Hell? I don't care.

Rafael

I thought it was some sort of twisted joke when Matteo had first asked me. He wanted me to help with his wedding preparations when he knew damn well his wedding wasn't on my list of reasons for returning.

But he knew how much I hated saying no, especially to him. So he grabbed that opportunity to ask me and like some puppet on his string, I’m expected to play fiancé to the girl I shouldn’t even be breathing near, while also being dragged into wedding preparations like I give a damn about cake flavors or floral arrangements.

This wasn’t punishment. It was torture. And she’s not making it easy either. Mia walked out of the room, and for a second, I forgot how to breathe. The yellow dress hugged her figure like it was sewn into her skin as the soft, satiny material that makes her eyes look impossibly big, impossibly green. Her collarbone peeked through the sheer neckline and her soft brown curls tumbled over her shoulder like they were placed there by design. She isn’t just beautiful. She's perfect.

My body reacted instantly, traitorously. Fuck. I buried the feeling under a cold scowl, arms crossed, eyes deliberately avoiding her curves. If she sees it, I’m doomed.

I muttered something half-hearted about how we're late, not trusting myself to look at her again. She didn’t seem to notice, or maybe she did, and she liked it. With Mia, I couldn’t tell. She’s quiet for once, and I hated it.

The cake testing was worse. She tasted frosting like it was a seduction scene, licking her fingers, giggling with the bakery staff and asking me which flavor I preferred like it mattered.

I left after a while. I walked out the back door without a word, into the parking lot, breathing heavily like I’ve just escaped a cage. Slamming the car door shut behind me, I pulled out my phone and dialled the only person I could trust on this side of the ocean.

Jose picked up on the third ring.

"Rafa," he said, like it’s still five years ago and I’m not knee-deep in my family’s mess. "You're alive."

"Barely," I muttered, rubbing my temple. "Did you check the files I sent? The Starkers. I want a full read."

"I did. Thorough sweep. No moles, no inside job. Nothing you need to be paranoid about, unless you want to be."

I clenched my jaw. "Good. I’ll handle them when this charade is over. It’s time I step in and do what I'm supposed to do."

There was a pause. Jose knew better than to ask what the hell I was really doing here. Even he could tell this wasn’t about my inheritance anymore. I needed to know who wanted me dead or sent away.

"What did you mean by charade?" Jose finally asked.

"I'm dealing with something else," I added carefully. "Something... complicated."

"Let me guess. Blonde, blue-eyed, and perfect in all the right places?"

"Not quite. Matteo is asking me to babysit his bride."

His chuckle floated through the speaker. "Call me when you’re ready to burn down the wedding venue. That's why I'm his best man."

I hung up. She found me in the car fifteen minutes later, hugging her phone and holding two cupcakes in a box like peace offerings. Her smile was so innocent, but her eyes weren't.

"I'm done," she said softly, then bit her lip. "Could you drop me off at the bridal fitting? It's... kind of far."

I wanted to say no. God, I wanted to say no. I wanted to run in the opposite direction and forget this whole marriage ever existed. But then her eyes caught mine and suddenly I forgot how to speak.

I nodded once and we took off. The drive was silent, until about a couple minutes later. She hummed to herself at one point, flipping through her phone, completely unaware of the chaos I was fighting inside my head while sitting beside her in a suit and tie. When we got to the boutique, I parked outside, planning to wait in the car. But she turned, eyes wide and hopeful.

"Come inside?" she asked. "I want your opinion."

"I’m not the groom," I replied stiffly.

"No," she said, so soft it sounded like a whisper. "But I'm sure you’re honest."

It’s the way she said it that made me get out of the car. Inside, the boutique was blinding white and smelled of perfume and rich fabric. I sat on a velvet chair near the changing rooms while she disappeared into a sea of lace and satin.

Ten minutes later, she walked out, and my whole world stopped. The dress was nothing short of beautiful with delicate lace from the shoulders down, hugging every curve and flaring slightly at her hips. Her skin glowed beneath it, and the train followed her like a long tail. She looked like a dream, a fairy in a fantasy or a work of art I didn't dare touch.

Her eyes found mine immediately. She twirled once in front of the mirror, lips pursed. Then she looked down at her stomach, frowning. "Ugh."

"What?" I asked before I could stop myself.

Her reflection met mine. "I look fat."

I blinked, wondering why she said it like it’s fact. I leaned forward, stunned. "I don't understand."

She turned around, shrugging. "Matteo would be pissed if he sees I’ve gained weight. I was told to maintain my size, and this dress makes me look bloated..."

"Stop." It came out like a growl that it made her flinch, surprised.

I stood and began walking toward her. My hands ball into fists at my side, holding back everything I wanted to say, everything I wanted to do. When I reached her, I stopped just inches from her body, from the sinful curves of her chest rising and falling with every breath. And then I reach out, gently lifting her chin.

Her eyes widen, lips parting slightly, breath catching.

"Don’t ever repeat that again," I said, my voice dropping to the lowest sound. "Don’t let a trashcan make you question what a masterpiece you are."

She swallowed. "You are not fat," I continued, "You’re a goddamn vision. Anyone who tells you otherwise is either blind or bitter."

Her cheeks flushed pink, and she tried to look away, but I didn’t let her. My thumb brushes softly over her chin, then lingers a second too long.

I let go before I completely lose control and without another word, I turned and walked out of the room, my pulse thundering in my ears, my thoughts spinning. If I didn’t put space between us, I would have done something that neither of us would be able to take back.

She is Matteo’s, therefore she is untouchable. And yet, whenever she looked at me, I couldn't help but feel a little resentment for my brother for taking her too soon. I knew deep down in my heart that Matteo didn't deserve her. No one did. Not even me.

So I slammed the car door and waited outside, hands shaking, jaw tight. I’m going to hell for this, and I don’t even care!