Chapter 48 Mara
MARA
The world feels still before a storm.
That’s what today is: a storm I’ve already accepted will hit.
The morning passes in silence. No one dares to speak above a whisper. The air smells like flowers and incense and nerves. Valentina and Alessia hover nearby, voices hushed, eyes following me like they’re waiting for me to fall apart.
But I don’t. I can’t.
My hands are steady as they fasten the last pearl button down my spine. The veil slides into place, light as air, falling around me like a curtain between this life and the next.
“You’re beautiful,” Valentina says softly.
I nod, but the words don’t reach me.
Beautiful feels irrelevant. Beautiful isn’t what today is about. Today is about duty. Family. Deals made behind closed doors.
And endings that look too much like beginnings.
Eli knocks once before stepping in. He looks tired, though he tries to hide it. Perfect suit, tie just right, expression unreadable. But his eyes give him away. My brother’s eyes always do.
“Everyone’s ready,” he says, voice low.
I turn toward him. For a moment, I almost forget to breathe. He looks proud. Maybe too proud. The kind of pride that tries to cover guilt.
“You don’t have to do this,” he says, stepping closer, like saying it out loud might undo everything he’s set in motion. “You can still change your mind.”
I manage a small smile. “You and I both know it’s too late for that.”
He exhales through his nose, slow and heavy. “I just want what’s best for you.”
“I know,” I whisper.
He nods, glances at the veil, then presses a kiss to my forehead. The fabric rustles between us, but the gesture still lands.
“You’ll be okay,” he says, more to himself than to me.
I don’t answer. Because neither of us believes it.
Outside, the air is sharp with late morning chill. The cathedral looms ahead, stone and gold and impossible height. It’s beautiful in the way power often is. The kind of beauty that demands silence.
People are already inside. Family. Business allies. Strangers who’ll watch and whisper and later pretend they were part of something holy instead of transactional.
Eli offers his arm. I take it. We climb the steps together, my heels clicking against marble. Each sound echoes, too loud, too final.
The doors open, and the first thing that hits me is the scent: candles, lilies, something faintly metallic beneath it all. My heart beats once, hard, then steadies into something that doesn’t feel like mine.
The music begins.
He leans closer. “Ready?”
I nod, even though I’m not. I never will be.
We start down the aisle. The space is vast, all gold and stone and light filtered through stained glass. Eyes turn as we move, some faces I recognize and others I don’t. I keep my head low, veil softening the edges of everything. The sound of the organ swells, a steady rhythm to pace my breathing.
Don’t look up. Don’t think. Just move.
Step after step, I count in my head. Fourteen rows. Twenty-eight steps. Sixty heartbeats.
My hand tightens around Eli’s arm, the lace of my glove brushing against his sleeve. He doesn’t look at me. He’s focused ahead like this is just another duty, another deal sealed with a ceremony.
My throat burns. I swallow it down.
The altar grows closer. The priest waits.
I can’t see Orlo yet, not clearly. My veil blurs him into a shape: tall, still, composed. The kind of silhouette that could belong to anyone.
But my chest tightens anyway.
When we stop, Eli turns to face me.
“You’ll be alright,” he murmurs again. Then, softer, “I promise.”
Promises mean nothing in this world. But I nod anyway.
He presses a kiss against the veil again—quick, careful—and then steps back, leaving me there. Alone.
The music fades. The world narrows.
And then I hear it: the voice that shouldn’t exist here. The one my mind still dreams about.
“Hello, nixie.”
The sound hits me like a strike. Everything inside me stills.
I blink once, twice, trying to breathe, but the air’s gone. My heart stumbles in my chest. I lift my chin slowly, and through the veil, I see him.
Nicolo.
For a second, the entire cathedral disappears—the flowers, the crowd, even the priest waiting with his open book. It’s just him. Standing there in a black suit that fits like sin, hair slicked back, a faint shadow along his jaw.
He looks infuriatingly composed, but I can see it: the tightness in his mouth, the storm in his eyes. Forest green. Darker than I remember. Hungrier too.
My hand trembles. I don’t know whether I want to hit him or hold him.
He steps closer. The sound of his shoes against marble echoes louder than the music ever did. When he stops in front of me, his expression softens—barely, but enough to undo me.
The priest clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “Shall we begin?”
I can’t move. Can’t think.
Nicolo nods once, gaze still on me. “We shall.”
My veil lifts. He does it himself—slow, careful, like he’s afraid I’ll break. The fabric slides back, and the world sharpens into unbearable focus.
He’s real. He’s here. And I have no idea how.
I swallow hard before whispering, “You shouldn’t be here.”
His mouth curves slightly. “Probably not.”
The priest starts speaking again, voice a distant hum. Words about vows and unity and God’s will. I hear none of it. My pulse drowns out everything but the sight of him.
He doesn’t look away. Not once.
The ceremony moves too fast and too slow at the same time. When the moment comes—the question, the one that should’ve belonged to someone else—my body moves before my mind catches up.
“I do,” I whisper.
Nicolo’s jaw flexes; his answer comes low and steady. “I do.”
Applause ripples through the church. My stomach twists. The sound feels wrong.
He takes my hand when the priest gestures, sliding the ring onto my finger. A simple band, gold, heavy in its meaning. His thumb brushes my skin, a quiet apology no one else sees.
I lean in, my voice sharp under the choir’s rising song. “Just because I’m marrying you, it doesn’t mean I forgive you.”
His gaze drops to my mouth.
“I know,” he murmurs. “I don’t want forgiveness.”
“Then what do you want?”
He leans closer, so close that no one else can hear him. “Time. To make up for it. To deserve you.”
My chest constricts. “You won’t.”
“Then I’ll spend the rest of my life trying.”
Something breaks in me—not fully, not cleanly, but enough to hurt.
He straightens, hand still wrapped around mine as the priest pronounces us husband and wife. The words echo off the cathedral walls, ancient and binding.
“You may kiss the bride.”
He hesitates. For a split second, neither of us moves. Then he reaches up, fingers brushing the side of my face. His touch is careful, reverent. His mouth meets mine in the softest, shortest kiss, more promise than possession.
It shouldn’t feel like home. But it does.
When he pulls back, the crowd erupts again. Eli stands near the front, unreadable, his jaw tight. Valentina dabs at her eyes. Alessia just stares at me like she’s not sure whether to smile or pull me away from all of this.
Nicolo doesn’t release my hand. We turn together, facing the aisle. The organ flares again, triumphant and cruel. He squeezes my hand once—a silent message.
I can’t bring myself to look at him. If I do, I’ll unravel completely.
We walk down the aisle side-by-side, the weight of every eye on us. Flashbulbs flicker. Voices blur. The scent of lilies turns sharp in my throat.
When we reach the doors, light spills through the stained glass, catching the gold of my ring. I stare at it: proof that the impossible just became real.
Outside, the crowd erupts in cheers. Confetti falls. Cameras click. The world looks at us like this was arranged, part of a strategic plan.
They’ll never know it’s love and war. That it’s messier than anything can ever be.
In the car, silence stretches between us. The driver pulls away from the cathedral and the city moves past in a blur. I stare out the window, hands clasped in my lap. My heart still hasn’t caught up.
“How did you—”
“Later,” he says quietly. “Not now.”
I turn to him. He’s watching me, expression unreadable, but his fingers twitch. Like he wants to reach for me and doesn’t know if he’s allowed.
I look away first. “You’re insane.”
“Maybe,” he says. “But I’ve made you mine.”
The words shouldn’t mean anything. But they do.
I rest my head back against the seat, eyes closing. My chest feels tight, heavy, uncertain. For the first time in months, I don’t know whether I’m terrified or relieved.
Probably both.
The car turns, sunlight breaking through the clouds for a brief second. I open my eyes, see the light catch in his hair, and realize that this—all of this—isn’t the ending I expected.
It’s something else. Something dangerous. Something alive.