The Don's Bride Took Flight

"After the wedding, we'll take another set of photos at Lake Serravina. Just the two of us. How does that sound?"

I nodded.

Beside us, Sofia's eyes slowly filled with tears.

"Maybe we should change the picture," she said. "Irene hasn't said a word. I don't want her getting the wrong idea."

Luca kept one hand wrapped around mine. With the other, he handed Sofia a tissue.

"She hasn't gotten anything wrong," he said with easy certainty, almost smiling. "Irene knows how important you are to us."

The photographer stopped asking questions. Silently, he dragged the group portrait into the folder marked for printing.

Seven years ago, Sofia had taken me to a charity gala where I met Luca Moretti.

Her father, Sal Sorrentino, had been underboss to Luca's father, Don Vittorio Moretti, and his most trusted man. Sal had died in a clash between families, and Luca had promised to look after his daughter.

At first, I'd wanted to look after her, too.

When nightmares kept her awake, I went with her to the doctor. When she was afraid to live alone, I helped find her an apartment.

Somewhere along the way, though, the care she demanded became something else.

Halfway through our anniversary dinner, Sofia called. Luca kissed my cheek and had Nico, his driver, take me home.

On my birthday, Sofia claimed someone was following her. Luca took the security team stationed downstairs with him, along with his promise that he'd be the one to light my candles.

He always came back.

With flowers. With presents. With an explanation so reasonable it was almost impossible to argue with.

"I can't let anything happen to her, sweetheart."

"But I'm waiting for you, too."

"I know. You're the person I always want to come home to."

I used to believe that.

Then came today's photo shoot. Sofia walked between us in a long white dress and laughed about having no family left, not even one decent family portrait.

Luca rested a gentle hand on my shoulder.

"Move over a little, baby. Let's take a family picture with her first."

He even smoothed my skirt for me.

He just never asked me to move back.

As we left the studio, an email from Claire Vachon appeared on my phone. The Bayhaven Arts Center could hold the position I'd applied for until Monday. Would I accept?

I'd spent six years studying painting. For Luca, I'd been ready to let this opportunity go.

Not anymore.

I replied, "I accept. I'll be there on time."

The car door opened in front of me. Luca held his hand above my head until I was seated, then slid in beside me.

"What are you looking at?"

"Work."

He smiled, lifted my hand, and pressed it to his lips.

"Work can wait until after the wedding. Right now, your time belongs to me."

I withdrew my hand and locked my phone.

"Let's pick up the rings."

The jewelry store had been cleared for our appointment. Wearing white gloves, the manager brought two deep-blue ring boxes into the private salon.

Luca had commissioned the rings from a design I'd drawn myself. Inside the bride's band were our names and the words he'd spoken when he proposed: I will always choose you first.

He'd just taken over the family then. He'd knelt before me and made that promise with absolute conviction.

I held out my hand.

But Sofia reached for the box first.

"They're beautiful. Dad used to say he'd take me to choose my wedding ring himself."

She gave a small smile, then dropped her gaze.

"Sorry. I shouldn't bring that up today."

Luca's expression softened.

"You'll have your own someday."

"I know. I just suddenly wondered what it would feel like to wear a wedding ring."

The manager's hand froze halfway across the table.

Luca picked up my ring and looked at me.

"Could she try it on? Just for a minute."

"No."

It was the first time I'd refused him all day.

He blinked, plainly startled.

Sofia snatched her hand back.

"It's fine. I shouldn't have asked for something so unreasonable."

She turned away, her shoulders trembling.

Luca watched her for several seconds before leaning close to me.

"I understand what this ring means to you," he murmured, as if coaxing a lover who'd finally opened up to him. "Its meaning won't change. One minute on her finger doesn't erase our seven years together."

I looked at him.

He waited for me to agree.

I didn't.

In the end, he turned to Sofia anyway, took her hand, and slid my wedding ring onto her ring finger.

"Just a quick try," he said.

As if keeping it short meant he'd respected my refusal.

The ring got stuck.

Sofia tugged at it, and her knuckle quickly turned red. The jeweler offered to help remove it, but when Sofia cried out in pain, Luca stopped him.

"Leave it for now."

He wrapped her finger in his handkerchief and told Nico to bring the car around and take them to a clinic.

As he passed me, he paused.

"I'll bring it back in one piece, Irene. I promise."

I glanced at the empty box.

"Go ahead."

Relief crossed his face. He kissed the top of my head.

"I love you."

Outside, security opened the car door for them.

I stayed in the private salon and gently closed the empty ring box.

My flight reminder was still glowing on my phone.

Seventy-one hours to go.