54. Lucas
CHAPTER 54
Lucas
T he room is dimly lit, shadows playing on the walls as Serafina stands across from me. Her dark hair cascades in soft waves, framing her face like an angel fallen from grace. I can't help it—my feet move on their own, drawing me closer to her warmth. Her eyes, those deep green pools of strength and vulnerability, lock onto mine, holding me captive.
"Lucas," she breathes out my name like a prayer, barely a whisper.
I don't answer with words. Instead, I close the distance between us, capturing her lips with mine. The kiss is desperate, raw—the only way I know how to let her see past the walls I've built. The taste of her, sweet and intoxicating, makes my heart race. I almost say it; I almost tell her that I love her, but the words stick in my throat.
She pulls away before I can gather the courage, turning her back to me. The moment shatters, and reality crashes in. I snap out of it, my defenses going back up like clockwork. I follow her, a step behind, watching how her hips sway in that dress. Damn, she's beautiful.
"Serafina, wait," I call out, trying to keep my voice steady.
She glances over her shoulder, her expression unreadable. "We should go. The guests are waiting."
"Yeah," I mutter, falling back into the role I know too well. The tough guy, the protector. But inside, I know I'd tear down every last wall for her if she'd let me. Only her. Until my last breath.
We get escorted to the reception, a small but luxurious affair. Chandeliers hang from the ceiling, casting a golden glow over the room. The scent of red roses fills the air, mingling with the subtle hint of expensive cologne and perfume. Guests mill about, their conversations a low hum in the background.
"Why is Paz here?" Serafina's voice cuts through the noise, her tone sharp.
I shrug, trying to play it cool. "Don Martin, the head of The Fallen Angels Cartel, his two sons, and his wife were invited."
"She's the person you had me stay with when I waited for you," she says with a sigh, her eyes scanning the crowd. A hint of sadness flickers in her emerald eyes, and I immediately know where her thoughts have strayed - to the broken promises of starting new lives together before it all got so damn complicated.
"Let's get through this, okay?" I say softly, hoping to ease her mind. "We'll talk all you want afterward."
"Hmm," she replies, but there's a tension in her voice that I can't ignore.
As we greet our guests, I can't help but steal glances at the love of my life. I catch glimpses of her playing the ever-so-happy blushing bride, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries, but I know her all too well; I can see the turmoil beneath. And damn it, I want to fix it. For her. Just for her. I want to take her into a private room again and explain everything to her. But I have to be patient. This is not the time or the place.
But then, before I can react, Serafina quietly slips away from the crowd of guests and heads towards Paz. My heart races with trepidation, unsure of what she might do. But instead of worrying about something that may never happen, I refocus my attention on greeting the next wave of guests coming to congratulate us on our marriage.