My stomach knots up again. I’m also confused because… bagels? What the hell? I make a mental note to ask everyone once I’m back from my honeymoon, completely confused why that word would make her blush and a bit horrified that they have an inside joke about bread as I follow them.
I haven’t seen her yet, Del.
My dad’s waiting by the door to the church, wearing a smile on his face that shows me he knows why I feel nervous and that it’s okay.
The girls, my cousins—friends are all dressed in their beautiful white bridesmaid dresses. Each of them picked something in a different style but the same color. All of them look gorgeous, and I’ve yet to get to the main event.
Del.
I have to tell myself again that this isn’t real, that all of this is a perfectly placed political move in order to keep everyone safe, finally end a stupid war, and align the Families.
But as the music hits a crescendo and as the doors open for my dad and me to walk in, all I keep thinking is.
Her.
Mine.
Marriage.
Forever.
I adjust my tie as my dad pounds my back a few times in a total bro way that guys do when they’re uncomfortable or about ready to cry.
I smile and walk down the aisle as people hold up their phones. Cameras flash. Music continues to reach the tops of the Catholic Church.
We’re going to make it work.
We have no other choice.
Roman is at the end of the aisle sitting in the front pew, his earpiece in, playing the part of bodyguard, and I imagine a world where he’s not going to turn around the minute Del comes down the aisle and look at her in such a way that she doesn’t look at me.
I burn. I fucking burn—my hands, my feet, my body. Jealousy takes over so fierce that I have to clench my fists the entire twenty-six steps I take to the altar. I think I would rather be shot than watch Roman turn in his seat.
The music changes swiftly.
I feel sick to my stomach.
Everyone stands.
I will love you anyway. I repeat it over and over again. I want to make it better, but I can’t. You can’t control a bullet that’s already hit the heart. If she knew, if she truly knew, she’d feel bad, and her look would be pity instead of pleasure.
My future officially fades into nothingness as the doors open, and all I see is her.
I try to keep my composure—it’s my job, after all.
She’s so fucking pretty it makes my chest hurt. Her dress has the longest train I’ve ever seen, with pretty lace dancing along the edges. It matches the sleeves that go down to her wrists and the open neck that shows just enough cleavage that I’m not sure if I should look away or just drink her in.
I blink.
And then I realize she’s wearing a crown and not just any crown, but one from her family, one her mom wore when she married her dad. The importance isn’t just significant in aligning the Families; it was the only thing her mom left to her. When her mom died, Del used to sleep with it under her pillow to feel close to her.
She used to talk to that crown.
She used to confess her happiness, her fears, and when she told me about it, I assumed she wouldn’t wear it, but there she is, wearing a small tiara that means more than anything during this moment.
It’s her confession to me.
It’s her worship.
It’s her surrender.
And her eyes… her eyes aren’t on me—but Roman.
Chapter Ten
“There is no exquisite beauty without some strangeness in proportion.” —Edgar Allan Poe
Del
Chase Abandonato, mafia god, is walking me down the aisle. I try not to panic as people watch as he leans in and does what my stupid dad should have done had he been alive.
His job.
I keep my head high and tell myself it’s going to be okay, and I look to Roman, the man I thought I would one day marry, the one I’m walking toward but not to.
A tear slides down my cheek, though nobody can see it because of the veil covering my face. I momentarily imagine a world where it’s him at the end of the aisle, then immediately feel bad because I love King as a person, a friend, just in a different way than I love Roman.
He’s incredible.
He’s protective.
But if I start thinking about King, I feel like I’m betraying Roman, and it makes my chest hurt despite the fact that I could easily have fallen for King in another life.
I promise myself I can love them both.
I promise myself that this is the best option.
I am selfless.
I am not bitter.
I am a woman.
I am a leader.
I lift my chin higher.
“That’s the spirit,” Chase says to my right. “Hold it high.”
“What?” I whisper.
“Your head,” he says right back as we almost make it to the altar. “Always hold it high—especially when everyone around you wants you to bow.” We stop; he lifts the veil and strategically wipes my tear, then whispers, “You bow to no one.”
I lift my chin higher.
He presses a kiss to each cheek.
“Thank you.”
Chase smiles. “The sun will still rise tomorrow.”
“Who gives this woman?” the priest asks.
“Me.” Chase turns toward him, almost annoyed. “And…” The room itself almost moves as every one of the bosses from each Family as well as the captains, the made men— basically all of them, including a few women— stand. “The rest of us.”
“Are you all in agreement?” the priest asks.
“Yes,” they say in unison.
I tear up again.
I’ve never had support. It had always been my mom and me, and then my dad betrayed everyone, and now I’m stuck with my uncle, and it just… it feels like someone just stopped the bleeding like someone said it was okay and put a bandage over my heart.
I don’t want to let Chase go.
I stand there longer than I should.
And I look up at him again like I need him to tell me it’s okay, that it’s going to be okay. He adjusts my veil and whispers again. “Don’t let life make you bitter, Del. Trust us. Trust… your King.”
Is he, though? Is he mine?
I finally look at him. I lift my eyes to him, and all I see is peace in a lifetime of war and destruction.
It’s like Chase knows I’m finally okay as he hands me over to King. I can feel Roman watching us, waiting, tensing.
I take King’s hand, knowing that this is that moment, the defining moment where a person knows things will never be the same, and yet she wonders how she’ll ever make it through.
But his hands are warm, not clammy.
King’s eyes are beautiful.
His hair is tousled over the side, longer than I thought, with shots of caramel and red poking out, his green eyes focus on me like I’m the only person in existence, and his smile is genuine. White teeth gleam from behind full lips that spread out like he really is excited to marry me when I know that he can both see and feel Roman behind me.
And yet, his gaze doesn’t flicker away.
He doesn’t look upset.
He looks determined.
So I smile back up at him.
His eyes light up, and I suddenly want to get closer—so I do. It’s all for one purpose, right? To align the Families? His body is warm as I cling to his muscled arm and wait for the priest to begin the ceremony.