Chapter 34 #2
"After the courthouse, you're legally married. Spousal privilege kicks in. You're protected—at least on paper." He headed for the door, then paused. "Try to enjoy it. The ceremony might be rushed, but it still counts."
After he left, Serenity stood. "I'll call Isobel.” Her brows drew together and she looked at Julia. “Your legal name. Is it Russell or Russo?”
“Russo. Julia Sofia Russo.”
“Got it. I’ll make sure it’s right. Congratulations, you two. Even if the circumstances are completely insane." She smiled warmly. "I'm happy for you."
Then it was just Julia and me in my office, the weight of what we were about to do settling over us.
"Four hours until we're married," she said.
"Legally, at least."
"It counts." She squeezed my hand. "Stone was right about that."
"Are you scared?" I asked.
"Not about marrying you. But I’m terrified of Carlo, of whoever's trying to kill us, of standing in a courthouse and making promises I desperately want to keep but might not live long enough to honor." She paused. "You?"
"Same. But also—" I pulled her closer. "Also excited. Because in four hours, you'll be my wife. Really, truly my wife. And whatever comes after—Carlo, the killer, the wedding trap—we face it together."
Her lips parted. "Yup. A true partnership.”
“I like the sound of that.”
We sat there for a moment, just breathing, just being.
Then Julia straightened, all business again. "We should call Carlo. Get it over with."
"You want to do it now?"
"Better now than after we're married. At least this way, if he threatens to kill you, it won't technically be fratricide yet."
My brows dipped. "That's comforting."
"I'm a comforting person."
I shook my head. “You want me to call him, or do you want to?”
Her eyes widened. “You go ahead.”
“Chicken.” I pulled out my phone. "On speaker?"
"Definitely." She moved closer so we could both hear.
I dialed Carlo's number. It rang twice.
"Quentin." Carlo's voice was flat. Dangerous. "I hope you have information for me."
Julia leaned toward the phone. "Hi, Carlo."
Silence. Then: "Julia? Why are you on this call?"
"Because we need to talk. All three of us." She grabbed my hand. "Carlo I… I told Quentin everything. The deadline. All of it. We’ve been working together and we found something. Documents, evidence, a money trail that leads back to Papa's killer. But we need more time to verify exactly who it is."
Silence. “You told him? That wasn’t part of the plan.”
“I know. But it’s the only way I could save him… save us.”
A pause. I could practically hear him processing this breach of protocol. Julia squeezed my hand even harder.
"It doesn’t change anything. You still have four days."
She swallowed. "We need more time than that. And we need to meet—in person. There are things we can't discuss over the phone."
"I'll consider it."
Julia glanced at me. I nodded. Taking both my hands in hers, she continued. "There’s something else. Quentin and I are getting married."
The silence stretched so long I thought the call had dropped.
"You're what?"
"Getting married. Today, actually. Courthouse ceremony for legal protection. But we want to do a real wedding too. In New York. With the family."
"Have you lost your mind?" Carlo's voice was ice. "He's still under investigation for Papa's murder. You're going to marry him?"
"He didn't do it, Carlo. I know he didn't. And when we meet, I'll prove it to you."
"Julia—"
"I love him." Her voice was steady, strong. Her gaze locked on mine. "I know you don't want to hear that. I know you think I'm being stupid or naive or blinded by feelings. But I love him, and I'm marrying him, and I need you to trust me. Just like I've always trusted you."
More silence. I could hear him breathing. Thinking.
"Vanetti." Carlo's voice filled the room. "You understand what you're asking of me?"
I stepped closer to the phone. "Yes. I understand perfectly."
"You’re really going to marry my sister, who I sent to exact vengeance for the murder of our father?"
"Yes."
He sighed. "Bold move."
"I prefer 'optimistic.'"
Despite everything, I heard Carlo snort. "You have balls, I'll give you that. Stupid balls, but balls."
"Thank you?" I met Julia’s gaze and shrugged.
"Here's the deal. You both come to New York. We'll meet for dinner. Private room, public restaurant. You tell me your plan, I decide if I'm helping or stopping it."
“When?” Julia asked.
"Tomorrow. The restaurant. Bocelli's. Private room. Seven p.m."
"Will you guarantee safe passage for Quentin?”
A pause. “Of course. But Julia…" Carlo's voice softened slightly. "If you're wrong about him—if he had anything to do with Papa's death—"
"He didn't."
"But if he did, marriage won't save him. Do you understand?"
"I understand." Her gaze found mine and her voice hardened. "But I'm not wrong."
"We'll see. Tomorrow, 7 p.m. Don't be late."
The call ended.
Julia let out a shaky breath. "Well. That went better than expected."
"He didn't immediately threaten to kill me. That's progress."
"Baby steps." She stood, pulling me up with her. "Come on. We have a wedding to get ready for. The courthouse variety first, then the convince-my-brother-not-to-murder-you variety tomorrow."
"One disaster at a time."
"That's the spirit."
As we headed for the door, I pulled her back, kissed her properly. When we broke apart, she was smiling.
"What was that for?" she asked.
"Practice. For when the officiant says 'you may kiss the bride.'"
"You're such a romantic."
"You're marrying me in four hours. Clearly you like it."
She laughed—real, genuine, the kind of laugh that made me believe we might actually survive this.
"Yeah," she said softly. "I really do."
∞∞∞
The courthouse smelled like floor polish and stale coffee. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting everything in a flat, institutional glow. Not exactly the romantic setting I'd imagined for my wedding.
But Julia's hand was warm in mine, and that was all that mattered.
"This way," Serenity said, leading us down a hallway lined with wooden benches. A few other couples waited—some nervous, some excited, one couple arguing quietly in Spanish.
Stone walked slightly behind us, his eyes constantly scanning. Even here, even now, he was on guard.
"Room 3B," Serenity confirmed, checking her phone. "Judge Martinez is ready for us. Isobel pulled strings—we're lucky to get same-day."
"Lucky," I muttered. "That's one word for it."
Julia squeezed my hand. "Having second thoughts?"
"About marrying you? Never." I stopped, turned to face her. "About the venue? Maybe."
She glanced around at the beige walls, the scuffed linoleum, the flickering exit sign. "It's not exactly The Plaza."
"No."
"But it counts."
"It counts," I agreed.
Her eyes were bright, maybe with unshed tears. "I'm sorry it has to be like this. Rushed. No white dress, no flowers, no—"
"Julia." I cupped her face. "I don't care about any of that. I care about you. About making this legal so no one can force you to testify against me. About protecting you." I paused. "About being your husband."
A tear escaped, tracking down her cheek. "You're really good at this."
"At what?"
"Making courthouse weddings feel romantic."
"It's a gift."
Stone cleared his throat. "As touching as this is, we're on a schedule. Judge Martinez has a full docket."
"Right. Yes. Wedding." I straightened my tie—I'd at least worn a decent suit. Julia had changed into a simple ivory dress, elegant and understated. She looked beautiful.
She always looked beautiful.
Serenity knocked on the door to 3B. A voice called out, "Come in."
Inside, Judge Martinez sat behind a desk cluttered with files and a coffee mug that read "World's Okayest Judge." She was fiftyish, reading glasses perched on her nose, with the efficient air of someone who'd married hundreds of couples and didn't waste time on sentiment.
"Mr. Vanetti. Ms. Russo." She gestured to two chairs in front of her desk. "Please, sit."
We sat.
Stone and Serenity positioned themselves behind us, ready to serve as witnesses.
Judge Martinez pulled out a form. "I understand this is a somewhat expedited situation.
Ms. Kane—your attorney—explained the circumstances.
" She looked up, her expression neutral.
"I want to be clear: I don't marry people who are being coerced.
Are you both entering this marriage of your own free will? "
"Yes," I said immediately.
"Absolutely," Julia added.
"Good." The judge made a note. "Do you have the marriage license?"
Serenity handed it forward. "All signed and notarized."
Judge Martinez reviewed it, nodded, set it aside. "Do you have rings?"
I froze. In all the chaos, the planning, the strategy—we'd forgotten rings.
Julia's face fell. "We don't—"
"Here." Serenity stepped forward, pulled off a simple silver band from her right hand. "Use this for now. You can get real ones later."
I stared at her. "Serenity—"
"Just take it. I'll want it back after you get proper rings." Her eyes twinkled with humor. "Consider it a loan."
"Thank you," Julia said softly.
Serenity nodded once and stepped back.
Judge Martinez checked her watch. "Shall we begin? I have another couple at three-thirty."
Romance. Truly, this was the stuff of fairy tales.
But then Julia took my hands and suddenly none of it mattered—not the institutional setting, the borrowed ring, the rushed timeline. Just her. Just us.
Judge Martinez stood. "Please rise."
We stood.
"We are gathered here today to join Quentin Vanetti and Julia Sofia Russo in matrimony." Her voice shifted slightly—still professional, but warmer. "Marriage is a commitment. A partnership. A choice you make not once, but every day. It requires trust, communication, compromise, and love."
She paused, looking at us over her reading glasses. "I've married a lot of couples in this office. Some make it, some don't. The ones who make it? They remember that marriage isn't about the wedding day. It's about all the days that come after."