But I can’t stop my gaze from wandering past them.
Always looking for him.
I finally catch a glimpse of Luca.
And my heart lunges into my throat.
He’s stunning.
Gazing at him in this moment of pure beauty.
His hair is flaxen gold, shining in the sun, slicked back and tucked behind his ears, showing off the angles of his clean shaven face. A relaxed look rests on his usually tight features. He wears a black tuxedo with tails, his crisp white shirt has a wing-tipped collar, a black bow tied around his neck.
He’s breathtaking—I’m intimated by his elegance.
He turns toward me, catching my eyes over the crowd. The second he sees me, he moves toward me. He strides with such purpose, people naturally step to the side to clear his path.
I hold his gaze with every step he takes.
Finally, he reaches me.
Having him this near, knowing what we’re about to undertake, my heart races, my knees go weak, my hands begin to shake.
I wait for him to speak. To say something, anything.
To let me know how he feels about me in this moment.
His voice is calm, cool, and confident as always. He says only my name, “Esme.”
It’s enough.
He holds his arm out to me and I take it.
We move, side by side, me clinging to the safety and warmth of him as we head to the arbor that’s been set up in the center of the courtyard, right in front of the olive tree. The remains of the shed have been cleared away.
The village priest stands under it, a thick, black, leather-bound bible in his hands.
We’re only a few steps from the priest, he’s clearing his throat, eyeing us, ready to start the ceremony.
To read us our vows.
And once I say I do, there’s no going back.
My family, as the Romanos, believes marriage is forever and I’ll do everything I can to uphold that belief once I take this vow.
But first…
I have to know.
I give Luca’s arm a tug, making him stop. He turns to me, those blue eyes catching my soul as they seem to do every time he looks at me.
His brow knits. “What is it?”
My words come in a whispered rush. “I need to know. The boys, at the schoolyard, the ones you hurt. Was that for me?”
He breaks my gaze, looking out over the crowd, the muscles in his jaw twitching. “Yes, for you.”
“And the walks home? When you’d left school but you still came to walk Sergio home every day, even though he didn’t need you. Who were you really there for?”
He looks down at the ground. “For you.”
“And the lunches? When I would forget mine? Was that…” My words trail off. I want his eyes. I want his gaze on me again. I give his arm another tug.
Sensing what I want, he lifts his face, his gaze finding mine once more.
He brings a hand to my cheek, cupping my face gently in his palm. “For you. Everything, it’s all been for you. For so long now.” He takes a breath, like his words have released a burden from him. He leans down, brushing his lips against my cheek.
For me. It’s all been for me.
And deep down, somewhere in the core of who I am, haven’t I always known that?
I give him a smile.
The smile makes him tense, his eyes hardening.
His voice grows gruff again. “But don’t take my acts of kindness to mean that I’ll soften toward you in any way. You’ll be my wife, and you’ll obey me. Your obedience will keep you safe. That is how I will protect you.”
He gives me a hard gaze.
And I let out a little giggle.
My hand goes to my mouth to cover it, but I suddenly feel giddy.
I should be shrinking under his gaze, shedding a tear at his cold words, but I don’t.
Because knowing what I now know, I understand his gruffness, his harshness towards me.
He…likes me.
He’s liked me. For so long.
I’m impulsive, sometimes reckless; a free spirit.
All things he can’t understand.
And yet, he likes me all the same. I give another giggle.
He brow furrows. “What so funny?”
“Nothing. Just you. You do something so nice, confess to something so sweet, and then you have to follow it up with a command. You can’t help yourself, can you?” His face is still hard, but my smile won’t leave my face. “You like me. Don’t you?”
Impatience flashes in his eyes. “We are about to be married and you’re worried whether I like you?”
I give a little nod, my smile fading, my teeth sinking into my lip. Suddenly, I need to hear the words from him. I want to hear him tell me, before I go to this altar.
“Tell me.” I stare up at him and I wait.
“Perla Negra. Those brown eyes. No matter how I fight them, they always get to me.” He gives an exasperated sigh, running his hands over his hair. “So, I’ll say it. Yes, Esme. I like you. In spite of all those characteristics you hold that are so different from mine, that I don’t understand…hell, maybe not even in spite of them, but because of them, yes. I like you. I have for a long time. And it made me happy to have my stomach growl, knowing you wouldn’t go without food. And every day after I graduated, I found myself looking at the clock, hour by hour, just waiting to go down to that school to see your face. It was a privilege to walk behind you, to follow you home, until I knew you were safely to your father’s road. And yes, every punch I threw was to defend your honor, to keep wicked words about you out of boys’ mouths. It was all—always, for you.”
His eyes hold mine and I just melt.
I think of how every time in the past year when I’ve snuck out of the castle, he just seemed to show up out of nowhere. Countless times I’d be wandering about town and see him, watching.
But I don’t have to ask.
I can see it in his eyes.
He’s been protecting me for as long as he can remember.
And he will keep doing so.
Now, as my husband.
I’m ready.
Slipping my arm from his, I reach for the hem of my veil, prepared to do the last thing I need to do before we go to the altar. I pinch the filmy material in my fingertips, pulling it apart, making a tiny tear in the fabric—our custom, to welcome luck.
I gaze up at him. “I’m ready.”
I slide my hand into his.
10
Luca
She looks up at me with those deep brown eyes. “I’m ready.”
I offer her a tight grin. “Then let’s not keep everyone waiting any longer. Shall we?”
She gives that burst of giggle again.
Why she finds me so funny, I’ve no idea.
But I’m glad for the lightness, the smiles, the shine from her eyes on this day.
I’d have drug her to this altar, kicking and screaming if that’s what it took, but I’m happy to not have to do that.
She puts her hand in mine.
Small, delicate. I like the way my hand feels so big and protective around it.
I bring her hand to my mouth and I kiss it.
My princess, and soon to be, the queen of this family.
The priest’s voice lifts above the crowd. “Who gives this woman to be married today?”
Vincent and Felicity step toward the arbor, their arms interlocked. Vincent Russo looks as close to crying as I’ve ever seen him. He clears his throat, giving me a curt nod. “Her mother and I.”
I nod back.
It must be a hard thing, giving your daughter away to another man.
One who can better protect her.
I hope.
I slide my hand in my pocket, feeling the small piece of iron my brother Lance gave me this morning. An old Italian tradition. “To ward off evil spirits,” he said with a wink.
Vincent kisses Esme’s cheek, and steps back into the crowd with his wife.
The priest holds up the bible. “We gather here today to join the Russo and Romano family through the marriage of Esme and Luca. The groom has a few words he would like to say to the bride before their vows are exchanged. A little Shakespeare sonnet for his bride.”
She looks up at me, surprised by his announcement.
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
Sonnet 18 is my favorite of Shakespeare’s work, and now, I recite his words in an attempt to make her beauty, and my love for her, eternal.
I take her hands in mine. And I say the words I’ve longed to say to her, ever since watching her on that stage, staring at her lovely face just as my grandfather stared at Nonna.
“Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimmed. But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of the fair thou owest;
Nor shall death brag thou wanders in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou grows:
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”
I kiss her cheek. “Life is fleeting, but now that I’ve said these words out loud, to this crowd, they can carry them on and this moment, your beauty, will not fade from their minds.”
Tears shine in her eyes. “Thank you.”
The priest says our vows, and we repeat them, line for line.
Promising to care for one another.
To be true to one another.
To stay close to one another.
I’ve had him leave out the lines of loving one another.
I have her. I won’t ask for more. I won’t ask for something she can’t give.
When Esme says her vows, she holds my hands steady, her eyes holding mine. She speaks with strength, her voice carrying over the crowd.
The priest says, “And now for the exchanging of rings.”
Panic flashes through her gaze for a moment as she realizes she has no ring for me.
Her friend, Cecily, donned in pink and bursting with energy, comes to Esme’s side, nudging her. “Here. From Lance.” Cecily hands her the gold band taken from our family’s collection, one my brother somehow managed to have sized at dawn.
Relief washes over Esme and she smiles, holding the ring ready.
I slip my grandmother’s ring from my pocket, twirling it between my fingers. I’m not one to get excited over many things, but holding the ring, I find the anticipation growing in my chest—I want to see this on her finger.
The priest gestures for Esme to put the ring on my finger. I hold out my left hand, and she slides it on, repeating the priest. “With this ring, I thee wed.”
He nods to me to do the same.
I take her hand in mine. She wears the simple gold band from her birthday on her left ring finger. I slide my grandmother’s ring, now hers, over her finger. It rests perfectly over the band. Her eyes go wide as she takes it in.
Her right hand flutters to her heart as she watches the diamond glitter in the sunlight. “It’s so beautiful.”
“With this ring, I thee wed.” I take her hand to my lips, kissing the ring. “I give you this ring as a symbol of my everlasting love and protection.”
The priest dabs at his eyes. “You may now kiss your bride.”
Twenty-four hours prior, I confronted her on the road, demanding her kiss to seal my lips, to keep her secret.
Twenty-four hours seems like a lifetime ago. Another world, two different people than the ones who stand here now.
Twenty four hours can change the entire trajectory of your life’s path.
Now, she gives her kiss freely.
I take her face in my hands, and I kiss my wife.
Mrs. Esme Romano.
Pride and joy fill me, threatening to spill over and make me laugh out loud, to shout my love to the sky, overwhelmed by finally obtaining my goal. To shout gratitude to the gods, to fate, to whatever it was that saw fit to give her to me.
I stay silent.
And I kiss her again.
I take her in my arms, leaning her back, and I kiss her until there are shouts and whistles from the crowd, the priest uncomfortably clearing his throat.
We’re tugged off further into the courtyard, the music already playing for our first dance. My brothers and her friends wind our hands in colorful ribbons, keeping one end in their own hands. I hold her to me and we waltz across the dance floor they’ve had brought in, winding ourselves in the brightly colored ribbons.
Esme throws her head back, laughing her tinkling bell laugh as I spin her across the floor. I kiss her open, laughing mouth and her eyes close, her hands going to my face as she kisses me back.
I. Can’t. Stop. Kissing. Her.
I dance with Nonna. Tears stream down her face as she says. “This is the greatest ‘I told you so’ of my life.”
“What do you mean, Nonna?”
She heaves a satisfied sigh. “When I told you, ‘you’ll meet the great love of your life one day, just as I met your grandfather.’ And you have.”
My throat feels tight. I clear it. “We’ve only just married. I don’t know that love—”
She stops my words with a tsk. “Don’t give me that nonsense. You’ve loved Esme Russo since that night at the play. And she will grow to love you, too. I promise.”
I’m a grown man, hanging onto a hope of my grandmother’s promise. I give my head a shake. “It doesn’t matter. As long as she’s safe. That’s what’s important.”
Because even if she never grows to love me as I love her, I’ll rest in the knowledge that I can offer her other things. Safety, warmth, comfort, protection.
But Nonna thinks otherwise.
“Love.” She pats my chest with her birdlike hand. “You will have her love.”
My brother comes, breaking the moment by grabbing my shoulders to untie the bow from my neck.
He holds it up in the air, victorious. “Tie for sale! Money for the groom!” He goes around to our family, cutting the tie into pieces with my mother’s sewing scissors, selling them and pocketing the cash.
Selling off bits of the groom’s tie is an old tradition to use for your wedding expenses, but we have no need for the money. I’ll give it away, using the cash to over-tip the workers, the caterers, the florist that made today happen on such short notice.
After the reception, we break one of the glass vases the roses were in, my father counting the shards to declare how many happy years we will have together. He holds up the last one, laughing his booming laugh. “Fifty-three! Esme and Luca will have fifty-three years together!”
I stare at her as she accepts congratulations from her friends, laughing as they hug and squeal. Her face is my sun, her smile my warmth, her laugh my greatest joy. To me, fifty-three years is not enough.
Eternity isn’t enough.
The weight of my new responsibility fills me, threatening to wrench the breath from my lungs.
The girls part as I move toward them, reaching out, taking Esme in my arms. I hold her to my chest. I brush my lips over her ear. “I love you, Esme Romano.”
She pulls back, her eyes searching mine. “You…love me?”
“I do.”
And I don’t even care if you can’t love me back.
There’s no awkward moment, no unease shining from her eyes.
Instead, she gives me a sweet smile. Reaching up, she puts her soft hand on my cheek. “Thank you. For everything, Luca.”
Her gentle hand on my cheek makes need stir deep in my core. I need to be with her, to touch her. I take her hand in mine, leadin
g her from the crowd.
She laughs. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere we can be alone.” I pull her through the crowd, ignoring the wolf whistles that follow us. “If only for a few minutes.”
I pull her through a doorway in the wall, into the pantry off the kitchen. The very same one where I took my belt across her ass last night.
I pull her to me, resting my back against the closed door. “I have to have you.”
Her hands go to my chest, her laughter dissolving when she sees reads the intention on my face. Her eyelids grow heavy, her lips parting. “Our first time as husband and wife?”
“Sorry it’s not romantic. Forgive me for not laying you on a bed of roses, but I have to have you. Now.”
Her eyes dart around the room, nervous, but her breath grows heavy with excitement. “Here in the pantry? Anyone could walk in.”
“No one can.” My body’s pressed hard against the door. “Wife.”
“Husband.” She gives a giggle.
And I steal the laugh from her lips with a kiss. We’ll go back and enjoy the rest of our celebration. After I’ve been inside her. After I’ve claimed her as my wife.
“Mrs. Luca Romano. What’s the first thing I should do with my wife?”
She lets out a soft sigh as I kiss her neck. “Keep kissing me.”
I move to her ear, nipping at her lobe, my lips nuzzling her skin. “And where shall I kiss you?”
Her breath catches in her throat. Her hand goes to her breast, sliding over the silk material of her breast. “Here.”
Carefully, so not to tear the fabric of her stunning gown, I pull it back, dipping my hand beneath her thin bra, cupping her breast and bringing her pretty pink peak out to play. Taking it in my mouth, I tongue her nipple, drawing a moan from her lips.
I give it a little nip with my teeth. “And now where should I kiss my beautiful bride?”
Her hand slides down, dipping between her thighs. “Here. Please.”
Going down on my right knee, I press the back of my heel firm against the door. Taking my time, I fold the skirt of the dress carefully up her legs, dragging the cool material over her bare thighs. Holding it up around her belly with one hand, I hook my finger into the waistband of her thong, tugging them down to her ankles. She parts her thighs, her hands going to my shoulders to steady herself.
Dark Throne: A Mafia Arranged Marriage Romance (Russo Royals) Page 11
