He sat next to his son-in-law, dour but silent. Vivian had agonized for weeks over whether to invite him before we settled on the current compromise. She was worried I’d be upset, but I’d pushed Francis so far in the back of my mind he was a speck in the rearview mirror.
As long as Vivian was happy, I was happy.
“It should be. You wouldn’t be here without me,” Luca said, bringing my attention back to him. He reeked of self-satisfaction. “Who pulled your head out of your ass when you were busy wallowing?”
“I’m about to put my foot up your ass if you don’t shut up.”
Whoever invented younger siblings deserved a special place in hell.
“Both of you shut up,” Christian said from Luca’s other side. “Christ, brothers are annoying. Thank fuck I don’t have one.”
A-fucking-men.
Kai was the only groomsman with the good sense to keep his mouth shut.
He’d fixed his gaze across the archway, where Agnes, Sloane, and Isabella stood in blush pink bridesmaid dresses.
Isabella cocked an eyebrow at him; his gaze narrowed a fraction before the rich, majestic tones of the wedding march filled the air and he flicked his eyes toward the aisle.
The guests rose as one. All thoughts of annoying brothers and equally annoying groomsmen ceased when Vivian appeared at the end of the aisle. Hell, all thoughts ceased, period.
The only thing that existed was her.
My breath stilled as she walked down the aisle with her mother, her face glowing and her smile soft as she met my eyes.
Vivian once told me about a Chinese proverb that said an invisible thread connected those destined to meet, regardless of time, place, and circumstance.
I felt the phantom tug of that thread now, stretching between us and vibrating with the promise of something only fate could deliver.
I used to think we wouldn’t be together if her father hadn’t forced us together. I was wrong.
A part of me would always find my way to her. She was my North Star, the brightest jewel in my sky.
A suspicious haze blurred my vision when Vivian reached me. I blinked it back. If I didn’t, I’d never hear the end of it from Luca, Christian, or Kai.
Her mother handed her off to me. Cecelia had been upset when Vivian refused to let her bulldoze her way into wedding preparations. Now, she looked suspiciously misty-eyed.
It seems she possessed emotions other than disapproval after all.
“You clean up nice, Mr. Russo,” Vivian murmured. Her hand was small and soft in mine.
“I could say the same for you, Mrs. Russo.” She wore a custom-made gown and the best hair and makeup money could buy, but even in a burlap sack, she’d be the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.
“I’m not Mrs. Russo yet. There’s still time for me to live out my runaway bride fantasy,” she quipped.
A wicked smile spread across my lips. “I do love a good chase.”
Vivian’s cheeks pinked at the double meaning.
The priest cleared his throat, interrupting our whispered conversation. We exchanged a last secret smile before we turned our full attention to the ceremony.
Priest’s remarks, vows, ring exchange. The pounding of my heart muffled sound and motion until we reached the end of the ceremony.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may—”
I swept Vivian into my arms and kissed her before the priest finished his sentence.
The crowd erupted into cheers and whistles. I barely heard them. I was too busy with my wife.
Wife. The word sent an electric thrill down my spine.
“Impatient as always,” Vivian teased when we broke apart. Her face was flushed with pleasure and laughter. “We’ll have to work on that. Patience is a virtue.”
“I never claimed to be virtuous, sweetheart. Sinning is more fun.” Another wicked grin. “As you’ll find out tonight.”
Pink blossomed anew across her face and chest.
My grin widened.
I’d never get tired of making her smile and blush.
She was my wife, my partner, my guiding star.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
VIVIAN
“My baby is married. They grow up so fast.” Isabella let out a dramatic sniffle. “I still remember when you were an innocent twenty-two-year-old, navigating the jungle of New—”
“Stop being dramatic. Vivian is a year older than you.” Sloane took a delicate sip of champagne. “Several years, if we’re talking about maturity.”
I swallowed a laugh at Isabella’s offended gasp.
Day had bled into night as the wedding festivities continued. The reception took place in the villa’s massive walled courtyard, beneath a canopy of flowers and twinkling lights.
The guests were still going strong after hours of drinks and dancing, but I’d needed a breather. Being the bride at a wedding reception was a full-time job. Everyone wanted to talk.
“Maturity slander aside,” Isabella said with a pointed stare at Sloane. “I’m glad you and Dante made it work. Now I can cross bridesmaid in Italy off my bucket list.”
“I’m glad I can make your dreams come true,” I said dryly.
“Me too. All that’s left is finding a hot Italian one-night stand to—” Isabella’s sentence broke off at the light cough behind me.
I turned and stifled another laugh when I saw Kai. He had the worst, or best, timing when it came to my talks with Isabella, depending on how you looked at it.
“I’m sorry to interrupt yet another…fascinating conversation.” His mouth twitched. “But Dante is getting restless without his bride. Vivian, you may want to check in on him. He’s had to tell the story of how he proposed ten times, and I think he’s ready to deck someone.”
I glanced at where Dante stood with a small group of guests, looking bored and irritated. He caught my eye and mouthed, help.
I bit back a smile. “I’ll be right back,” I said. “I need to save my husband.”
Sloane waved me off. “We’ll be fine. Enjoy your wedding night.”
“Congratulations again!” Isabella chirped, studiously avoiding Kai’s eye.
I left them to their conversation and wound my way through the courtyard. I only made it halfway before my mother stopped me.
“Vivian! Have you seen your sister?” she fretted. “She went to the restroom an hour ago but isn’t back yet.”
“No. Maybe she’s in there with Gunnar,” I joked.
“Vivian. Honestly.” Her hands flew to her necklace. “That’s not a joke to make in public.”
“I’m sure she’s fine, Mother. It’s a party. So party.” I handed her a glass of champagne from a nearby tray. “Louis Roederer. Your favorite.”
Our relationship had been getting better since our talk in Eldorra. It wasn’t perfect; like she said, she couldn’t change completely. Her micromanaging had driven me up the wall in the weeks leading up to the wedding, but she was trying. She hadn’t even argued when I asked the makeup artist for red lipstick instead of neutral, though my mother considered red lips and nails “unbecoming” for a society heiress.
My father, on the other hand, was as distant as ever. He’d left immediately after the ceremony; according to Agnes, he couldn’t stand all the whispers about why he wasn’t the one who gave me away.