The car stops in front of an old church that seems to be hidden in the city as one has to drive down a narrow street to get there. I scan the front of the architecture that speaks of rich history. I have this feeling like I'm staring at my fate and it stares right back at me with a smug look on its face. You got me, Fate. You truly got me.
I can feel the eyes of the man behind the wheel through the rear-view mirror. He didn't tell me his name, but he has a bit of an accent when he talks that I can't place. Not Italian, I'm sure. He doesn't speak much to me, so I don't know what to make of him.
"We're here," he says in a toneless voice, that's when I drag my stare towards him.
"I know."
He raises a brow and grumbles something under his breath as he gets out and rounds the car to open my door. I can tell he's annoyed, probably pissed, thinking that I'm waiting to be serviced like an entitled bratty princess. I'm not waiting for him to do anything, really. I just need to get my bearings because once I go in there, there really is no turning back.
When the door opens and he extends a hand for me, I look at it and then glance up at him. "I just needed a minute, you know. It's my first time getting married." I force a smile that I don't bother masking as fake.
I see a small twitch of his lips as if he's suppressing a smile. At least someone thinks I'm funny.
Blowing out a steady sigh, I let him guide me towards the door. He pushes it open and I lift my head, taking in the empty pews before me. There are no guests at all. The only people I see inside the church are the priest, Jax, and my groom, waiting for me at the altar.
I know this is supposed to be a private ceremony. Even Mariano said so when we signed the agreement, but it still feels strange that we're the only ones here. It's seemingly a small number of people present for such a big event in my life. Maybe it would've felt different if I'm marrying the love of my life. That the guest list shouldn't matter as long as my husband-to-be is there. But this is not like that.
I take Mariano's wool coat off me and handed it to the driver after he closes the church doors behind us. My body appreciates the heater in this place to combat the cold outside.
I feel a prick in my chest, thinking that my dad isn't here to walk me down the aisle, my mom to see me in this no-longer-80s wedding dress, my brothers and uncles to witness me get hitched, my aunts, cousins, and close friends to gush about my wedding like every little girl has dreamt of.
My chest feels just like this old church. Empty.
And this man waiting for me at the altar is the reason for me feeling this way. He took this away from me. His family took my happiness from me.
I take my first steps steadily. And as I walk down the aisle, I tell myself that with every step I take to reach my groom, I should count. A step equals an ounce of revenge. A step equals a tidal wave of pain they would feel once I get my chance.
I don't have any plans on how to do that yet, but I will get my revenge on Jino's death. And I'll start with Mariano's brother.
I slide my gaze to my groom and take him in for the first time. I will be in forced proximity with this guy now that he will be my husband. With that knowledge, I promise myself I will never fall for this guy.
His mouth is slightly parted as he stares at me. If we were friends, I could compliment his polished looks, wearing a tailored three-piece suit, white shirt, bow tie, and coiffed hair. I won't deny that Mariano is quite pleasing to look at. He certainly looks like a devil in disguise, appearing so dashing despite the dark soul he's hiding beneath the expensive clothing.
He's a Morelli. Having a dark soul comes pre-installed in his being.
He looks at me but I can't read the expression on his face as he sees my dress—the dress he sent for me. Now, my dress no longer has the itchy lace detailing. My arms, shoulders, neck, and chest are bare save for the thin straps I left.
I stripped—or more like ripped off the first few layers of sheer and tulle on my skirt to remove the excess poofiness of it, leaving only the satin inlay. My dress looks nothing like the original one. I couldn't imagine what the hotel chambermaid thought when she saw the massacre of fabrics all over the floor.
It's a little unsatisfying that Mariano gives no clear reaction. Is he pissed that I mutilated the dress? Because that's certainly what I was going for. He wants me to look conservative with the lace and sheer closed neck style the original dress was. It felt like having a leash on. But news flash, Captain Ass, you can't put that chain around my neck. You want to marry me? This is what you get.
I don't see any frustration on his face though. It's as if he doesn't even care what I've done with the dress. That's a shame. I actually think I've done pretty well.
I square my shoulders and lift my chin, fully aware that my breasts are jutting and nearly popping out of their confines, feeling the brush of cold wind against my leg every time I take a step—what with the long slit I cut off from the skirt this afternoon.
I stop in front of him, unblinking. It isn't until Jax taps my groom from behind that Mariano blinks and turns to the priest, telling him to start.