Chapter 16
Romeo
Istand frozen, completely still, as I take in the breathtaking bride standing on the other side of the room. The one who’s about to become my wife.
She’s unrecognisable from the casually dressed eighteen-year-old girl I first met. Lucia Rossi stands before me like something out of a dream. She’s poised, radiant, fucking exquisite. She’s utter perfection, and so damn gorgeous I could actually weep.
My throat tightens, and for a split second, I’m afraid I might.
The dress clings in all the right places, the soft shimmer of the fabric catching the light as if it were made to worship her body.
But it’s not just the way she looks; it’s the way she carries herself in this moment.
Confident, composed, and quietly powerful.
Like a queen … my queen.
I should say something, anything, but my voice is caught somewhere behind the storm in my chest. All I can do is look at her and hope she sees it in my eyes. I’m overwhelmed, undone, and entirely hers for as long as this union lasts.
“She’s a vision,” Father Flannery murmurs beside me, and I wholeheartedly agree.
That little boy inside me, the one who’s been let down, used, and taught not to expect too much, doesn’t know what to do with himself.
He wants to believe that this is real. That she is real. That Lucia is his to keep, but he’s also bracing himself for the moment it all slips away. Because deep down, he knows this woman is too good to be true … too good for him.
My stunned admiration and complete awe are shattered when Lucia casually reaches into her cleavage and pulls out her phone. My eyebrows shoot up as she glances down at the screen and starts tapping frantically with her finger.
What in the hell is she doing?
A few seconds later, I get my answer when an upbeat guitar riff blasts through the surround sound speakers, filling the room with the unmistakable intro to Queen’s “Crazy Little Thing Called Love.”
She grins, then winks, with a spark of mischief in her eyes. I should’ve seen it coming; of course she’d put her own spin on today.
My reaction is instant as I smile right back.
She takes a step forward, right foot first, before adding a little shimmy to the adjoining hip. Her left foot is next, and she repeats the process. She does this the entire way down the makeshift aisle, and I can’t help myself. I throw my head back and crack up.
The laugh that bursts out of me is loud and real, cutting straight through the nerves and the weight of everything this day is supposed to be.
I swear, this fucking lunatic is the highlight of my life. She’s absolutely and unequivocally adorable.
By the time she reaches us, I’m beaming like an idiot, completely undone in the best way possible. And just like that, the tension in my chest gives way to something lighter, something freer. Because this is Lucia. Unpredictable, electric, and impossible not to love.
Love.
The word hits me like a sucker punch, and for a split second, a shot of terror shoots up my spine. I’m not ready to think about that. About what it means, or how dangerous that feeling is.
But before the panic can settle in, Lucia turns to me and says, “Can you hold these for me for a second?”
I take the bouquet from her without a word, watching as she fiddles with her phone to silence the music.
When the room falls quiet, Father Flannery clears his throat and chuckles. “In all my years of doing this, I’ve never quite seen an entrance like that.”
Lucia shrugs with a smile that could disarm a firing squad as she extends a hand to him. “It’s lovely to meet you finally, Father Flannery,” she says. “Romeo speaks very highly of you.”
“It’s lovely to meet you too, Lucia.”
“Would you mind if I hugged you?” she asks, tilting her head slightly, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I roll my lips inward to hide my amusement when Father Flannery’s eyes widen.
“W-well,” he stammers, adjusting his collar, “I suppose that would be okay.”
Lucia doesn’t wait for him to second-guess his decision. She leans in and wraps him in a warm, genuine hug, leaving him standing there stiffly with his arms half-raised, until he finally gives in and pats her awkwardly on the back as a reluctant smile tugs at his lips.
“I just want to thank you,” she says as she pulls back, her hand briefly resting on his arm. “For being there for Romeo when he was growing up … and now, of course.”
Her eyes flick to me, soft and sincere. “I’m so grateful he had someone like you looking out for him.
Lord knows his wretched mother didn’t.” She says it with that same bright, unbothered tone, but the words land heavy.
“And for teaching him to fight,” she adds, grinning, “so he could beat the shit out of all those mean bullies.”
Father Flannery’s eyes flicker nervously to me, his mouth twitching like he’s not sure whether to laugh at what she said or scold her.
He clears his throat again and tugs on his collar, clearly flustered. “Well … yes. The Lord works in mysterious ways,” he mumbles.
I stifle a snort, pressing my lips together.
Lucia beams, completely unfazed, like she didn’t just say exactly what everyone else always dances around.
And damn it, I love her for doing it.
There’s that fucking word again.
She turns her attention back to me and reaches for her flowers.
“Thank you,” she whispers, her fingers brushing against mine. Her eyes briefly peruse down my body, and then she adds, “You look hot, by the way.”
And you look like every man’s fantasy.
A walking, talking fucking wet dream.
The words hit me like a jolt, and before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “So do you.”
She arches a brow, amused as her lips curve into a smirk like she’s just caught me off guard. And she’d be right, she did.
Clutching the bouquet in both hands, she turns to face Father Flannery again. “I’m ready to marry the man of my dreams now.”
When her gaze briefly moves back to me and she beams, my heart begins to thump furiously against my ribcage.
Her smile is wide, carefree and real, with no games or tension behind it, just Lucia, open and radiant.
Those chocolate-brown orbs of hers are sparkling with no hidden agenda, threat, or those tiny lasers that occasionally shoot out of her eyeballs.
All I see is pure, simple joy. And fuck me if I don’t feel the exact same way.
An hour later, we finally reach the part that will tie us together for the foreseeable future.
Despite the relaxed and unconventional setting, Father Flannery wanted the ceremony to include a full mass.
It’s not something I was thrilled about, but he really showed up for me today, so I couldn’t deny his one wish.
He said it was important for our marriage to start off on the right foot. He has no idea that it’s fake.
When he turns to me and asks if I have the rings, I see a slight panic rise on Lucia’s pretty face.
“I do,” I say, shoving my hand into my pocket and pulling out two simple, gold wedding bands.
He nods in approval as he places them down in the centre crease of the bible he’s holding.
When my gaze moves back to Lucia, I find her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. I reach for her free hand, wrapping her delicate fingers in mine before giving them a light squeeze.
I’ve been to a few weddings over the years.
Some stuck to the traditional vows, while others wrote their own.
I wasn’t sure if my bride planned to add any of that signature Lucia flair to ours, so I wrote something myself, just in case.
The words are folded neatly on a piece of paper, tucked safely in my pocket.
“Repeat after me,” Father Flannery says. “I, Lucia Gabriella Rossi, take you, Romeo Gabriel De Luca, to be my husband.”
Lucia and I both share a look the moment we realise how similar our middle names are. Gabriella and Gabriel. It’s such a small detail, but it feels oddly significant.
What’s even freakier? Gabriel was my father’s name, and it was given to me in honour of him after he passed away. I distinctly remember Lucia telling Alexander at the hospital that Caterina’s middle name, also Gabriella, was in honour of her mother.
Her mother. My father.
Different sides of our lives, and completely different stories.
Probably just a coincidence, but it feels like something bigger is at play here, like the universe has been weaving this thread long before we ever crossed paths.
And for a second, I don’t know if that thought is comforting or oddly terrifying.
Lucia’s eyes remain locked with mine as she repeats every word. “I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honour you all the days of my life.”
Each word she speaks is laced with such sincerity that, for a moment, I let myself believe that this is real and isn’t just some arrangement or illusion. That she is mine to keep for all eternity.
But deep down, I know better.
This woman is taking a loss being with me, even if it’s temporary. A huge one. She deserves the kind of love that lights up rooms and grows roots, not the broken pieces of someone still trying to learn how to breathe without his armour in place.
Yet, I can’t help but feel like she saved me somehow, by giving my life meaning and breathing life back into it.
She’s the real deal. Flesh and blood … fire and grace. And I’ll never be able to make sense of how someone like her ended up here, standing across from someone like me.
I’ve never known love. Not real love. Not the kind that stays.
So, when it’s my turn to speak, I try to give the words the weight they deserve. I let the walls down and speak from the heart. Allowing myself just this once to be vulnerable and exposed before taking the simple gold band and sliding it onto her finger.
Unlike her dress and shoes, I had to guess her ring size. It’s a little loose. Just enough to notice, but that’s an easy fix. I’ll take care of it.
When I went ring shopping, I looked at the flashier ones.
The kind that were weighed down with huge diamonds.
The rings that scream forever. I even brought one, letting myself pretend this was more than what it is.
But in the end, I decided not to give it to her.
It’s still tucked away in the bottom drawer in my bedroom, where it will more than likely stay.
Because the cold, hard truth is, none of this is real. Not really. And despite dropping a few hundred grand on a ring, I knew the day would come when she’d take it off and toss it in a drawer, and that would’ve made me feel like a tryhard. A man in way deeper than he has any right to be.
So, I decided to go with the simple. The classic.
I’ll leave the diamonds to the next guy.
That thought punches through me like a bullet to the gut. The next guy. The one who’ll get to do the real proposal. The real forever.
And just like that, the idea of anyone else slipping a ring on her finger makes my stomach turn.
Makes me want to hurl.
Makes me want to commit murder. Slow and painful murder.
Because no matter how temporary this is supposed to be, she’s mine … at least for now.
And God help me, I don’t want to give her up.
Once the vows are exchanged, Father Flannery says, “By the power vested in me by the Church, and with the grace of God, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” He pauses, glancing over to me when I don’t move. “Romeo. I think now would be an appropriate time to kiss your beautiful bride.”
I falter for a split second. I’d forgotten about this part. But if this is the only free pass I’m getting to kiss her again, there’s no way I’m not taking it.
Lucia’s breath hitches in her throat as I take a step forward, closing the small distance between us. I thread my fingers through her hair, tilt her head back gently, and lean in and press my mouth to hers. She parts her lips just enough, and that’s all the invitation I need.
I kiss the ever-loving shit out of her.
Not careful. Not sweet.
Real.
Raw.
Like I’ve been waiting my whole damn life for this very moment.
And maybe I have.
The three of us are gathered around the dinner table, feasting on the elaborate spread laid out before us. Nothing Lucia makes ever disappoints, but tonight she outdid herself. Every dish is bursting with flavour and colour, the kind of effort you can taste.
Father Flannery looks like he’s in his absolute glory. I’m not sure what kind of food he eats at the rectory, but judging by the way he’s gone back for thirds, I’m guessing it doesn’t come close to anything like this.
He dabs at his mouth with a napkin and sighs contentedly. “My dear girl,” he says to Lucia, “if I’d known you could cook like this, I would’ve married you myself.”
Lucia and I both laugh, but deep inside, that possessiveness I have when it comes to her rears its ugly head. I know his comment was said in jest, he’s married to the Church after all, but fuck me if it doesn’t spark something sharp and territorial inside me.
“Sucks to be you then,” Lucia counters, and I nearly choke on the bite of food in my mouth.
Her voice may be light and teasing, but her eyes are dead serious.
She reaches across the table as she speaks, placing her hand over mine.
Her fingers are warm and grounding. “I feel like I won the lottery with this one, and nothing or no one will ever make me give him up.”
She said it as if it were a fact, like it was her truth.
Not for show.
Not to prove anything.
Not for Father Flannery’s benefit or mine.
“She’s a keeper, son,” Father Flannery says, turning to me with a knowing smile, but he’s not telling me anything I don’t already know.
My throat tightens as my gaze shifts to Lucia. She’s staring down at her wedding ring again, tracing it with her thumb. And that fucking smile curving her lips almost guts me.
The joke’s long gone now. What’s left in its place is something deeper. Something heavier. Something I’m not sure I deserve but crave all the same. And I don’t know what to do with that.
I’m starting to wonder if I’ve just made the biggest mistake of my life. Because when the time comes to give her back, to walk away like this meant nothing, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to do it.