright.
My fingers drift across his knuckles, lingering over the scars and calluses before giving an answering press.
“How did it go?”
“They’re good.” His voice is rougher than usual, throat working around the words.
“Both of them. I think… they’re in good hands.” His brows knit together, that quiet protectiveness surfacing.
“Camellia looked strong. She’ll be out soon—wants to meet you.”
“She’s not as terrifying as Eliza, I hope?” I tease, nudging his shoulder.
The chuckle that rumbles through him is warm as whiskey.
“Opposite. You’ll adore her.”
Then his hand shifts, fingers threading through mine with a certainty that steals my breath.
His thumb sweeps across my pulse point once—a promise, an anchor—and just like that, the waiting doesn’t feel so endless.
It’s hardly another ten minutes before the groom is straightening himself up and the flow of piano music swarms us.
Rocco’s grip tightens around mine as the bride appears—his sister—and for the first time since I’ve known him, the mafia don’s armor cracks.
A thousand emotions flood his eyes—pride, grief, wonder, all swirling together as she steps into view.
She’s breathtaking.
Sunlight glows in the chestnut ropes of her braided hair.
The white silk runner parts beneath her feet like clouds before an angel, but her gaze never wavers, locked onto her groom with a devotion so fierce, it steals the air from my lungs.
“Look at her…” Rocco murmurs, voice thick.
From here, it’s like he’s watching her get sent off.
I don’t tell him she’s beautiful.
He already knows.
Having only ever seen this kind of scene in romantic movies, I’ve never felt such sweltering emotions fill my stomach at seeing another person experience such happiness.
Knowing that Rocco will be able to move past what is haunting him, more happiness floods through me.
The vows wash over me like distant music.
I should be watching the bride—should be memorizing the way her hands tremble as she slides the ring onto her groom’s finger—but my gaze keeps snagging on Rocco.
I’m staring at the way his throat moves when she laughs.
At the quiet, devastating pride in his eyes as she promises forever to a man he knows will take good care of her.
My stomach swoops, butterflies taking frantic flight.
I don’t know the full weight of their history—don’t understand the fractures behind his muttered “complicated”—but this?
This is unmistakable:
The way his jaw softens when his sister hiccups through her vows.
The way his thumb absently strokes my wrist, as if my skin is the only thing tethering him here.
He loves his family.
By the time the reception rolls around, I’m ready to replace these butterflies with a full hearty meal.
“When Santino plans a wedding, he makes sure to do it right,” Ren mutters as he watches hired help prepare the grand entrance of the home into an eating space.
“I’ve attended a few of his parties in the past, so I’m not too surprised.”
“What kind of parties?” I ask as a man with a tray of glass flutes drifts past us.
Rocco frowns at Ren as he clears his throat.
“Business-related parties.”
“I hope he doesn’t allow Camellia to get too involved in those.” Rocco sighs as he rubs the back of his neck.
“I suppose we should find somewhere to sit.”
There’s a table dedicated to the groom and bride’s family, and I watch him glance toward it.
He doesn’t consider moving in that direction.
Reaching out to grab his hand, I give his fingers a squeeze.
“We can always ask. I feel like your sister would have asked for an extra chair for you.”
He squints at the table and shrugs a shoulder.
“They didn’t know I’d be coming here with company. It’s fine. We’ll have plenty of time to catch up.”
Sounding more confident, he leads me over to a table, and we relax for all but a few minutes before men slide up next to Ren to chat in his ear about work.
It’s easy to drown them out.
With Rocco’s attention still on that table, we take in Camellia and Santino as they smile at each other.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask him softly, struggling to read his face.
“Honestly? I’m thinking I need to stop being a pain in the ass to that guy, or Eliza won’t be the only one to hate me. Camellia loves him enough to make her feelings shift. She’s a Bertelli now, both of them are, and I can’t make enemies with my siblings. It’s already been that way for far too long,” he explains, sighing as he shoves his fingers through his hair.
“Now I just have to figure out what I’m going to do with the Parada line.”
I squirm in my seat at the uncertainty in his voice.
“Well, once we marry, I’ll be a Parada, won’t I?”
His eyes flick toward me, his mouth curving.
“Yes, you will. Means I can’t let it die out, not just yet. Giving up on taking the Bertelli territory means I’ll have to make new enemies.”
Ren sputters on his flute, half-listening to our conversation.
He flicks his hand at the men trying to keep his attention.
“No more picking fights,” he interrupts with narrowed eyes.
“You’re moving to the city. Bring your men, too. If you’re not making friends with these guys, you’re going to help me expand.”
I watch them go back and forth, not fully understanding the lingo they’re talking about.
All I know is that by the end of it, both men are grinning.
“The city…” I murmur, thinking about it.
Ren’s talking about buying out a whole building with a penthouse.
I hope he doesn’t think all three of us will live up there, though.
I’ll need my space with Rocco so we can have our own little fun without worrying about having an audience.
No more surrounded by nothing but trees.
I’ll be able to see people again like this, surrounded by the excitement of life.
Beneath the table, I feel a warm palm against my knee.
Rocco’s smile has grown softer, like he can see the thoughts spinning around my head.
Or, maybe he’s painting a similar future in his head, too.
No more suffering, no more feeling miserable.
Having seen Rocco at his worst, I’m setting a personal goal to see him at his best.
Tucked at his side, I’ll have the best seat in the house.