Chapter 3: Say I Do

Arianna

The church doors opened, and everything slowed down.

I took one small step forward, my heart pounding beneath the lace bodice of my gown. The cathedral was grander than I'd imagined, vaulted ceilings, heavy candles burning like old promises, pews packed with men in black suits and women dripping in designer gold.

It felt more like a ceremony of power than of love.

All eyes were on me.

My heels clicked gently against the polished floor as I walked down the aisle beside my father, one hand resting on his arm, the other clutching a delicate bouquet of pale roses. Every inch of my dress had been designed to perfection, from the embroidered train to the pearl-dotted veil cascading down my back.

But none of that mattered the moment I saw him.

Enzo Romano.

Standing at the altar, tall, commanding. Midnight black suit. Crisp white shirt. A tailored silhouette that made everyone else in the room look average. He wasn’t smiling. He didn’t have to. The sharp lines of his jaw, the stormy stillness in his gaze, it was enough to make my stomach do a slow somersault.

I didn’t know if it was nerves or something else.

Antonio Lucchese stood beside him, equally intimidating in a more polished way, like a king in a clean-cut three-piece suit. His wife, Ilaria, looked like a goddess in soft silk, calm and unreadable.

My eyes snapped back to Enzo.

I’m lucky, I told myself. He could’ve been sixty. Balding. Greasy. Drunk.

But he wasn’t.

He was Enzo. Untouchable. Lethal. And soon to be mine.

We reached the altar, and my father let out a low chuckle as he reached for my hand and placed it in Enzo’s.

“Enjoy it,” my father said, his lips twitching.

Enzo looked him dead in the eye. “I will.”

That one answer, calm and unflinching, made a shiver run down my spine. My fingers trembled slightly as they met Enzo’s. His palm was warm, larger than mine, rougher. The moment our hands locked, something sparked through me, an electric rush, a tingling sensation that zipped up my spine and settled at the base of my neck.

Euphoria? Panic?

I couldn’t tell. But Enzo? He didn’t flinch. His face stayed exactly the same.

Stoic.

Controlled.

Like this was just another business deal being sealed.

As we turned together to face the priest, I tripped, just barely, but it was enough for my heel to catch the hem of my dress.

Before I could even gasp, Enzo’s hand shot out, firm on my lower back, steadying me. His fingers pressed against the curve of my spine, holding me up without a single word.

I glanced up at him, my cheeks flushing, but he didn’t look at me.

“Watch your step,” he murmured under his breath.

My heart thudded. Not from the stumble, but from his voice. That deep, husky murmur right by my ear. He smelled faintly of cedar and something darker. Expensive. Clean.

The priest began the ceremony, reading in Italian, his words echoing through the old walls. I barely heard him. I was hyper-aware of everything else, my heartbeat, the weight of Enzo’s hand, the sharp angle of his jaw in my peripheral vision.

When it came time for the vows, I could barely find my voice.

My throat felt tight, like I’d swallowed something too big. The church fell so silent that even my breath felt too loud.

“I do,” I finally whispered.

It came out smaller than I meant, but the words echoed. A thousand ears hung on them.

I swallowed hard.

Enzo’s answer came easily, clean and direct.

“I do.”

He didn’t waver. Didn’t look nervous. Just delivered the line like he’d known it his whole life.

The priest nodded and gave his blessing, his voice rising for the final moment. The air grew heavier. I could feel every single person watching us now. My fingers tightened around my bouquet.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

My breath caught in my throat.

This was it.

The moment every girl secretly imagined at least once.

I closed my eyes slowly, lifted my chin slightly, and puckered my lips, soft, careful, almost afraid. My heart pounded so hard it made my ears ring.

I imagined what it would feel like, his lips on mine, warm, firm, taking my breath away. I wondered if he was a good kisser. Maybe he’d surprise me.

A pause.

I felt him move.

My veil lifted gently.

And then,

A press of lips.

On my cheek.

Not my mouth.

Not even close.

Just the faintest brush of contact, chaste and calculated, like a kiss to a cousin or a child.

My eyes blinked open.

He was already turning away.

The church erupted into polite applause, people standing to cheer. The music swelled. Petals fell. But all I could hear was the pounding in my chest.

My lips were still puckered. Still waiting.

What the hell just happened?

Had I misread it? Had I,

My thoughts raced.

Am I that unattractive?

That unappealing?

You can’t even kiss me?