Chapter 3
A month later
The sun blazed above casting a golden hue over the ancient cathedral nestled in the heart of Palermo. My stomach twisted into a tight knot as I stood just outside the grand wooden doors waiting for the ceremony to begin.
My mother's hands fussed over the delicate lace of my veil, her face a mask of forced calm.
"Breathe Alessa" she said softly, smoothing an invisible wrinkle on my wedding dress. "You will be fine."
Fine. That word had become a mantra over the last few weeks. Fine when I was told about the marriage. Fine when the dress fittings began. Fine when I realized I wouldn't even have a proper courtship with the man I was to marry.
Through the heavy doors, the hum of voices grew louder. Snippets of conversation floated in, fragments of laughter and chatter, each word a reminder of what I was about to step into. My stomach churned as I caught the name that had haunted me since the announcement, Luca Moretti.
"Alessa" my father's voice interrupted my spiraling thoughts. He stood a few steps away, his presence a reminder of why I was here. "It's time."
I turned to him and his piercing gaze softened just a fraction. He extended his arm toward me. My mother stepped back, her hands lingering on my shoulders for a brief moment before she nodded in approval.
Swallowing hard, I slipped my hand into the crook of my father's arm. His grip was steady though it did little to ease the panic coursing through me.
The grand doors groaned as they opened, the sound reverberating through the cathedral.
The cathedral's grandeur hit me like a wave, its vastness overwhelming.
Light poured in through the stained-glass windows, casting jewel-toned patterns on the marble floors.
Rows of powerful men and their perfectly polished wives turned in unison, their gazes locking onto me.
Their eyes were cold, calculating, curious which felt like daggers against my skin.
But none of them mattered.
Because at the end of the aisle stood him.
Luca Moretti.
My breath caught in my throat. Even from this distance, his presence was inescapable.
My veil casted a soft haze over my view of him.
He was dressed in a black tuxedo that fit him with effortless perfection, his hands buried casually in his pockets as if the entire spectacle were an inconvenience.
His dark hair was slicked back and his sharp jawline was set in an expression of boredom, his gaze fixed somewhere past me.
He didn't even look at me.
The weight of that realization settled in my chest like a stone.
"Keep your chin up" my father said under his breath, his arm steadying me when I faltered.
I forced my legs to move, each step feeling heavier than the last. The murmurs of the guests faded into a dull hum, my world narrowing to the impossibly long aisle between me and Luca.
When we reached the altar, my father stopped, his hand tightening around mine for a brief moment. And then without hesitation he placed my hand in Luca's.
Luca's touch was firm but it wasn't comforting. His palm was warm but his demeanor was ice. I dared to glance up at him, searching for something.... anything in his expression.
But there was nothing.
The priest began to speak, his steady voice echoing through the cathedral. The words washed over me, their weight sinking into my skin. Unity. Commitment. Eternity.
Luca stood beside me like a statue, his stillness almost unnerving. I wondered what he was thinking, if he was as conflicted as I was or if this truly meant nothing to him.
When it came time for the vows, I felt my pulse quicken.
"I, Alessa Rossi, take you, Luca Moretti....."
My voice trembled but didn't break. I recited the words I had memorized, my hands clutching the bouquet so tightly I thought the stems might snap.
Luca's turn came. His voice was low and smooth, his delivery flawless. If I hadn't known better, I might have believed he meant every word.
The exchange of rings came next. My fingers trembled as I slid it onto Luca's finger. He didn't react, his expression remaining a mask of cool detachment.
When he took my hand to place the ring on my finger, his touch was steady, his movements precise. The cold metal slid over my knuckle, a binding weight that felt heavier than it should have.
"You may kiss the bride" the priest declared, his tone heavy with finality.
My breath hitched. The air seemed to thicken as Luca finally turned to me. His dark eyes met mine for the first time and the impact of his gaze was both electric and unsettling.
With deliberate movements, he reached for my veil. There was nothing gentle about the way he lifted it. It was an act of duty, not care.
His gaze flicked over my face, his expression devoid of emotion. If he had any thoughts about what he saw, he didn't let them show.
And then he leaned in.
The kiss was unfeeling, a public display of compliance rather than an intimate connection. His lips pressed against mine with the weight of obligation, not affection. It wasn't cruel but it wasn't even kind. It was empty, just like the promises we had exchanged moments before.
The applause erupted, a hollow sound that only served to deepen the ache in my chest.
He stood straight turning to face the crowd with a calculated smirk, a mask of charm that I knew wasn't for me. It was for them, for the people watching, for the alliance we had been forced into.
I stood frozen, my lips still tingling, not from desire but from the bitter taste of reality. Whatever childish fantasies I might have harbored about this moment were now irreparably shattered. This wasn't a kiss of beginnings or promises, it was a reminder of where I stood in his life.
As the priest declared the ceremony over, Luca offered his arm to me with the same detached air barely glancing in my direction.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I slid my hand into the crook of his elbow, the gesture devoid of any warmth.
The guests' cheers echoed around us as we walked down the steps but to me it felt like I was stepping into a cage that was grand and filled with power yet empty where it mattered.