Antonio
I can see the shock on her face from where I’m standing, the same stunned expression that the priest met me with. The same way everyone has been staring at me since I stepped up here. But I’m sure as hell not going to back down now that I’ve come this far.
I refuse to leave this woman unprotected, the way my son is so willing to do.
She looks, I have to admit, like a vision as she stands there at the end of the aisle in her brilliant white dress, blonde hair pulled back from her face.
The flowers she’s carrying are the same color as her sharp blue eyes.
Her skin is pale, like every inch of blood has been drained from her, and I can hardly imagine what the hell she’s going through right now.
I silently will her to take a step forward, to go through with this, to realize that I would never have even thought about doing something like this if it wasn’t entirely necessary. Our eyes lock, and the air stills, the music faltering as the band waits for her to take a step.
Come on, Julia. Come on.
Finally, she takes a shaky step forward, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
Thank fuck.
I know this must seem insane to her, but I’m only doing this to keep her safe.
With Andreo gone—to God knows where, though I have my suspicions—she will be vulnerable.
Left without protection. Close enough to this family that she will be of interest to the people who want us dead and gone, but far enough that I can’t assure her protection.
Marrying her sends a message, a message that she’s safe with us, protected no matter what.
God knows, this will be as much of a shock to her as it is to me. And I can only pray that she doesn’t take it as some move to own her, claim her, some trick to get her into my bed.
Of course, she’s beautiful, but that doesn’t mean I want more from her—at least, it doesn’t mean that I’m going to go after it.
She’s my son’s fiancée, or at least she was until very recently.
I’m not going to make her life any more complicated that it needs to be by demanding something from her that no doubt she would never want to give to me.
She’s clutching the bouquet so tightly it looks like it might snap in half at any moment, and every eye in the room tracks her along the aisle as she makes her way toward me.
She looks so damn young—how old is she, again?
I know Andreo told me. Twenty-five, twenty-six?
A grown woman, by any measure, but more than twenty years younger than me.
Fuck. When I think of it like that, I can only imagine how insane this must look to everyone gathered around us right now. Me, standing up here, gray hair, suit that was meant to match my son’s, ready to marry the woman who he brought into our lives.
I can almost sense the whispers, but I push that aside. This isn’t about what other people will think. This is about doing the right thing. Whatever it takes to keep this innocent woman from falling foul of this world that my son pulled her into.
She reaches the bottom of the uneven stone steps, and I offer her a hand without thinking.
She takes it, and the touch of her skin on mine, however brief, is enough to send a start through my body.
It has been a long, long time since I’ve touched a woman like this—a long time since I have touched a woman at all, if I’m being honest, given how much of a distraction they can be.
And this woman… I thought she would be nothing more than my daughter-in-law, not my goddamn wife.
She stands opposite me, slightly shaky, the veil laid lightly over her face. I reach up to push it back, fingers skimming her cheek for a moment, and she starts slightly again.
What must it look like, to everyone gathered here today, for the bride to be jolting and jumping like she’s a rabbit caught in a trap? I can only imagine the whispers. But gossip is never something I’ve worried myself about.
“Are you ready to begin?” the priest asks.
He knows better than to question anything I do, sensing that I’ve only come this far because I don’t have any other choice.
He has known me a long time, no doubt known my reputation longer than that.
And he wouldn’t dare to stand against me or make things harder for me than they already are.
“Yes,” I reply, not taking my eyes off Julia.
Her own eyes glow an almost crystalline blue in the light pouring in from either side of us, and she bites down hard on her lip, as if trying her best to keep in some kind of protest. I don’t blame her.
She must be utterly confused right now, as confused as I am, having seen my son take off the way he did.
I still don’t know where the fuck he’s gotten to, but I’m certain of one thing—I will not leave this woman to suffer alone.
If there is one thing that I hold in great respect, it’s the bond of my word, and if my son won’t see it through, then it’s my job to step up and make that happen.
I hold out my hand to her, and she stares down at it for a moment, hesitating, before she takes it. Her throat flexes as she swallows hard, turning her attention to the priest, her skin still pale, her freckles standing out even more starkly against the bloodless flesh.
“Do you, Antonio Gattuso,” the priest begins, in that familiar drone of his, “take this woman, Julia McCrea, to be your lawful wedded wife…”
“I do.” The words come out as short, almost angry. I don’t mean them to be. Not at her, at least.
She jolts slightly, and I clench my jaw, trying to contain the rush of fury that wants to overwhelm me. It’s about him, my son, Andreo—the bastard who left her standing there in a wedding dress, with a promise of marriage that hasn’t come to pass.
The priest turns his attention to her, and I don’t break her gaze for a second, wondering if she’s going to back out of this now that the matter is truly at hand.
“And do you, Julia McCrea—”
“I do.” She sounds more sure than I did, which surprises me.
I didn’t expect her to go along with this, at least, not without a fight.
I had been fully prepared to have to explain myself to her in any way that I needed to, to pull her aside and assure her there was nothing she needed to worry about, that I would provide for her and protect her in all the ways she needed me to.
She might not know it yet, the extent of everything that will be waiting for her in this world, but she will learn, one way or another. Better to do it with me than to wait for someone who will cause her nothing but pain.
The priest makes his way through the rest of the ceremony, and she clings to my hand so tightly it’s like she thinks it’s some kind of anchor in a storm.
She doesn’t move her gaze from mine for an instant, as though she might vanish into thin air if she dares break my stare.
There’s so much I want to say to her, and no doubt so many questions that she has for me.
As soon as I have the chance, I will tell her all of it, but right now, I just need the world to see that she has my protection. That nobody will be able to get close to her without paying the price.
We exchange our rings, and I slip the simple silver band over her finger, bringing it close to the engagement ring I’m sure Andreo spent a small fortune on.
She puts mine on too, and for a moment, all I can notice is how much smaller her hands are than mine, how delicate she is, how vulnerable.
How much I will need to do in order to keep her safe…
“You may kiss the bride,” the priest announces at last.
Fuck—this is the part I’ve been trying not to think about, but the part that I know I have to see through.
I glance to the assembled crowd. I can’t dodge this, can’t pull off a kiss on the cheek.
Everyone here has to think that I will do anything for her, so the word will spread that she is not a target they can go after.
Her blue eyes gaze up at me, daring me, it seems, to do what I have just been told. And even if it goes against so many of my instincts to even look twice at a woman I know my son has been with, I have to.
I turn to her and slip my hands to either side of her face, thumbs on her cheeks.
Her skin is soft like the purest silk, and her lips part slightly at my touch.
Her cheeks are flushed a little pink, and I have to try and ignore the way that makes me feel, seeing her respond to me, the alchemy of a beautiful woman reacting to the way I touch her.
I close my eyes, lean forward, and at last, plant my lips against hers.
It’s just a brief kiss, long enough to make it seem real—but I feel it in every inch of my body, coursing through me like electricity sent through a live wire.
Her mouth is warm, soft, the scent of florals emanating from the bouquet she’s holding.
Or maybe that’s just the scent of her, something fresh from the earth, turned up like a seedling just planted.
Something stirs deep at the base of my spine, and I do my level best to ignore it, knowing that to entertain it would only get me in more trouble than I could handle.
I turn away from her as soon as I pull back, knowing that letting myself linger any longer than I already have is a bad idea.
She reaches for my hand, and I feel the clink of her wedding ring against mine, almost surreal in how impossible it feels.
I have never been married before, never wanted to be, and the idea that I’m going to have to call myself the husband of a woman I barely know, a woman who thought she would be marrying my son today, it’s… it’s beyond bizarre.
But I keep my gaze fixed ahead as we make our way down the aisle, the band striking up their music to fill the air again, the mutters of the crowd picking up as we walk past. Let them talk. They can say what they want.
All that matters is that I have done what needs to be done.
The cold air hits me outside the church, the gray clouds having broken through the blue sky above. Julia tightens her grip on me, as though making certain that I’m not going anywhere.
And I have no intention of being anywhere other than at her side, at least for tonight. I know what might be expected on a wedding night, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to see it through. The ring is on her finger, and that’s all that matters, all that could matter.
At least, that’s what I have to tell myself, as I walk over to the sleek black car I arrived here in, and pull open the door for her.