Chapter 3
AMALIA
I WANT A SMALL WEDDING. My father would have thrown money at it to impress men he hated, but I don’t see the point. Still, I also want every single person who’s ever doubted me to hear about it. There’s a difference between a quiet ceremony and a secret, and I’m not interested in the second one.
Everyone needs to see it. They need to watch Matteo Gaviani take my last name as he slides a ring onto my finger, because that’s what makes them comfortable. A husband as the head of the family is what they expect, and no one’s going to even assume I’m in charge.
So it’ll be a small wedding, but loudly announced. That’s what I’ve decided.
I bring Matteo to the suit shop because I refuse to let him pick something on his own since everything has to be perfect. The shop is one of those places where the staff knows better than to ask questions. They give us the whole back room and then leave us alone, which is exactly what I need.
“You’re enjoying this,” Matteo says as the tailor disappears with the first set of measurements.
“I’m enjoying being right about you.” I look him over. “You clean up well. That’s all I need from you.”
He grins. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like looking at him. The man is far too good-looking to waste away in a dungeon.
The tailor brings out the first suit, and Matteo shrugs into the jacket. I tilt my head as I study him. It’s fine. It fits. But it’s a little too serious, and I don’t want him looking like he’s there to bury someone.
“Next,” I say.
The second one is navy, and it’s better. I circle him slowly, checking the line of his shoulders and how the fabric falls across his back. He watches me in the mirror, his eyes following me. It’s good for him to wonder what I’m thinking.
“This one,” I say.
The navy makes him look less like a prisoner and more like a man who could plausibly run something, which is the whole point.
He turns to face me, adjusting the cuff at his wrist, and I reach up to fix the collar where it’s bunched wrong. My fingers brush the back of his neck, just above the shirt, and he jerks away from me as if I’ve burned him.
“Sorry,” he blurts out, his shoulders going stiff, then frowns as if he didn’t mean to say it.
I drop my hand and look at him. His jaw is tight, his eyes not quite meeting mine, and there’s something underneath his easy charm that I recognize from my own experience. A man doesn’t flinch from a hand at the back of his neck unless he learned that touch hurts.
His father, Gennaro, is probably to blame. The man who handed his own son over to settle a loan.
My father liked to grab the back of my neck too, bending my head down to remind me who was in charge.
“It’s fine,” I say.
He lets out a breath, and the stiffness goes out of his shoulders, and his gaze narrows at me. I don’t explain because he doesn’t need the whole story anyway, and I’m not fond of oversharing to a stranger. Or anyone, really. Any weakness can be used against you, so it’s best not to reveal them.
I step in front of him this time, where he can see my hands. The navy works, but the shirt buttoned all the way to his throat makes him look choked and too formal. That’s not what I want at all. I want people to look at him and admire. I want... effortless beauty.
“Hold still,” I say, and reach for the top button of his dress shirt.
I undo the first button, then the second, and the collar falls open to show the line of his throat and a sliver of his chest. Better. Much better. I take a step back to look at him and have to remind myself I’m here to plan a wedding, not to stare at the man I’m going to marry like he’s a meal.
There’s a black scarf folded on the table that’s almost see-through when I hold it up to the light. I picked it out before he tried on a single thing, because I knew it would work with whatever I chose. I loop it around his neck, and his eyes lower to mine. At least he doesn’t flinch this time.
I tie it loosely at his throat, my fingers working the thin fabric, and his gaze stays on me the whole time. We’re way too close, and when I look up, his blue eyes hold mine, and I forget, just for a second, that this is supposed to be a transaction.
When I finish the knot, I step back. “There. Now you look like someone worth marrying.”
His lips curve up. “Is that the goal?”
“The goal is that my enemies out there believe it.” I step away and turn toward the mirror so he can see himself. “What you actually are is between us.”
My eyes find his in the mirror, and I think he notices, because his grin comes back.
I leave Matteo with the tailor and my guards, because him seeing my wedding dress is bad luck. And while I’m not superstitious about much and Matteo won’t be my real husband, I’ll take any luck I can get, so I go dress shopping with Marco instead.
Marco’s been with my family for a long time, and he’s one of the few men who never once made me feel out of place. He drives me to the boutique and waits while I flip through the racks, and I can feel him watching me.
“Just say it,” I say, pulling a dress off the rack.
“This whole thing...” He gestures vaguely at the dresses. “Are you sure about it? The wedding, announcing it everywhere, putting Gaviani up front where everyone can see him...?”
“I’ve thought it through.”
“I know you have. You always do.” He folds his arms. “But once everyone starts believing he’s in charge, your men might too, and you can’t take that back easily.
He can start to like having everyone bow to him and wonder why he should answer to you at all.
And one day, he could decide he doesn’t, and then that would mean you handed your own enemy a seat at your table. ”
I put the dress back and pick up another one. Marco’s never wrong about the things that can get me killed, but it’s not like I haven’t considered it. Hell, it’s all I’ve been thinking about.
“He could try something. I know that.” I hold the second dress up, frown, and put it back.
“But a woman alone at the top of this gets picked apart in a month. You know that as well as I do. My enemies will come for me. My own men might want to follow a man rather than a woman, but I’m a Petrelli by blood, and we can weed out the ones that are against me.
It’s the only way that gets me everything I want, and yeah, it comes with a risk. ”
“A big one.”
“And I’m willing to take it.” I meet his gaze. “If Matteo gets ideas, I’ll deal with him.”
Marco’s mouth twitches. I know he won’t argue. He just wanted to make sure I was aware of what I was getting myself into.
I move down the rack. A dress near the end catches my eye. I pull it out and hold it up against me in the mirror.
This is the one.
It’s simple and perfect, or as close to it as I’m going to get.
And looking at myself with the dress held to my chest, I think about the wedding I imagined when I was a girl, which this so isn’t.
I’m not marrying a man I love. I’m marrying a stranger I pulled out of a cell, who might put my life at risk.
But the dress is exactly what I want anyway.
“That one?” Marco asks.
“Yep.” I hand it to him without another look at the rack. “Wrap it up.”