Chapter 2
two
. . .
Sharon
I'm just here to pin boutonnières and arrange altar flowers.
That's it. A favor for Jen, who couldn't make it herself.
Then suddenly I'm being dragged forward by a frantic wedding planner, and I'm staring up at a dark giant in a tailored suit—scarred eyebrow, carved jawline, eyes burning with something that makes my knees go liquid.
My heart slams so hard I feel it in my teeth. What the hell is happening?
"Wait," I whisper, trying to pull back. "There's been a mistake—"
His hand takes mine, engulfing it completely. Warm. Dry. Strong enough to crush my bones, but somehow gentle. The contrast makes me shiver.
I've never seen a man like him before. Never been close enough to one to feel the heat coming off his body.
Never felt the air get thick and heavy just from someone looking at me.
He's tall—so tall I have to tilt my head back—with shoulders that block out the chapel behind him.
His face is all hard angles, like it was carved from stone, but his eyes…
God, his eyes are alive with something that makes my stomach flip over.
"Don't be afraid," he murmurs, and his voice slides over me like warm honey, deep and rich and meant for my ears alone.
I should scream. Should run. Should do anything but stand here while a stranger holds my hand like he owns it, like he owns me. But my body's stopped taking orders from my brain.
The officiant starts talking, words flowing past me in a blur. I catch fragments—"gathered here today," "holy matrimony"—and finally understand what's happening. They think I'm the bride. They think I'm here to marry this stranger.
"Stop," I try to say, but it comes out as a breath, barely audible.
The man—my God, I don't even know his name—doesn't take his eyes off me. Not for a second. Like I'm the only thing in his world worth looking at. No one's ever looked at me like that before. Like I'm precious. Like I'm necessary.
"Do you, Fabio DeLuca, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
Fabio. His name is Fabio.
"I do." No hesitation. Just certainty, like he's signing a check he knows won't bounce.
Panic flutters in my chest. This is insane. I open my mouth to object, but then he leans closer, just slightly, and I catch his scent—expensive cologne with something darker underneath, something male and primal that hits me low in my belly.
He asks me my name and I answer it like a question. Like I don’t know my own damn name. What the hell is happening to me?
"And do you, Sharon Silverman, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
How do they know my name? Did I give it to someone earlier? I can't remember. Oh yeah, that’s right. I just did. I think. Hell, I dan't think straight with him looking at me like that, his thumb tracing small circles on my hand.
He squeezes gently—not a threat, a promise. Of what, I don't know.
"Just say yes, angel," he whispers, his breath warm against my ear. "I promise you won't regret it."
The words bypass my brain entirely, landing hot and heavy in my core. My mouth forms words before my mind can catch up—body already choosing him while logic scrambles to find solid ground.
"I..." My voice sounds far away. I swallow hard. "I do?"
It comes out like a question, but the officiant nods, satisfied.
"By the power vested in me by the state of Nevada, I now pronounce you husband and wife."
There's commotion behind me—someone shouting.
I try to turn, but then Fabio—my husband, oh my God—pulls me against his chest. His mouth covers mine, firm and possessive, and my body ignites.
My lips part on a gasp and he deepens the kiss, one large hand cradling the back of my head like I'm something breakable.
I've been kissed before. Nothing like this. Nothing that made my toes curl inside my sandals or my skin feel too tight for my body.
When he breaks away, I'm dizzy. Breathless.
"What's happening?" I manage to whisper.
"You're mine now," he says simply. "That's what's happening."
The chapel doors slam open behind me. I turn to see a woman in an elaborate wedding gown, her face twisted in fury, a man in a suit beside her looking like his head might explode.
"What the FUCK is this, DeLuca?" the man roars, striding down the aisle.
My heart rate triples. I'm frozen in place as chaos erupts—men in dark suits moving to block the angry man's path, voices rising, the bride screaming something about ruining her day.
Then Fabio steps in front of me, shielding me with his body. His back is a wall of muscle, solid and impenetrable. He doesn't raise his voice, but somehow it carries over the mayhem.
"The ceremony's complete. Legal and binding. Take it up with your lawyer, Marchetti."
The furious man—Marchetti—points a finger. "You think this is over? You think you can humiliate my daughter and walk away? This means war!"
Fabio's shoulders lift in a careless shrug. "So be it."
He turns back to me, and his face transforms. The hardness melts away, replaced by something almost tender. He cups my cheek with one large hand, turning me away from the chaos like it doesn't even exist.
"Let's go, angel," he murmurs, and before I can respond, he bends and sweeps me into his arms.
I squeak in surprise, my hands flying to his shoulders for balance. "I can walk—"
"I know." That's all he says. He carries me down the aisle like I weigh nothing, like men carry women in movies, while the screaming and threats continue behind us.
Outside, a sleek black limousine waits. A driver jumps to open the door, and Fabio slides inside with me still in his arms, settling me on his lap. The door closes, sealing us in quiet luxury.
"Wait," I finally manage, my brain starting to catch up. "This is crazy. We can't—I don't even know you! There's been a mistake!"
"No mistake." His voice is low, soothing. His arms around me don't tighten, don't threaten. But they don't let go either. "The wedding planner got it wrong, yes. But sometimes wrong turns lead to right places."
I stare at him, incredulous. "Are you serious right now? We just got married by accident!"
"Nothing in my life happens by accident." His eyes—dark brown, almost black—search my face. One hand lifts to brush hair from my forehead, the touch so gentle it makes my breath catch. "Tell me you didn't feel it too."
"Feel what?"
"When our eyes met." His thumb traces my lower lip. "When everything else disappeared."
God help me, I did feel it. Whatever electric current jumped between us when he looked at me. But that's insane. That's fairy tale bullshit. That's not real life.
"This isn't legal," I say desperately. "We can get it annulled. No harm done."
"Is that what you want?" he asks quietly.
The limo pulls away from the curb, city lights beginning to streak past the tinted windows.
I should be panicking more than I am. Should be demanding he take me back, let me go.
But being cradled against his chest feels like stepping into the eye of a hurricane—chaos all around, but here, with him, there's an impossible calm.
His heartbeat is steady under my palm. His arms around me feel like they could keep out the world.
I can’t form the words. All I can do is nuzzle closer to him.
He smiles then, a slow, satisfied curve of his lips that makes him devastatingly handsome, and I realize I've just stepped off a cliff with a complete stranger.
God help me, I can't bring myself to care.