Like what you see...?

At the Villa ~

Staff members rushed through the halls. Flowers were being arranged. Music was being tested. The small group of guests—Diego's trusted inner circle were being seated in the garden.

And I was standing in front of a mirror, staring at my reflection.

The dress was stunning. White silk. Simple elegance. Nothing like the heavy, suffocating gown my mother had chosen. Diego had chosen this one. He'd had it delivered this morning, along with a note:

"Wear this, gattina. It matches your eyes."

My eyes were brown. The dress was white and filled with wonderful designs. But somehow, I understood what he meant.

He saw me. The real me. Not the version my family wanted me to be.

"What are you doing?"

I spun around. My father was standing in the doorway, his face red with rage. His suit was rumpled. His tie was crooked. He looked like he'd been running.

"You," he spat. "You selfish, ungrateful—"

"Father—"

"Don't you dare speak to me!" He stormed into the room. "Do you have any idea what you've done? Do you have any idea how much you've humiliated this family?"

I opened my mouth, but no words came.

"You ran," he continued, his voice shaking with fury. "On your wedding day. In front of everyone. You made a fool of yourself. You made a fool of me. You made a fool of this entire family!"

"I didn't want to marry him," I whispered.

"You don't get to want things!" he roared. "You don't get to have opinions! You do what you're told. You're a Rossi. You have responsibilities. And you—" He pointed a trembling finger at me. "You almost destroyed everything."

I flinched.

"Your mother was crying. Beatrice was humiliated. The guests were whispering." He stepped closer. "If Diego hadn't found you, if he hadn't brought you here—"

"Found me," I repeated. "You mean I ran into his car. I didn't know who he was."

"It doesn't matter!" He slammed his fist on the table. "You should have stayed. You should have done what you were told. You should have—"

"Father." Beatrice's voice cut through the tension. She appeared in the doorway, her eyes cold and calculating. "Calm down. You'll give yourself a heart attack."

I stared at her. She wasn't defending me. She never did. She was just enjoying the show.

"Beatrice," my father said. "Talk some sense into her."

Beatrice stepped into the room, her heels clicking against the marble floor. She studied me like I was a bug under a microscope.

"You really are pathetic," she said. "Running away in a wedding dress. Hiding in a stranger's car. And then—" She laughed. "Then you end up with Diego De Luca anyway. It's almost poetic."

"I didn't know who he was," I said through gritted teeth.

"Does it matter?" She shrugged. "You're here now. You're going to marry him. You're going to save this family. And you're going to stop being a burden." She paused, her smile sharp as glass. "Finally."

"You're enjoying this," I said. "You're enjoying watching me suffer."

Beatrice laughed. "Of course I am. You've been insufferable your whole life. Always complaining. Always whining. Always acting like you're better than everyone else." She stepped closer. "But you're not better. You're nothing." She tilted her head. "And now you're finally useful."

My mother appeared in the doorway. She looked tired. Annoyed. Like I was a chore she was being forced to complete.

"Olivia," she said, her voice flat. "Stop being dramatic. You're marrying Diego De Luca. It's not the end of the world."

"Mother—"

"He's rich. He's powerful. He'll take care of you." She waved a dismissive hand. "You could do worse."

I stared at her. "You don't even care. You never have."

"I care about this family," she said. "I care about our reputation. I care about not being humiliated in front of everyone we know." She paused. "You could learn to do what you're told. Then none of this would be a problem."

I opened my mouth to respond. To scream. To tell them exactly how I felt.

"Signora?"

I turned. A woman stood in the doorway. She was beautiful. Tall. Red-haired. Her eyes were kind.

"Excuse me," she said. "I need to speak with the bride. Alone."

My father frowned. "Who are you?"

"I'm Carlotta. Signor De Luca's assistant." She smiled. "I have a message from him."

My father hesitated. Then he nodded. "Fine. But we're not done with this conversation."

He stormed out. Beatrice followed, tossing me one last smug look. My mother lingered for a moment, then disappeared.

I collapsed into the nearest chair.

"Are you okay?" Carlotta asked softly.

I shook my head. "I don't know."

She walked toward me, her expression gentle. "I know this is overwhelming. Signor De Luca asked me to come help you."

"He did?"

She nodded. "He saw how your family arrived. He saw the way they were treating you. He asked me to intervene."

My heart swelled. Diego. Even when he wasn't here, he was protecting me.

"He wants me to tell you something," Carlotta continued. "He said—" She paused, a small smile playing on her lips. "He said to tell you that you're not alone anymore. That he's got you. And that if you still want to run, he'll let you. But he hopes you'll stay."

Tears burned my eyes. "He said that?"

"Word for word." Carlotta squeezed my hand. "Now, let's get you ready. You're going to be walking down the aisle in about ten minutes."

I nodded and let her guide me to the mirror.

The garden was beautiful.

White roses. Twinkling lights. The sun setting in the distance.

I stood at the entrance, my heart pounding. The music started. Soft. Romantic.

And then I saw him.

Diego.

He was standing at the altar, looking devastatingly handsome in his black tuxedo. His dark hair was swept back. His beautiful eyes were fixed on me.

I took a step forward. Then another.

My father rushed toward me. "Wait," he hissed. "I need to walk you down the aisle."

I shook my head. "No."

"What do you mean, no?"

"No." I met his eyes. "You don't get to walk me. You don't get to pretend you care."

"You can't—"

"Let her go."

Everyone turned.

Diego was walking toward us. His steps were measured. Confident. He wasn't waiting at the altar. He was coming to me.

My father's face went pale. "Signor De Luca—"

Diego didn't even look at him. His eyes were locked on mine.

"Olivia," he said softly. "Are you ready?"

I nodded. "Yes."

He reached me. His hand found mine. His fingers intertwined with mine like they belonged there.

"Good," he said. "Let's get married."

He walked me down the aisle.

The guests stared in shock. No one had ever seen this before. The groom walking the bride. Claiming her. Protecting her.

My father stood frozen. Beatrice's mouth hung open. My mother looked like she'd swallowed a lemon.

But I didn't care.

I only had eyes for Diego.

***

The wedding ceremony was short.

"I don't want to keep you waiting," Diego whispered. "I've waited long enough."

The priest spoke. The vows were said. I barely heard any of it.

"Do you, Olivia, take Diego to be your husband?"

I looked at him. At the man who'd caught me when I fell. The man who'd kissed me in his car. The man who'd protected me from my family.

I thought about my father's rage. Beatrice's cruelty. My mother's indifference.

And then I thought about Diego. His smile. His eyes. The way he made me feel safe.

"I do," I said.

Diego's smile was blinding.

"Do you, Diego, take Olivia to be your wife?"

"I do." His voice was thick with emotion. "I do, gattina. I do."

"By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife."

Diego leaned in. His hand cupped my face. His lips met mine.

Soft. Gentle. Reverent.

"I love you," he whispered. "I love you, Olivia."

And for the first time, I felt like someone actually meant it.

Later that night

The penthouse was quiet.

I stood in the bedroom, fresh from the shower. The steam from the bathroom still clung to the air. I'd changed into a nightdress I'd found in the wardrobe. A pale cream, delicate lace at the edges. It was beautiful. Expensive. Like everything else Diego had given me.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My hair was still damp. My cheeks were flushed. My heart was pounding.

This was it. The wedding night.

I didn't know what to expect. Diego had been nothing but gentle. Patient. Respectful. He'd given me space every step of the way.

But now we are alone. In a penthouse. In the same bedroom.

I heard the bathroom door open.

I turned.

And my breath caught in my throat.

Diego stepped out, shirtless. A towel hung low on his hips. Water droplets still clung to his skin. His dark hair was damp, pushed back from his face. His chest was sculpted—broad shoulders, defined muscles, a trail of dark hair that disappeared beneath the towel.

I stared. I couldn't help it.

My eyes traced every line of his body. His abs. His chest. The V that disappeared below his waist.

I was mesmerized.

And then I realized he was looking at me. His eyes, were dark, intense, burning. And were fixed on my face. A slow smile spread across his lips.

"Like what you see, gattina?"