Chapter 33
Lily
The look in Dominico’s eyes is downright feral.
It has been since I walked down the aisle a few minutes ago.
An event I am still struggling to root in reality, the far-fetched truth that I am now Lily Sante, not wanting to solidify.
It is preposterous that a nobody like me is now tethered, in the truly traditional sense, to a man who should exist in my fantasies only.
To the unattainable Don of the Mafia. All powerful. All untouchable. Until now.
The last twenty-four hours have passed in a blur. Following the poolside incident yesterday, Dominico moved the wedding date up to today, perhaps to avoid any further incidents or hindrances to the wedding occurring.
I glance to the right, where the entire congregation of over two hundred stares at us.
No one from my life. Just famiglia , members of the Three Families.
Including Rochelle, Sam's wife. The same woman who had interrupted the moment between Dominico and me yesterday when she barged onto the patio, angrier than a bull in a china shop.
She was ballsy, threatening Dominico with castration if he ever used her wife like that again.
He laughed, which fueled her rage until Sam eventually ran outside and calmed her down with some gentle cooing and sexual distraction.
The two were like horny rabbits. I know this because I could hear them the whole night.
More clearly than the night before, when it was actually Sam and her brother Killian making all the noise—not Dominico and her, as I had been led to believe.
When I heard that, I felt both relieved and angry.
But that anger faded when Dominico used the same gorilla tactics as Rochelle, distracting and disarming me with a fierce kiss that sent all my thoughts and feelings scattering in the wind.
Until only lust remained. And it remains even now as Dominico eyes me with barely-there restraint.
He looks absolutely lethal in his all-black suit.
He has shaved, his sharp jaw twitching as my eyes roam his face.
His black hair is styled neatly, but I want to run my hand through it and mess it up like he likes doing with mine.
Even now, I can feel the tingle on my scalp where his hand had delved into it yesterday, pulling on the strands as he angled my head just right while his tongue dominated mine.
I blush, and my heart rate increases, bringing a smirk to that far too gorgeous face as if he knows exactly my thoughts.
My eyes dart toward the pastor, a grumpy old Italian who looks like he has been drinking, when his words finally make sense to me.
Everything else has been in Italian, so I am surprised when I finally hear English.
His accent is so thick that it takes me a minute to understand what he says.
The words only resonate with me because I have heard them before at weddings.
“Do you, Lily Valentine, take Dominico Sante to be your husband, to have and to hold, in rich and in poor, in sickness and health, until death do you part?” Traditional words that do not encompass anything traditional.
The ‘until death do you part’ section of that sentence holds a more worrisome meaning, knowing who I was marrying.
And it wasn't just Dominico I was marrying; I was marrying an institution made up of things I didn't quite understand.
Dominico raises his eyebrow, his silver-grey eyes mesmerizing me, and I am reminded that I have not yet responded.
My palms are sweaty, and my heart is racing.
I should run far, far away, but instead, I utter the two words that bring a brief, nearly indiscernible flicker of relief to the man I will soon call my husband.
“I do.” His smile is glorious, and I blink a couple of times, still unsure how I ended up here. I know many women would literally kill to be in my beautiful, custom-designed, white-diamond-studded high-heeled shoes.
“You are mine now, il mio fiorellino ,” he mutters as the priest continues. A shiver runs down my spine, mingling with the lust pooling in my core. Now explained explicitly, those words lodge in my heart, where my budding love for him blooms. I just don’t know if it will be nourished or destroyed.
Make no mistake, I was marrying for love, but I still wasn't sure if he was marrying me for the same reason. He may love me, but it still feels like something else lurks behind this. Perhaps living in a perpetual state of always waiting for the other shoe to drop makes me doubt everything.
“Do you, Dominico Sante, take Lily Valentine to be your wife, to have and to hold, in rich and in poor, in sickness and health, until death do you part?”
Not a second of hesitation.
“I do,” his gruff voice answers, his eyes still locked with mine.
Seconds later, a massive diamond ring is slipped onto my finger, and the priest announces that we are now man and wife .
That is all this possessive man needs as he steps forward, his arms circling my waist before his lips capture mine.
As jaded as I am, I have always been a sucker for a good romance.
I thought that thing that happens, where the world disappears, was just a made-up fantasy.
It is not. All two hundred guests fade into non-existence, along with the grumpy priest, Matteo, directly behind me, and Dante and Nero behind Dominico.
It is just him and me, and I cling to him as if I fear he will vanish like the rest of them.
When we pull apart and reality comes crashing down, he smiles as if he has won Don of the Year while all two hundred observers whistle, clap, and shout things I do not understand.
I will have to start learning the language if I want to fit into this world.
They might not be happy he married me, but they are happy he has wed.
Hand in hand, we walk through the crowd, which throws confetti and satin white rose petals before heading to the reception hall. The night flies by, with people approaching the head of the table, offering lavish gifts and congratulations before moving on.
Dominico keeps his hand on my thigh, and his firm grip helps me stay grounded.
Holly sits at a nearby table with Dante and Nero.
She smiles at me, the only friendly face among a sea of strangers.
While many women clapped in the chapel, that show of congratulations is absent in this environment.
A lot of them are angry with me. Understandably.
I am an outsider and now in a position of power, not that I could wield it. An envious title if ever there was one.
I startle when Dominico stands up. He holds out his hand, and the confused look on my face as I take it and rise prompts him to explain.
“It's time for our first dance, and then we can finally leave. I am eager to get to the next part of this evening.” I blush, thinking about what is to come.
It is not as if my imagination has not already conjured up the scenario numerous times.
However, nervousness still pools in my stomach, churning with my single glass of champagne.
I wanted to be sober for what is to come.
“I haven’t danced in a while. I hope I don’t embarrass you,” I whisper as we stand in the center of the dance floor.
“You could never embarrass me, Mrs. Sante,” Dominico smirks as my eyes widen, the title sounding even more delicious when it comes from him.
The music starts, and we move, forgotten steps coming back to me as easily as if I were riding a bike.
However, it would not be necessary. Dominico effortlessly leads, my body a willing passenger on this journey across the dance floor.
His hands purposefully brush areas of my body with an aim to tease.
To arouse. To prepare. By the time we are finished, I can feel his hardness pressing into my stomach, opening the flood gates of my desire.
“Time to go,” he growls, dipping his head and signaling Matteo, Dante, and Nero, with Holly following closely behind.
We do not say goodbyes; we simply leave in three black SUVs, arriving minutes later at a dock.
“Are we spending our honeymoon on the water?” I ask as Dominico lifts the skirt of my wedding dress while I walk onto the luxurious yacht.
“No. Somewhere else. It’s a surprise. Go downstairs with Holly. There is a change of clothes in one of the rooms.”
Holly is behind me, and when she overhears our conversation, she bolts forward, eager to evade Nero, who is close behind her.
“Let’s go.” Holly grabs my hand and part of my dress and leads me down the stairs to the lower deck, poking her head into each room before entering the one near the back.
“Here we are, Mrs. Sante.” She jabs me in the ribs playfully, a big smile on her lips .
“Are you nervous about tonight?” she asks as we struggle with the clips at the back.
“Very. I’ve imagined having sex with Dominico but actually doing it…
” I trail off, unsure how to express myself.
One of my fears was that I lacked experience, having only slept with two people in my life.
My first time was with a boy from the shelter, Tommy.
It took place in a handicapped bathroom, far from the romantic scene I had dreamt of.
But he said he loved me, and I believed him.
I wanted someone to love me. He took advantage of my vulnerability, promising me things he never intended to honor.
The next day, he was gone. I never saw him again.
The second person was Johnathan. He was a selfish lover, even from the beginning.
I rarely had orgasms, but he blamed me, telling me I was a lousy lay.
Towards the end, just before the last incident, he began forcing himself on me when I said I didn’t want to, which hurt physically and emotionally. What if sex with Dominico was the same?
“How the fuck did they get this thing on you,” Holly grits out, the tugging at the back of me jolting my body around.
The many dress fitters around when I put it on definitely made it easier.
By the time we get the dress off, Holly has said so many swear words that I am hysterically laughing, tears streaming down my face.
“Okay, finally.” She groans as the dress slips to the floor. She gathers it up and tosses it into the corner of the room as if it isn’t worth thousands of dollars.
“So, as we were saying, you’re nervous about tonight?
Don’t be. The raging inferno we were all witness to in the church when you guys locked lips is enough to know that the sex is going to be hot, and your lady bits are going to be singing with joy.
Weeping with joy, actually.” She laughs when I blush while slipping into the beautiful white dress laid out on the bed for me.
Although plain, it is extremely short, and the plunging neckline leaves little to the imagination.
“You look like a slutty angel. I like it. I’m sure Dominico will love it. Here, let's unpin your hair. It will look better down.”
My hair has so many pins that my arm is sore when we finish.
“Fuck. Remind me never to get married if this is the shit you have to go through,” Holly moans, just as a knock at the door draws our attention.
Matteo stands at the door when Holly opens it, his eyes not daring to drift lower than mine.
“It’s time, Mrs. Sante.” His use of my new title makes Holly smile as she looks at me and winks.
“Just call me Lily, Matteo.” He doesn’t respond but instead holds his hand out for me to proceed.
“Nero is looking for you. Stay here.” Holly's face morphs, a kaleidoscope of emotions flitting across her features before landing on anger.
I wave at her, giving her a sympathetic look before I am herded down the corridor and back up to the top deck.
Dominico waits at the back, a small boat bobbing in the waves by the swim platform.
“One last trip,” Dominico says, taking my hand and leading me to the small boat.
He climbs in first before holding his hand out to me. I take it and stumble forward when my footing slips, only to be caught in strong, steadying arms.
“I’ve got you, il mio fiorellino . There's no escaping me now,” he jokes as he sits down. A man in uniform climbs aboard, and then we are off, the small speedboat taking us a short distance to land. I only notice as we get nearer, thanks to the clear sky, moon, and stars lighting our way .
When we arrive at the beach, Dominico climbs out and holds his hand out for me to take. When I do, I am propelled forward and scooped up, his arms cradling me in that familiar position I didn’t realize I missed until now.
“Where are we?” I ask, as the boat behind us disappears until it is just him and me.
“My island.” His island? Of course, this man owns an island. This is surely a new level of wealth.
He leads us down a narrow path toward a light that grows brighter as we approach.
My mouth hangs open as I behold an island paradise.
It’s a massive bungalow with a straw roof and two hammocks draped from nearby trees.
We walk toward the entrance, where he stops just before the threshold.
When I look up at him, he is gazing at me.
“This will not be the last door I carry you through as Lily Sante, but it is the first. Know that whatever happens from here on out, I will not hurt you. I look after what is mine. And you are now officially mine, Mrs. Sante. But I am also yours.”
“I love you, il mio fiorellino .”
I can see he won’t wait. His expectation for me to return those sentiments isn’t even present. He doesn’t push me to acknowledge it. He doesn’t force me to admit it or say it out loud. This is probably why I whisper for him to stop just before he moves.
“I—” His eyes remain locked with mine while my cheeks blaze red.
Be brave, Lily. He waits patiently for me to lower that last wall. His words and actions deliver the final blow against my defenses as they crumble.
“I love you, Dominico.”