Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Alessia
“Will you marry me?”
Stunned, I frown. I’m not really sure I was ever given a say in it.
I arrived at the hospital a few minutes ago and was escorted to the family’s waiting room.
The moment Matteo saw me, his eyes brightened, making my heart skip. Then his expression changed, becoming somber. He strode over to me then drew me into a private corner.
The morning sun slants through the windows, highlighting streaks of raven in his dark hair.
“Alessia.”
Confused, I shake my head. “I don’t understand.”
“Today. Now,” he clarifies.
“Today?” I’m struggling to process his words. “Matteo.” I search his features. “Are you serious?”
“My father…” His voice trails off, and for the first time since I’ve known him, I see real vulnerability in his expression. The mighty Matteo Moretti, heir to an empire, looking at me with something that might be hope, might be need, might be something else entirely.
“Is he…?” I’m trying to understand what’s happening.
“He’s alive.”
I exhale my relief.
“He’s requested we marry now.” He pauses, his eyes meeting mine. “In case.”
A million emotions roll through me. I hadn’t planned on marriage, and especially not to Matteo. Ever since I met him, I’ve been plotting my escape.
“I wouldn’t rush you if it wasn’t important.”
I think of the Don in the ICU, fighting for his life. I think of Gina’s quiet strength and how she’s shown me nothing but kindness. I remember the chocolate cake she made just for me, the way she included me in family discussions as if I already belonged. I think of my art studio, the perfect sanctuary Matteo created, proof that he sees me—really sees me—even when I’ve tried so hard to keep myself hidden.
“Please say yes, Alessia. This matters to the Don.”
This is my perfect opportunity to refuse.
And yet…
I remember last night, after we arrived home…the stark, haunted look in his eyes, the way his shoulders were slightly rolled forward when he didn’t know I was watching.
When he joined me in bed, he didn’t make love to me. Instead he wrapped his arms around me tight, as if he was afraid I’d vanish.
At some point, without me realizing it, I stopped planning my escape from him.
As much as I should refuse, I can’t.
“How would that even be possible?” I ask.
“There are ways.”
But there are laws, a license, a ceremony.
He captures my shoulders and digs in his fingers. But then, he shakes his head and lets me go again. “There’s a lot at stake.”
I’ve been my father’s daughter long enough to know what he means. If this was an attempted assassination, a war is brewing.
And If the unspeakable happens, there may be a power play in the family. Though Matteo is his father’s designated successor, challenges can still arise. Maybe from one of his brothers or potentially a capo or an outsider.
The more solid he seems, the more likely he is to win the vote.
“I will never forget if you do this for me.”
Duty.
And though I swore I wanted nothing to do with the Mafia life, I can’t refuse. I hate that he stole my previous life from me. But because of who he is, I can’t hate him. “I… Yes,” I whisper.
Once I’ve responded, I’m surprised by how right the answer feels.
“Yes. If you can make the arrangements, I’ll marry you today.”
He exhales in a rush. Relief flashes across his face, transforming his features before his usual mask of control slides back into place.
“Thank you.” He cups my face in his hands and kisses me softly, reverently.
“I take it we’re having a wedding today?” Nico asks from nearby.
Matteo nods.
We’re joined by Bella and Gina.
Gina’s face is haunted, and it’s clear she hasn’t slept.
Still, she gives me a hug, and so does Bella.
“There’s a lot to do,” Bella says.
I’m swept up in the Moretti family machine.
In under ten minutes, Bella and I are in an SUV, and we’re driving through the quiet streets of River Oaks as her driver navigates through the heavy morning mist.
She’s been on the phone since we left the hospital, arranging for flowers and a photographer. She’s even arranged for a small chapel at the Morettis’ church to be made available to us, and she swears the Morettis will handle all the legalities.
My head is spinning, and I sit back in the leather seat, pressing my fingertips to my temple.
“Are you okay?”
“Are any of us?” I ask her in return. This whole experience is surreal, and I sort of feel as if it’s happening to someone else.
“We’re doing the best we can.” She pauses. “Given the circumstances.”
Agreeing with her, I nod. We’re all operating on little sleep, tension, concern for the Don, our men, Gina, the family business. And the uncertainty. “It’s a lot.”
“Not something any of us can really prepare for.”
We turn onto a familiar street. “Rêve de Mode?” I guess.
“Amelia’s opening early for us,” she tells me, finally dropping her phone into her bag. “I’m sure we’ll find something perfect.”
We’re greeted warmly and with strong lattes that have just been delivered. Amelia’s a godsend.
“Thank you for opening.” I lift my cup. “And especially for this.”
“I’m glad to help,” Amelia says. “Besides I couldn’t be here at this time of day without some kind of crutch.”
Then she gently asks Bella and Alessia how Raffaele is doing.
Bella looks at me, and I nod, telling her to answer. “Holding his own for now. Thank you.”
“It can’t be easy.” Her wishes take in both of us. “I’ll keep your family in my thoughts.”
No wonder the two are such good friends. Amelia is as wonderful as Bella is.
After picking up her coffee, Amelia studies me. “I see why the emerald gown worked so well for you. Tall with the right curves. You’re a designer’s dream.”
“I’m not sure about that.” To cover my embarrassment, I smile, then pretend to be really interested in my latte.
“Do you have anything in mind?”
I shake my head. “Until half an hour ago, I had no idea I was getting married today. And with the venue… I’m not sure what’s appropriate.”
“We’re going to need pictures,” Bella says, taking over. And I’m grateful to have her here. “But given the circumstances…” She seems to swallow a knot in her throat. “Not a long gown or anything flashy.”
“I’ve got some ideas,” Amelia says.
Leaving her cup behind, she wheels a rack to the middle of the room. Then she moves through the store, selecting different choices.
They’re all so different, and I like them all.
One is pale pink, three are shades of cream and ivory.
“Would you like to try them on?”
I’m anxious to get back to Matteo, and I know Bella wants to be at the hospital every bit as much as I do.
“Or would you like my recommendation?”
“Please.”
“This one.” Amelia holds up a soft, off-white sheath.
I’m no expert when it comes to clothing, but the material could be a chiffon. As Amelia moves it around, it seems to flow.
“Let’s try this. If it’s not right, we’ll move to something else.”
While Bella drops into a chair and pulls out her chiming phone, Amelia leads me to the dressing room.
Within a minute, she’s fastening the tiny row of pearl buttons at the back. The dress falls just above my knees. And I trace the wide neckline that shows off my collarbones and shoulders without being too revealing. “What is this called?”
“A bateau,” she tells me. “Or in simpler terms, a boat neck.”
There’s a slight downturn near the shoulders. The dress also has cap sleeves. A narrow satin belt cinches my waist. There’s a timeless elegance to it, and I’m reminded of Audrey Hepburn. “It couldn’t be any more perfect.”
Bella pops her head into the dressing room. “Oh God. It’s gorgeous. And so are you.”
I give a quarter turn and look at the dress from another angle.
“We’ll take it,” Bella announces.
When she makes a decision, she’s unstoppable. Then again, she has a timeline to meet.
“Shoes! She’s going to need shoes, as well.”
I look down. The black heels I’m wearing with my slacks would definitely be awful with the dress.
Before we can finish our coffees, Bella and I are on our way back to the hospital.
The moment I enter the waiting room again, Matteo’s eyes find me. In relief, he drags a hand through his hair.
I hurry to his side, wondering how I could have possibly thought of refusing to spend the rest of my life with him.
“I’d like you to see my father with me.”
Since only immediate family had been allowed in the room yesterday his request catches me off guard.
“I want him to know we’re doing what’s right by the family.”
Makes sense. “Of course, Matteo.”
Outside the room, he pulls me aside and outlines what I can expect to see when we enter.
“Ready?”
Hoping so, I take his hand.
The Don is unconscious, attached to equipment, but still, my first look at him shocks me.
On Sunday, he’d been vibrant and powerful, an older, more distinguished version of Matteo.
Except for the steady rhythm of monitors, the ICU room is hushed. Matteo places his palm against my back, offering me support, even though he’s the one who needs it.
Gina is sitting in a chair that’s dragged as close to the bed as possible, and she’s pale. She holds his hand and speaks to her husband as if he can hear every word. “Matteo’s back, and Alessia is with him.”
She beckons us closer.
“We’re getting married today,” Matteo tells his father.
“I’ll be the wife he needs,” I promise.
His closed eyelids flutter, and I tell myself that he understands and is happy.
We stay for a couple of minutes, visiting with Gina, making sure she’s taking care of herself before we leave.
In the hallway, Matteo and I hold on to one another. The Don’s condition has shocked me, and I suspect it’s through strength and determination alone that Matteo is still standing.
Less than an hour later, Matteo and I are in a vehicle, headed to one of the oldest churches in Houston. With its Romanesque-inspired design, the place is beautiful.
We’re driven around to a back entrance, and Nico and Bella meet us. She’s holding the garment bag that’s protecting my dress and shoes.
A priest greets us, and he’s introduced to me as Father Thomas. He tells me he’s delighted to meet me, but he wishes the circumstances were different. Then he asks after the Don as he invites us into an office-type space where a woman is waiting.
“Your marriage certificate,” she says.
I’ve never heard of someone from the county clerk’s office delivering an official document. It can’t possibly be legal. But that doesn’t seem to concern anyone in the room.
After a cursory glance at our IDs, she says, “I need you both to sign here.”
She hands me a pen and points to where I’m supposed to scrawl my name. I scan the page and see two blank lines, and they’re both backdated.
Puzzled, I glance at Matteo. He raises an eyebrow. The message is clear. Be quiet and do as I’m told.
Even though I’m probably committing fraud or whatever it’s called, I affix my signature.
Matteo quickly follows suit.
“Good luck to both of you,” she says before leaving.
“I’ll be ready to proceed whenever you are,” the priest tells us. “Take your time.”
Promising we’ll be as quick as possible, Bella moves me to the bridal room where there is a photographer waiting for us.
“I’m Marcella,” the woman introduces herself. “Already took pictures of the flowers.”
Flowers?
I glance around and am shocked to see a beautiful bouquet. I recognize white orchids, but there’s other blossoms that I don’t know.
“There’s a touch of jasmine in there,” Bella tells me. “Your signature scent.”
I’m touched. How can she think of so many details?
When I’m dressed and ready, Marcella snaps dozens of photos, even some of me and Bella together, posing with fake smiles.
We make our way past the main sanctuary, and when we reach the chapel, I stop to draw a breath, hoping to steady my nerves.
“You’ll do fine,” Bella reassures me. “Just stay in the moment. Don’t think about anything other than what Father Thomas is saying.”
Matteo and Nico are standing next to the priest, facing me, and Marcella is nearby.
“I’ll go first.” Bella touches my elbow. “Follow when you’re ready.”
When she’s standing on the far side of the officiant, I bring my chin up. Matteo’s gaze is locked on me.
In his suit and tie, his brows knit together, he’s even more formidable and handsome than ever.
I’ve seen him in a whole new light, and I respect the man he is.
“Come to me”, he mouths.
Focused on him, I take a single step, then another.
The small, intimate chapel has thick stone walls, an arched ceiling, and a single stained glass window that casts jewel-toned light onto the worn wooden pews.
The setting, if not the circumstances, is magical.
Father Thomas begins the ceremony, his voice warm and steady. But as he leads us through our vows, the traditional promises of love are absent, replaced by words of honor, respect, and fidelity. My heart skips a beat, but I push the thought aside.
Our wedding is about duty, and nothing more.
Bella offers me a ring to slip onto Matteo’s finger, and then he slides one into place on my hand.
His eyes never leave mine as he repeats the words that will bind us together.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” Father Thomas declares, and when Matteo kisses me, I’m lost.
When he arrived in England, I felt as if my life was ending.
Today seems like a new beginning.
“If you want another ceremony, we can have one at a later date,” he tells me.
“No.” I shake my head. “This one is fine.”
And yet as we sign the actual marriage certificate, witnessed by Nico and Bella, I feel empty, let down in some way.
I’ve had all this anxiety since I arrived in Texas, and now everything is behind me.
Before we leave the premises, I change back into my regular clothes. Cinderella is no longer a princess, and we will not have a honeymoon.
In the car, Matteo swaps out his tie.
So the pictures look different, I realize. No one who sees him will question the actual date we were married.
Instead of talking on our way back, he picks up his phone and calls Dante. “It’s done.”
Is this how he’s talking about one of the biggest days of my life?
The day drags, both a blur and agony.
Near midnight, Nico walks over to us. “Go home,” he tells us firmly. “Your father will rest better knowing his son’s marriage is…” He clears his throat meaningfully. “Well, you know.”
Though Matteo doesn’t react, I blush.
As we leave the hospital, Matteo’s hand finds mine, our matching rings sparkling in the bright overhead lights. The weight of the band is foreign yet right, like a key clicking into a lock I didn’t know existed.
I’m sure I’ve made the right decision.
When we arrive home, Matteo scoops me up into his arms. The air rushes out of me, but before I can protest, he carries me across the threshold. “Welcome home, Mrs. Moretti,” he murmurs against my hair.
Moretti. Alessia Moretti.
Will I ever get used to that name?
In our bedroom, Matteo sets me down gently, and he slides his hands down to my waist.
“This can’t have been what you imagined for yourself,” he says softly, unbuttoning my blouse. “But I will spend my days making it up to you.”
I reach up to trace the strong line of his jaw. “It was perfect the way it was,” I tell him, shoving aside my niggling doubts about our vows. This Matteo—looking at me with such raw emotion—is the man I’ve come to care for. “It was us.”
His kiss starts tender but quickly deepens, igniting the passion that’s always simmering between us.
Quickly, like a man desperate, he strips me.
Standing before him, naked in the moonlight, I loosen his tie, needing to feel his skin against mine.
“So fucking beautiful.” He backs me up to the bed. “My wife.”
The possessiveness in his voice should frighten me, but instead it sends shivers of anticipation down my spine. His mouth traces a path down my throat, across my collarbone, then lower.
When he reaches my pussy, I’m already jerking my hips toward him, desperate for him.
“Please,” I whisper, not even sure what I’m asking for.
He knows. He always knows.
He lifts me onto the bed and presses me back, pinning me with his much larger body.
When he finally enters me, it’s different from every time before. Fast, deep, possessively, as if he’s claiming what’s his.
“Take me,” he demands.
Obediently I wrap my legs around him, drawing him closer, needing this promise as much as he does.
“Look at me,” he commands, his voice gruff.
In his eyes, I see everything we haven’t said, everything we might never say.
He fucks me hard, and pressure builds in me like a gathering storm.
“Give me your orgasm, Alessia. Fucking give it to me.”
His words, his actions, shove me over the edge.
Crying out his name, I climax harder than I ever have before.
Moments later, in a pulse of release, he follows, burying his face in my neck. For long moments afterward, we lie tangled together. My heart gradually slows to match Matteo’s rhythm.
“You belong to me.” He presses a kiss to my temple.
I don’t answer, but I nestle closer.
He’s never said “I love you.”
But then, neither have I.
Moments later, his phone insistently shatters the silence, and someone pounds on our bedroom door.
Matteo squeezes his eyes shut. “Fuck.”