6. Dominico
6
DOMINICO
W eddings are supposed to be sacred unions, a celebration of love and commitment before God and man. But my own wedding to Sofia Marino? It’s nothing more than a farce, a mockery of everything I once believed in.
As I stand at the altar, waiting for my bride to make her entrance, I feel a sense of unease churning in my gut. This isn’t how I pictured my wedding day. This isn’t the future I envisioned for myself.
I was supposed to travel. See the world. Experience life .
But then the music swells, and the doors at the back of the church swing open. And there she is.
Sofia.
For a moment, I forget how to breathe. She looks like an angel, resplendent in a white gown that clings to her curves like a second skin. Her dark hair is swept up in an elegant twist, exposing the graceful curve of her neck. She’s breathtaking, a vision of beauty and grace, her hand placed on her father’s arm. Don Marino gazes at the congregation with joy and pride in his blue eyes.
But then I meet her eyes, and the illusion shatters.
Hatred. That’s all I see in those icy blue depths. Pure, unadulterated loathing. It’s a look I’ve grown accustomed to over the years from other people, but seeing it on her face, on our wedding day… it’s like a knife to the heart.
I force myself to look away, to focus on the priest’s words as he begins the ceremony. But I can feel Sofia’s gaze on me and can sense the tension radiating off her in waves.
This isn’t a union of love. It’s a business arrangement, a strategic alliance forged in the name of power and control. We are all puppets in the hands of fate and seldom see the strings.
Except in this situation. The strings are clearly held by our fathers as they manipulate each and every one of our movements.
And yet, as I slide the ring onto Sofia’s finger, as I promise to love and cherish her until death do us part… a part of me wishes it were real. A part of me yearns for the love and companionship we once shared.
But that’s a foolish dream. Sofia will never forgive me for what I did, for the way I broke her heart and left her.
As the priest pronounces us husband and wife, I lean in to kiss my bride, but she turns her head at the last moment, offering me her cheek instead of her lips.
It’s a small gesture, but it speaks volumes. I can hear the murmurs of the guests as they witness this defiance. She can barely stand to have me touch her, let alone kiss her.
The reception is a blur of forced smiles and polite conversation. I move through the motions, shaking hands and accepting congratulations from well-wishers.
But all I can think about is the woman by my side, the woman who is now my wife in name only.
I can barely remember the speeches, the food tasting like ash in my mouth as I choke down mouthful after mouthful, my father watching me carefully from his table, my mother beaming beside him.
And then, the moment I’ve been dreading arrives. The band strikes up a slow, romantic melody, and the guests begin to clear the dance floor.
It’s time for our first dance as husband and wife.
I can see the distaste written across Sofia’s face, the way her body tenses as I offer her my hand. But she takes it, allowing me to lead her onto the dance floor.
As we begin to move, I’m struck by how perfectly we fit together. Our bodies move in sync, gliding across the floor with a grace and elegance that belies the turmoil beneath the surface.
I can hear the murmurs of appreciation from the crowd, the oohs and aahs as they watch us dance. We’re the picture of poise and sophistication, the epitome of a perfect match.
But it’s all a lie, a carefully crafted facade.
Because beneath the surface, there’s nothing but pain and resentment, bitterness and betrayal.
I hold Sofia close, inhaling the scent of her perfume, feeling the warmth of her body against mine. And for a moment, I allow myself to pretend.
To pretend that this is real, that the woman in my arms loves me. That this is a wedding of our choosing, a marriage that we want.
To pretend that we have a future together, a lifetime of happiness and joy stretching out before us.
But it’s just a fantasy, a fleeting dream that dissolves like mist in the harsh light of reality.
Because Sofia will never be mine. Not in the way that matters.
She may wear my ring, may bear my name… but her heart will never belong to me.
As we glide across the dance floor, I lean in close to Sofia, my lips brushing against her ear. “You look beautiful tonight,” I murmur, trying to break the icy tension between us. “That dress is stunning on you.”
Sofia stiffens in my arms, her blue eyes flashing with anger. “I’m sure you can find plenty of other girls who would be more than happy to put it on for you,” she hisses, her voice dripping with venom. “But don’t get too attached. I intend to burn it as soon as I get the chance, now that I know you like it.”
I feel a surge of irritation at her words, at the way she twists my compliment into an accusation. “What, are you giving me permission to sleep around now?” I ask sarcastically, my grip on her waist tightening. “How generous of you.”
Sofia lets out a bitter laugh, the sound grating against my nerves. “Oh, please. As if you ever needed my permission before. Why start asking for it now?”
Her words cut deep, hitting me like a punch to the gut. I know she’s referring to the past, to the lie I told her all those years ago to make sure our breakup was permanent.
But hearing her throw it in my face, on our wedding day, of all days… it’s too much.
“You know, for someone who claims to hate me so much, you sure seem obsessed with my sex life,” I snap, my temper flaring. “What’s the matter, Sofia? Jealous that you’re not the only one who’s had a taste of the Sicura charm?”
Sofia’s eyes narrow to slits, her fingers digging into my shoulder. “You arrogant bastard,” she spits, her voice trembling with rage. “You think I give a damn about your whores? I wouldn’t touch you again if you were the last man on earth.”
I feel a flicker of pain at her words, at the disgust and contempt in her voice. But I push it down, masking it with a sneer. “Well, that’s too bad, sweetheart, because like it or not, you’re stuck with me now. Till death do us part, remember?”
Sofia’s lips curl into a mocking smile, her eyes glittering with malice. “Oh, I remember. But maybe I’ll get lucky and your death will be a lot sooner than expected. But let me make one thing clear, Dominico. This marriage may be a legal requirement, but that’s all it is. I will never make the mistake of loving you again. As far as I’m concerned, you’re nothing more than a means to an end, a tool to be used and discarded when I’m done with you.”
I feel a rush of anger at her words, at the way she reduces our relationship to a cold, clinical transaction. “Is that so?” I growl, my voice low and dangerous. “Well, let me remind you of something, Sofia. I’m not just some pawn in your little game. I’m your husband now, whether you like it or not. And I won’t be cast aside like yesterday’s trash.”
Sofia opens her mouth to retort, but just then, the music swells to a crescendo and the dance comes to an end. We pull apart, both of us breathing hard, our eyes locked in a silent battle of wills.
Around us, the guests erupt into applause, oblivious to the tension crackling between us. We paste on fake smiles, bowing and curtseying to the crowd.
I release Sofia’s hand like it’s a hot coal. I can’t stand the feeling of her skin against mine, the way her touch sends sparks of electricity racing through my veins.
It’s a cruel irony, really. The woman I once loved more than life itself, the woman I would have moved heaven and earth to be with… is now the last person I want to be around.
But it’s not just because of the hatred and resentment that hang between us like a poisonous cloud. No, it’s something worse, something that twists my gut and makes my heart ache with a bittersweet longing.
I’m still attracted to her. Even after all these years, even after everything that's happened between us… I can’t deny the pull I feel toward her, the way my body responds to her presence like a moth drawn to a flame.
It’s a sick, twisted thing, this desire that wars with my anger and my pain. I know Sofia wants nothing to do with me, that she would rather walk barefoot over hot coals than let me touch her again.
And yet, I can’t help the way my eyes linger on the curve of her neck, the swell of her breasts, the sway of her hips as she moves. I can’t help the memories that flood my mind, the ghost of her lips on mine, her body moving beneath me as I speared into her.
It’s a special kind of hell, being so close to the woman I once worshipped, the woman I still crave with every fiber of my being… and knowing that she despises me, that she would recoil from my touch like it was poison.
And now, we’re expected to live together. To share a home, a bed, a life. As man and wife.
The thought makes my stomach churn with a mix of dread and anticipation, fear and longing. How am I supposed to survive this? How am I supposed to keep my distance, to respect the boundaries Sofia has so clearly drawn… when every cell in my body is screaming at me to take her in my arms, to claim her as mine once and for all?
I have no idea, but one thing is for fucking sure.
I need to get away from her. I need to put some distance between us before I do something I’ll regret.
So I flee the dance floor like a coward. I weave through the crowd of well-wishers and congratulators, my heart pounding in my chest, my skin prickling with the memory of Sofia’s touch.
I need a drink. I need a dozen drinks. I need something, anything, to numb the pain and the confusion, the desire and the despair that war within me.
But even as I make my way to the bar, even as I down shot after shot of burning amber liquid… I know it’s futile.
Because no matter how much I drink, no matter how much I try to forget… Sofia will always be there.
She’s a part of me, whether I like it or not.
And now, she’s my wife.