Chapter 29 Viviana
I've been staring at my reflection in the mirror for twenty minutes, trying to calm my nerves. Mama helped me choose a simple but elegant navy dress. Something that doesn't scream "unplanned pregnancy" but still shows respect for the formality of today.
Today, Damon comes to officially ask for my hand.
Even though Papa has already agreed, even though the contracts have been drawn up, even though everyone knows I'm carrying Damon's child, we still have to do this properly. The old ways matter in our world.
"Viviana?" Mama calls from the doorway. "They're here."
My heart leaps into my throat. "Already?"
"Your father is greeting them in his study. You have a few minutes."
I stand on shaky legs, smoothing down my dress. "How do I look?"
Mama smiles, though I see the concern in her eyes. "Like a woman about to marry the man she loves."
"Mama, what if—"
"No what-ifs," she says firmly. "What's done is done. Today is about moving forward."
I take a deep breath and follow her downstairs. The house feels different somehow, charged with anticipation and the weight of what's about to happen. I can hear Papa from behind his study door and the low rumble of male conversation that means business is being conducted.
"The Lombardis brought a small delegation," Mama explains as we pause in the hallway. "Damon, his father, and two of his uncles. Very proper."
"Is he—" I start to ask, then stop myself. Of course he's nervous too. This is as big for him as it is for me.
The study door opens, and Papa emerges first, his expression carefully neutral. Behind him comes an older man I recognize as Damon's father with the same dark hair, the same observant eyes, but weathered by decades in this business.
And then Damon appears.
He's wearing a charcoal suit that fits him perfectly, his hair combed back, looking every inch the successful businessman instead of the dangerous man who held me captive.
But his eyes find mine immediately, and I see everything there.
Relief that I'm okay, desire that makes my skin flush, and something deeper that looks like reverence.
"Miss Bonacci," his father says formally, extending his hand. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."
"Mr. Lombardi," I reply, accepting his handshake. His grip is firm but not crushing, and I can see where Damon gets his controlled strength.
"Perhaps we could speak privately?" Papa suggests to the elder Lombardi. "There are arrangements to finalize."
"Of course." Damon's father nods, then looks at his son. "Ten minutes."
The adults disappear back into the study, leaving Damon and me alone in the hallway. We stare at each other, the silence stretching between us.
"You look stunning," he says finally, and the simple word breaks something loose in my chest.
"You look terrified."
That gets a small laugh out of him. "I am. But not of your father or the marriage or any of that." He steps closer. "I'm terrified of letting you down."
"Damon—"
"I know we haven't talked about any of this. The baby, the wedding, what comes next. Your father wanted everything handled through proper channels, and I respect that. But I need you to know this isn't about honor or family politics for me."
"What is it about?"
He reaches out slowly, giving me time to pull away, and cups my face in his hands. "It's about the fact that I love you. Completely. Desperately. In a way that probably makes me weak but I don't care."
My eyes fill with tears I wasn't expecting. "You love me?"
"Christ, Viviana. How could you doubt that?" His thumbs stroke across my cheekbones. "I love you, I love the baby you're carrying, and I love the life we're going to build together. Not because we have to, but because I want to. Because I can't imagine wanting anything else."
"I love you too," I whisper. "I was so scared you were only doing this because you felt obligated about the baby."
"Never." His voice is fierce. "I'm doing this because losing you isn't an option. Because the thought of anyone else touching you, anyone else being the father of your children, makes me go crazy."
He leans down and kisses me, soft and gentle, nothing like the desperate passion of our last night together. This is a promise, a claim, a declaration of intent.
When we break apart, I'm breathless.
"How are you feeling?" he asks, his hand moving to rest against my still-flat stomach. "Really?"
"Scared. Excited. Nauseous most mornings." I cover his hand with mine. "Like my whole life changed in the most terrifying and wonderful way possible."
"Any regrets?"
I think about it seriously. About the girl I was before I met him, about the safe, predictable life I would have had if none of this had happened.
"No," I say honestly. "Do you have regrets?"
"Not one." His smile is genuine. "Though I reserve the right to panic occasionally about being responsible for a tiny human."
"We'll figure it out together."
"Together," he agrees. "I like the sound of that."
The study door opens again, and our fathers emerge looking satisfied.
"It's done," Papa announces. "The engagement is official. The wedding will take place within a month."
"Less than a month?" I gasp.
"Before you start showing," Papa says. "Better to have everything settled quickly and properly."
Damon's hand finds mine, squeezing gently. "Is that enough time to plan what you want?"
"Mama will help," I say, looking at her. She nods, already mentally making lists, I'm sure.
"The Lombardis have generously offered to host the reception," Papa continues. "It will be a joint celebration, both families coming together."
"A new beginning," Damon's father adds. "For all of us."
As the adults continue discussing wedding details, guest lists, venues, security arrangements, Damon leans down to whisper in my ear.
"Three weeks until you're my wife."
The words send heat coursing through me. "Three weeks until we don't have to sneak around anymore."
"Three weeks until I can take you home and keep you there."
"Is that what you want? To keep me?"
His arm slides around my waist, pulling me closer. "Forever, if you'll let me."
I look around at our families, at the careful negotiations and political maneuvering that brought us to this moment. Then I look at Damon, at the man who saved my life and stole my heart.
"Forever sounds perfect," I whisper back.
***
Three days later, I'm in a bridal shop looking at wedding dresses with Mama when the full reality of what's happening hits me.
I stare at myself in the three-way mirror, wearing a simple silk gown that somehow manages to be both elegant and understated. It's perfect, but I can't stop thinking about how surreal this all is.
Only a few weeks ago, I was sneaking out to nightclubs. Now I'm picking out a wedding dress for a marriage that will unite two crime families.
"You're very quiet, sweetheart," Mama observes. "Do you not like this one?"
"I love it," I say honestly. "It's a lot to think about."
"Marriage always is. Especially when it carries the weight this one does." She adjusts the veil in my hair.
I smooth my hands over the silk dress, imagining walking down the aisle toward Damon. Imagining saying vows that will bind our lives together permanently.
"I want this dress," I tell her. "It's perfect."
"Viviana?" Mama touches my arm gently as we finish up. "There's something I want you to know."
"What?"
"Whatever brought you and Damon together, whatever circumstances led to this marriage, I can see that you care for each other. That's not always true in our world. Hold onto that. Nurture it. It will get you through everything else."
I nod, blinking back sudden tears. "Thank you, Mama."
And standing there in my wedding dress, I feel something settle in my chest.
This is really happening.
In three weeks, I'll be Viviana Lombardi.
And despite everything, I can't wait.