Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
VANESSA
Today is the day. My wedding day.
For the last few days, I’ve pretended nothing has changed when I’m around the people I work with, but inside I’ve been quietly losing my mind. I barely get any sleep, mostly because I’m constantly distracted by a very hot lawyer—sorry, my fiancé.
I’m sitting in Juliet’s room on the second floor of Gino’s house, taking in all the little things that make me like her even more.
Her style is minimal and tidy, but the hint of vanilla in the air makes it feel warm and lived-in.
Every wall is lined with shelves of fantasy books, a quiet testament to how much she loves to read.
Photos of her family are everywhere, all of them smiling, happy.
It makes me wonder why she’s here at all, working this job, when her family looks so well off and close.
I do my own makeup and hair, not wanting to bother anyone.
I go with a smoky eye, light pink lipstick, and wear my hair half up, half down in soft curls.
With no time to shop for an actual wedding dress, I pull on a white, flowy maxi dress with long sleeves from my closet.
Somehow, it feels more like me anyway. Sitting here, I’m surprised by how calm I feel. Maybe it’s just shock.
There is a light tap on the door, and Aunt Lucy steps in. “You look gorgeous, sweetie.”
“Thanks,” I say, a little shy as she sits on the bed behind me.
“Your parents would be so proud of everything you’ve accomplished.”
“Yeah, maybe.” I give her a soft smile. “My mother didn’t want any of this, and I just walked right into it.” There’s a hint of hurt in my voice that I can’t hide.
“She may not have wanted this for you,” Aunt Lucy says gently, “but she would’ve wanted what was best for you and what would keep you safe.” She stands. “I’ll leave you to finish getting ready.”
I smile back at her.
Most of my childhood, I believed my dad was just a businessman who traveled a lot. As I got older, I realized he was really just running from me. I look just like my mother, with my red hair and green eyes. Maybe he loved her. Maybe he didn’t. But after she died, he barely came around.
I didn’t even know about the mafia until I was sixteen, when he made the deal. Looking back now, I realize there was more than just a job I was signing up for—so much more. From being in the mafia to marrying someone I barely know, but have fucked.
Another knock on the door pulls me from my thoughts.
Juliet steps in, wearing a light green dress, her dark brown hair straight and styled half up, half down.
Over the last few days, she’s become the closest person to a friend I have around here.
She’s funny, sweet, and kind, and somehow always manages to keep up with everything Gino throws at her.
I’ve learned she isn’t just the housekeeper.
She’s also his accountant, with the housekeeper role serving as a convenient cover if things ever go south.
“Hey,” she says gently. “How are you doing in here?” Her eyes sweep over me. “You look beautiful.”
“Thanks,” I reply, returning her smile, a little shy.
“Your brother is itching to talk to you, by the way, but I’ve been keeping him away so he doesn’t freak you out.”
“Why would he freak me out?”
“He’s being a little overprotective. He basically told Mateo he’d kill him if he ever hurts you.”
I roll my eyes. “Why would he do that? Mateo’s his best friend. I’m just the sister he barely knows.”
“I think it’s because you’re the only blood relative he has,” Juliet says gently. “He’s probably just nervous.”
As soon as she finishes, Gino walks in and closes the door behind him. He sits on the bed next to Juliet, dressed in a black suit with a crisp white shirt.
“Are you about ready?” he asks.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I say, meeting his eye in the vanity mirror.
“This isn’t how I thought this would happen,” he admits. “I figured we’d have time to work through it before I told you. I should’ve said something the second I found out, but I didn’t. And please don’t blame Mateo. I told him not to say a word.”
I give a small shrug.
“Kevin will be up here in a few to walk you down,” he adds.
He and Juliet leave the room, Juliet offering me a soft smile as she goes.
The wedding itself passes in a blur. Uncle Kevin walks me down the aisle, the officiant rattles off the vows, and we exchange rings.
They didn’t want to risk a church, so Gino’s backyard has to do.
I barely remember the food or the cake. The next thing I know, Mateo and I are in his SUV, heading back toward the city.
“You good?” he softly asks, glancing over.
“Yeah. I’m good.” I catch sight of the gold band on his finger. Our eyes meet for a second before I quickly look away.
We pull onto the road, both of us lost in our own thoughts.
“I know you’re pissed. I can tell from the last few days. You’re avoiding me, barely talking to me, not even looking at me half the time. I’m sorry. I should’ve told you the second I knew—” he says, finally breaking the stretch of unspoken tension.
“It’s fine,” I mutter.
“It’s not, and you know it. Vanessa, I don’t want you to think I took advantage of you.”
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore. It’s done. Everyone got what they wanted.”
“Not everyone,” he admits. “You didn’t.”
“I doubt anyone is thinking about what I want.”
“I tried,” he confesses. “I mean, I fucked it up, but I tried.” He lets out a slow breath. “I wanted to tell you, but Gino and Kevin said it wasn’t a good idea.”
“Please don’t blame someone else. No matter what they said, you could have told me,” I say, letting out a frustrated breath.
“I know.”
The weight in the car is heavy, and I don’t know whether I want to scream at him or shut down completely. Uncle Kevin always told me not to forgive and forget too easily, so Mateo is going to have to earn it.
We reach his apartment and head for the elevators without a word.
When we step inside, the place feels different, almost unfamiliar.
Maybe it’s everything that happened today.
Maybe it’s the realization that I can’t go back to my own place anymore.
I go straight to my room and shut the door before Mateo can say anything.
It takes me a moment to realize why it feels so strange.
All of my things are here. My books. My clothes.
Everything. The truth settles in hard. This isn’t temporary.
I’m married to a man I don’t know how to forgive for changing my life like this.
I wanted to fall in love before I got married.
I wanted children. But in this world, I’m sealed into something I never chose.
I don’t even know if I want to bring a child into it.
Before I can stop myself, I swing the door open and head into the kitchen.
Mateo is cooking, and it smells incredible.
The sun is setting, light pouring through the windows and catching on the crisp white button-down he’s wearing.
He’s infuriatingly attractive, and maybe one day I’ll be able to get used to living with him, even wanting him.
But not right now.
Almost perfectly timed with my staring, he turns and smirks at me. He starts plating the food while I stay where I am, watching him, not ready to speak. My stomach betrays me with a loud growl, and I groan softly.
“I noticed you barely ate, so I made us some dinner,” he says, guilt flickering across his face.
“Thanks,” I reply. “But you didn’t have to make anything.”
“Are you used to people not apologizing to you?” he asks.
“What do you mean?”
“Everyone said they were sorry for knowing and not telling you,” he replies, “but I’m the only one you haven’t forgiven.”
“Why do you say that?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
“For one, the look on your face,” he says, a hint of amusement in his voice.
“You’ve been looking at me all day like you want to punch me, which is fair.
I had a hundred chances to tell you, and I didn’t.
Not because I couldn’t, but because I didn’t want you thinking I only slept with you because I knew we were going to get married.
” He exhales slowly. “I’m not going to say I tried to tell you. I didn’t. That’s on me.”
He comes around the island and stops in front of me. I haven’t moved, hanging on every word.
“I’m not asking you to sleep with me tonight or even tomorrow,” he says quietly. “I’m not asking you to love me. I’m asking you to eventually trust me.”
I swallow hard. “It’s not that I won’t forgive you. It’s that you slept with me knowing this was coming. It feels like some kind of… try-before-you-buy thing.”
“Absolutely not. That’s not what I was doing,” he says quickly.
“You’re beautiful, Vanessa. Don’t ever forget that.
I would never want you thinking I slept with you just because I was going to marry you.
” He lets out a slow breath. “Is that why you’re pissed?
Because you think I fucked you to test you out, as you so eloquently put it?
That’s nowhere near what was going through my head.
I wanted you because I’m attracted to you.
Because I think you’re hot. The whole getting married two weeks after meeting you part?
” He smirks. “That was just an added bonus.”
I smirk back. “Just so you know, I’m not forgiving you completely yet. But that little speech is getting you closer.”
“Good,” he says with a small smile. He heads back to the island and lifts both plates. “Let’s eat out on the patio.”
When we step outside, I notice the soft lights that used to be in my bedroom now strung along the railing. A small table waits there with a bottle of wine, turning the space into something that feels almost intimate.
“Since we didn’t have a proper reception, I figured we’d make our own,” he says.
“You did all of this?” I ask.
“Most of it,” he admits. “The people who moved your stuff helped me set up the lights and the table, but yeah. I did it.” He smiles.
He turns on some soft music, not too loud, just enough to fill the space. Then he pours us both wine and we sit down. He’s made tacos, which tells me someone tipped him off about my favorite meal. The carne asada is cooked perfectly, topped with onions and cilantro.
We eat for a few moments, and I can feel him watching me from across the table.
I look up at him and meet his stare. “What?” I ask softly.
“Nothing, I, um…” he pauses.
“How did you know tacos are my favorite?”
“Favorite, huh?” He looks at me, confused.
“Yeah, I know it’s weird considering I grew up in Utah, but my mom was originally from Texas, so Mexican food and Tex Mex were basically what I ate every day before she died.”
“Well, now I know. I’ll make you Mexican instead of Italian.” He has a smile on his face again.
“I don’t need you to cook specifically what I want.”
“I know, but this makes it more interesting for me since I don’t cook Mexican food often.” He lifts his hand and brushes the corner of my mouth, wiping something away. “You had something on your face.”
Part of me wants to forgive him right now and kiss him.
The other part wants to see how long he’ll try to earn it.
Before I can even think, he steps closer, his thumb sliding over my cheek as he looks at me like he could devour me right here.
He leans in and kisses me, his hand drifting down my neck, his thumb tracing my jaw.
I press my hands to his chest for balance.
He pulls back and meets my eyes. “There’s one other thing I need to apologize for. I’m sorry about the last time we had sex. If you don’t want to do it like that again, we don’t have to.”
“Oh, that’s not at all what I thought,” I say quickly. “I really liked it. Everything about that day just hit me all at once, and I froze.”
He exhales, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “I’m not going to make you do it again until you’re ready, but that does make me feel a little better.”
After we eat, we move into the living room and settle onto the couch together. I twist my hands in my lap. “I was able to get a few days off at the hospital. I found someone to cover me last minute.” I hesitate, then blurt, “Do I need to leave my job?”
He turns slightly toward me. “I don’t think so. Not yet, at least.”
“Okay,” I murmur.
“Are you worried about having to leave?” he asks gently.
“Yes.”
He looks at me, and I turn my head away. He reaches out anyway, his voice steady. “You don’t have to be scared about it. We’ll figure out a way to make it work. I might not always be the one with you, but we’ll make it work.”