Chapter 20 Elio
ELIO
Istare at Annie, feeling as if she’s just asked me to jump off of a cliff, trying to process what she’s just said.
I stare at her, trying to process what she just said.
“Marry you,” I repeat slowly.
“Yes.” Her voice is steadier now, more certain, as if she’s convincing herself that this is the best possible plan. "Marry me. Make me your wife. Protect me in a way that Desmond can’t undo."
"Annie, this is—you can't just—marriage is supposed to be permanent. If we do this, if we…" I stammer, fighting every instinct in me that wants her. That wants this—that has, for eleven years.
“It doesn’t have to be permanent,” she says quickly, and the words hit me like a physical blow. “Once Desmond is dead, once this is all over, we can get divorced—whatever we need to do. Ronan never even has to know it happened.”
Ronan never has to know.
She thinks this can be temporary. That we can just undo it like it never happened. That I can marry her—the woman I've loved since we were sixteen—and then walk away like it meant nothing.
"Annie—"
"Please, Elio." She looks up at me, her bright blue eyes pleading, that fear starting to leach into her expression again.
"I know it's insane. I know I'm asking too much. But I don't know what else to do. If I go to Ronan, it’ll tear him apart. Desmond will try to kill him to get to me, or threaten his family, or…” She sucks in a shaky breath.
“And if I run, Desmond will hunt me down.
But if I'm married to someone else—to you—his entire plan falls apart. He might still try to come after me, but he can’t force me to—"
She's right. Desmond’s revenge hinges on him being able to marry her, to force her into a consummated union that, by the laws of our families, can’t be undone and would make going after him an act of war.
The same applies to our marriage, if I do this.
It’ll make it harder for Desmond to come after her, after me.
She’ll be another man’s wife, a don’s wife.
I don’t think that will stop him entirely, but the one thing he won’t be able to do is force her to say vows and force her into his bed that way—legally.
He can’t make her his.
But I could make her mine.
The thought sends a wave of heat through me that I quickly suppress. This isn't about what I want. This is about keeping her safe.
"You're talking about a legal marriage," I say slowly, trying not to think about how this makes me feel. How torn up inside I am right now from being handed what I want… but not the way I wanted it in the slightest. "You want me to actually marry you."
"Yes," she confirms. "It has to be real enough that Desmond can't claim it's fake or invalid. A priest, a license. We have to be married in reality."
"And then we just divorce," I say flatly. "When this is over."
"Yes." She says it so easily, like it's simple. Like marrying me and then leaving me won't destroy her like it will me. I don’t know if that’s what she really feels, or if she’s just saying this so I’ll agree—if she thinks a temporary marriage is what I would want.
And we don’t have time to hash it out right now.
"It'll be temporary. A solution to a problem.
You said yourself that you'd do anything to protect me. "
I stand up slowly and turn away from her, running my hands through my hair, trying to think. Trying to see past the want, past the desperate desire to say yes to anything she asks of me.
If I do this—if I marry her—I'll have everything I've ever wanted and nothing at all.
She'll be my wife in name, but not in any way that matters.
Not in her heart. And when this is over, when Desmond is dead and the threat has passed, she'll leave me.
She'll go back to her life, and I'll be left with nothing but the memory of what it felt like to call her mine.
It’ll be a thousand times worse than when I left when we were eighteen. When I knew what it was like to want her, but not to have her. When I thought that it was just puppy love, that I’d leave and grow up and be glad I hadn’t made a mistake that could have ruined my entire life.
But Annie could never have been a mistake. And walking away from her was the worst decision I ever made.
If I don't do this, she might end up married to Desmond Connelly, trapped in a nightmare she can't escape from. If I marry her now, that option is off of the table for him, at least.
“There’s a priest right here,” Annie says softly, gesturing at the man that Diego is still holding onto. “He can marry us.”
I finally turn to face her, studying her expression. She looks so certain, so determined. And underneath that, I can see the fear. The desperation. She's not doing this because she wants to marry me. She's doing this because she's terrified and out of options.
And I’m going to say yes anyway—because I’m a fool, because I love her, and because I can’t bear the thought of anything happening to her.
"Okay," I hear myself say. "Okay, we'll do it."
The relief that floods her face should make me happy. Instead, it just makes my chest ache.
"But we need to set some ground rules," I continue, forcing myself to stay detached despite everything churning inside of me. "This is temporary. Once Desmond is dead and you're safe, we end it. Quietly, quickly. No one needs to know it ever happened."
"Agreed," she says immediately.
"And Ronan—" I stop, thinking about the man who has given me everything—my brother in all the ways that matter. "He can never find out about this."
"I know," Annie says softly. "I wouldn't ask you to keep this from him if we had any other option. I wouldn’t have asked you to keep any of it from him."
"I know you wouldn't." I take a deep breath. "Alright.”
The priest is muttering something in Gaelic under his breath as Diego shoves him forward at my gesture. I look at the older man. “Get your things together. Get ready for another ceremony.”
The priest looks as if he wants to bolt, but his eyes stray to the gun in my hand. He nods, pale as parchment, and scurries to grab his Bible and the stole that fell off in the scuffle.
I look at Diego, who is standing there impassively, waiting for my instructions. “Diego, I need you to witness something."
His eyebrows rise. "Witness what?"
"A wedding."
Diego stares at me like I've lost my mind. "Boss—"
"Don't," I cut him off. "Just do it. And Diego? This stays between us. No one else knows. Understood?"
He studies me for a long moment, then nods slowly. "Understood."
The priest is nervous and sweating, his collar askew, his hands shaking. He looks at me fearfully as I come to stand at the altar with Annie, wishing more than anything that we were doing this somewhere else.
Not in a decrepit, crumbling church, with Annie in a bloodstained wedding dress that another man forced her into.
"You're going to marry us," I tell him, my voice cold. "Right now."
The priest's eyes widen. "I—I can't. Mr. Connelly paid me to—"
"Mr. Connelly is gone, and a dead man," I interrupt. "And you're going to marry me to this woman, or you're going to precede him into the afterlife. Your choice."
He pales, his gaze darting between Annie and me. "But I took his money. I agreed to—"
"You agreed to marry an unwilling bride to a man who kidnapped her," Annie says, her voice hard. "You took money to participate in a crime. So I'd suggest you cooperate now while you still can."
The priest swallows hard, then nods. "Yes. Yes, of course. I—Dearly beloved—"
The priest begins the ceremony, his voice shaking. The words wash over me—the traditional Catholic wedding vows that I've heard at plenty of weddings over the years. Words about love and honor and cherishing. Words that should mean something but feel hollow in this moment.
"Do you, Elio Cattaneo, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?"
Yes, something inside me screams. Yes—God, yes—I do.
I’d love her through anything. Cherish her until the day I die. Kill for her or die for her. The two words I’m expected to say don’t feel like enough, especially when I mean them more than this wedding requires me to.
"I do," I say aloud, my voice steady.
The priest turns to Annie. "Do you, Annie O'Malley, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?"
Annie's hand is trembling in mine, her voice catching as she speaks. "I do."
I want to ask her what she’s thinking. If the words mean anything to her. If she’s dreamed of this moment, wished for it, or if it’s only a means to an end.
"By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife." The priest's voice is barely above a whisper. "You may kiss the bride."
I should peck her on the mouth, do the bare minimum to seal this farce of a marriage.
But in this moment, with those words hanging in the air, all I can see is her.
Her brilliant blue eyes, her beautiful face, the mouth that I want to claim over and over until mine are the only kisses she’ll ever remember.
I reach for Annie, the woman I’ve loved since I was old enough to imagine what the word meant, in her bloodstained wedding dress. I pull her into my arms, and there, in the ruined church, in front of a decrepit priest, I crush my mouth to hers and kiss her the way I’ve imagined a thousand times.