101 | She chose me
April in northern Sweden is a cold dream.
The night air is crisp, the sky above is canvas of swirling greens and purples, the Northern Lights dancing like they're here just for her, for us.
It's been a year since I promised Aurelia a real wedding. One that's hers. Not rushed. Not tainted.
Tonight, under these lights, in the middle of nowhere, we're getting married. Just us, a priest, and the vast, snowy silence. The tabloids are losing their shit. "Luciano Costa's Secret Second Wedding to his wife, Aurelia Costa!" But I don't care about their noise, their cameras.
All I care about is her. My wife.
I stand beside the priest, a grizzled local in a heavy coat, his Bible tucked under his arm, his face calm, like he's seen a thousand vows under these lights. I'm in a tailored black suit, no tie, my breath visible in the chill, my heart pounding so hard it might crack my ribs.
The Northern Lights pulse above, casting an otherworldly glow, and I feel it. The weight of what we've survived. The world that tried to break us.
Finally I see her, and my world stops.
Aurelia steps from the shadows, her white gown shimmering, simple but perfect, hugging her curves. A fur stole draped over her shoulders. Her red hair loose, catching the aurora's light.
Her eyes, those golden eyes, lock on mine, and I'm undone. My chest tight, love so fierce it's a blade.
She walks alone. No music. Just the crunch of snow under her boots. Her smile soft, tearful, but strong.
The priest nods, but I barely notice, because she's here. Close enough to touch, and I want to fall to my knees. Worship her. Claim her. Keep her safe from every ghost we've buried.
She reaches me and her hands trembe as she takes mine. Her fingers cold but steady, and I squeeze, grounding her, grounding me.
"You're so fucking beautiful," I whisper, my voice rough, low, just for her.
She laughs, a soft sob. Her eyes glistening, reflecting the lights above.
"You're not so bad yourself, Costa," she murmurs, teasing, her voice shaky but warm.
I grin, despite the tears burning my own eyes.
The priest clears his throat, starting the ceremony. His words are simple. About love. Commitment. Eternity. But they fade, because it's her I hear. Her heartbeat. Her breath.
He asks for our vows, and I go first. My hands still holding hers. My voice steady but thick, every word a piece of my soul.
"Aurelia," I rasp,my eyes locked on hers, tears spilling, unashamed.
"You are my wife. My anchor in the madness.
The reason I keep breathing when the world begs me to quit and die.
I've carved out my heart for you, spilled my soul across every step we've taken.
I would walk back into hell itself just to keep that spark alive in your eyes.
Your bravery, your fear, every jagged piece of you, I want it all.
I crave you endlessly, recklessly, like a man starved.
And I swear this with every scar and every breath.
I am yours. Until the dark takes me, and even then, I will crawl through it to find you again. "
She's crying now, tears streaming down her cheeks. But her smile's radiant as she squeezes my hands and begins her own vows that will bind us in something deeper than love.
"Luciano," she begins, her words breaking. But she pushes through. Her eyes never leaving mine.
"You are my anchor in the abyss, my wildfire in the cold.
You've looked into the heart of my chaos, touched the places I tried to hide, and still, you stayed.
Through every storm, every scar, you fought for me, bled for the life we're building.
And I vow this, I will love you with the same fury.
I will hold you through ruin and glory. I will be your shelter, your sanctuary, even when the world turns to ash.
I choose you in every lifetime, in every shadow, in every breath. "
Her words hit like a punch, and I'm choking on my tears, my throat tight, because she's choosing me again.
After all we've done. After all we've gone through. She chose me.
The priest speaks the final words, but I barely hear them.
My hands tremble as I take hers, sliding the new golden ring onto her finger, a thin band, crowned with a ruby. Blood-red. Like us. Like the promises we make in silence.
She places mine with a calm that burns. Her touch is fire under ice.
When the priest whispers, "You may kiss the bride," I pull her into me like gravity. My lips find hers, hungry, drowning, eternal. I taste salt. I taste her. I taste forever.
She answers with a kiss that devours my being. Her fingers tangle in my hair, her body melting into mine. Above us, the Northern Lights shatter the dark. The cold doesn't matter. Nothing does.
Only her.
"I love you," I murmur against her lips, my voice low and intense, my heart entirely hers. "And thank you for choosing me in the end, Principessa."
"Love you more, Costa," she teases, her voice playful.
I grin, kissing her again because she's mine and I'm hers. No tabloid, no ghost, can touch this.