CHAPTER THIRTEEN — VOWS

The D–day arrived faster than I anticipated. One moment, I was picking out a wedding dress with Luca watching me like something to be devoured, and the next, I was standing in front of a mirror, fully dressed in white, and at the mercy of the makeup artists dolling me up. In less than an hour, I would be walking down the aisle to a man I still claimed to despise.

The dress fit me perfectly. Lace sleeves graced my arms, delicate embroidery wrapping around my torso before cascading into layers of soft tulle. A veil, sheer and ethereal, was pinned into my hair, completing the picture of the perfect bride.

Except I didn’t feel perfect.

I felt trapped.

A soft knock on the door made me jump slightly. Then my mother entered, eyes misty with emotion. “So, Ari, my dear. You look stunning.”

I didn’t bother to reply. Just stared at my reflection, trying to find some semblance of the girl I used to be—the one who had dreams that didn’t involve marrying a billionaire out of duty.

She was gone. Poof. In the twinkling of an eye.

My mother approached, placing a hand on my shoulder. “I know this isn’t what you wanted, but traditions must be upheld. You’ll surely understand one day.”

I clenched her jaw. “I hope that day never comes.”

Her mother let out an embarrassed laugh. I was throwing a tantrum in front of all these people, but I didn't care. Not one bit. “You naive child. One day, you're going to look back and see that fate was playing in your favor all these while. Then, I'll be the first to say ‘I told you so.’”

I fought an eye roll.

She continued. “Now, come on. It's time to meet your groom. Everyone's already waiting.”

******

The wedding was a blur. Every moment felt like it was happening to someone else, as though I were simply watching it all unfold from a distance. The ornate cathedral, with its towering stained glass windows and gold-lined altar, seemed like a world away from the chaos of my mind. I barely noticed the gasps of awe from the guests as I walked down the aisle, my heart thundering in my chest. It wasn’t excitement I felt—it was dread.

The heavy silence surrounding me was punctuated only by the soft whispers of the guests and the occasional rustle of my long white gown as I took slow, measured steps toward Luca. My father’s hand was tight on my arm, his grip a reminder of all the promises made long before this day.

Luca stood at the altar, his expression inscrutable, his eyes dark and intense, never leaving me. She caught a flicker of something—maybe it was expectation, maybe desire, maybe just his usual confidence—but I couldn’t tell. It was at times like this that I wished I could read his mind.

His jaw was set, his broad shoulders squared, and he stood with a presence that was almost too much to bear.

When I finally reached him, my father released his grip, placing my hand in Luca’s. For a moment, my pulse hammered in my throat as Luca’s fingers brushed against mine, his touch too intimate for someone who wasn’t supposed to be in my heart. I cursed mentally at the way my skin tingled under his touch, how my body betrayed me in that instant.

“You’re shaking,” Luca murmured low enough for only me to hear when we faced the altar.

“I’m not.” I didn't sound convincing.

Luca raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a small, mocking smile. “I can feel it.”

My heart skipped a beat. My body wanted to respond, to feel him, to let go of everything and succumb to the heat between us, but my mind refused. I hate him, I reminded myself. I should always hate him.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…”

But why don't I hate him? Or is my body so sexually depraved that I'm suddenly in tune with any man who ignites my fire? Is this some kind of—

“Do you, Luca Russo, take Ariadne Moretti to be your lawfully wedded wife?” The priest’s voice cut through my thoughts, and Luca’s attention shifted down to me. He spoke without hesitation, his voice firm and unwavering.

“I do.”

The weight of the words hung in the air, heavy with the knowledge that this was real. This was happening. I could not back out.

“And do you, Ariadne Moretti, take Luca Russo to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

My mouth went dry. Did I? Did I even have a say in all these? Was I even allowed to say no? I had to say something, but it felt like the words were lodged in my throat. I glanced up at Luca, expecting to see impatience, maybe even smugness. But what I saw instead was… understanding. Or was it something darker?

His eyes were locked onto mine, unblinking. The intensity of his gaze rattled me to my core, but I couldn’t look away. He leaned in slightly, his voice barely a whisper as he urged me on.

“Say it, Principessa.”

There was no anger in his voice—just a strange calmness, like he knew I would say it, like it was inevitable. My chest tightened with the pressure of it all. My heart thudded painfully in my ears.

“I do,” I finally croaked, the words feeling foreign on my tongue.

The priest smiled and declared us husband and wife. “You may now kiss your bride.”

And just like that, it was over. But it wasn’t over, not really. Not when Luca’s hand was at the back of my neck, pulling me toward him with so much gentleness that was unlike him.

The kiss was meant to be simple. A formality. Something for the guests. But of course, Luca being Luca made sure it was anything but. His lips crashed into mine, hot and demanding. I gasped at the force of the kiss, my body betraying me once more, and for a fleeting moment, I let myself feel it. Let myself feel the pull, the heat, the longing that had always simmered just beneath the surface.

His mouth was all-consuming, his tongue sliding against me in a way that made my head spin. My knees threatened to buckle, but Luca’s grip on my neck was steady, grounding me, holding me in place as if I were his to possess.

The kiss ended too soon, but the air between them was thick with something unspoken. I was breathless, my heart hammering in my chest, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

The applause from the guests was distant, almost muffled. All I could hear was the rush of blood in my ears and the steady thump of my heartbeat. And Luca. He was there, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off of him, smell the sharp scent of his cologne.

“Welcome to married life, Mrs. Russo,” he whispered, his voice low, too intimate for the public setting.

I stood there, my hands trembling at my sides. I wanted to hurt him. Push him away. Tell him it was all a mistake. But the moment I opened my mouth to speak, the weight of the ceremony, the vows, and the kiss pressed down on me.

Oh, God. I enjoyed the kiss. Enjoyed the way he assaulted my lips with his. The way his tongue fought dominance. I enjoyed it… maybe too much.

Luca didn’t give me time to respond. Instead, he turned toward the guests, his arm possessively wrapping around my waist, pulling me into his side. “Let’s go,” he said, and we walked down the aisle as husband and wife, the eyes of the world upon them.

*****

The reception was a blur of champagne glasses, smiles, and the incessant chattering of people congratulating us. My mind was too clouded to focus on anything for long. And by the time Luca introduced me to his family, I was already too tired to be interested in what he was happening. I didn't miss the way my mother kept glancing at me worriedly, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. I was too consumed by the realization that I was now bound to Luca—by law, by tradition, by the undeniable pull between us.

At least thank God Georgina wasn't in attendance because I only needed one problem occupying my mind.

Soon, we started dancing and as I waltzed with Luca and now fed up, I told him: “I need a drink. Something so strong it will take me out for months. Or eternity. I'm not picky.”

Luca raised an eyebrow in amusement. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m dead serious,” I retorted.

He didn’t speak right away, and I thought he wouldn't until he finally did. “You know, you can’t drink away what’s happening between us,” he said, his tone surprisingly soft.

I narrowed my eyes. “What do you mean?”

He took a step closer, crossing the remaining line that separated us. “You’re not fooling anyone, Ariadne. Not me, and certainly not yourself.”

I felt my heart quicken. The pull between us was undeniable, even if I hated every second of it. She wasn’t sure if I wanted to punch him or kiss him or fuck him five ways to heaven. Which reminded me… our wedding night. We were meant to consummate it.

“Luca…” I started, but her words faltered, because how could I begin?

He cupped my chin gently. “You’re mine now, Principessa.” he whispered. “Whether you want to be or not.”

My breath hitched. For a moment, everything else in the world disappeared, and all that mattered was the man standing in front of me, his touch as possessive as the words he spoke.

And for a fleeting moment, I wondered if I was truly ready to lose the battle inside me.

But first things first, I needed that damn drink.