Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 144979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
I articulate every line without faltering, and it seems the entire room takes a collective breath when that part is over. Nino delivers the rings, the priest blesses us, and we exchange bands. When Angelo slides the heavy emerald-cut diamond onto my finger, it catches the sunlight and the guests’ attention.
Quiet voices sweep through the crowd, and one of the men whistles under his breath. The glittering diamond is impossible to miss, and that’s the point.
Angelo meets my stunned gaze and responds without a flicker of emotion on his face. “If other men can't see your ring across the room, I'm not doing my job.”
I choke down the sting of his indifference, telling myself it’s better this way. But it’s impossible not to notice how this ring, even at a heftier weight, has such a stark contrast to the way Matteo’s felt like a noose around my finger.
When it’s my turn to slip the titanium band onto Angelo’s finger, something hot arcs in my chest. I don’t want to breathe life into that feeling, but when the priest pronounces us husband and wife, the embers remain.
A roar of applause rises from the crowd, followed swiftly by a chorus of cheers as they shout, “Bacio, bacio!”
Angelo doesn’t bend to meet me, but rather, he grabs me around the waist and picks me up off the ground. Our eyes clash, the atmosphere shifts, and lightning strikes as his lips brush mine.
The first contact is a sharp electric spark that cracks open my chest and bleeds out too many raw emotions. I inhale his exhalation, and warmth rushes into my lungs. He tastes like whiskey, and he smells so good I want to bury my face in his neck and breathe him in like a drug.
The solid wall of muscle in his body anchors me to him. But the dizzying chemicals flooding my brain make me feel like my whole world is spinning off its axis. Seeking purchase, I reach for him and find myself clutching his face between my palms. The heat beneath his skin shocks me.
He’s burning up.
The arm around my waist goes rigid, and he releases a rough, angry breath. I swallow it and melt into him, and he unleashes a volatile cocktail of fury and longing as he crushes his lips to mine.
It isn’t a kiss. It’s six years of pent-up rage that explodes into a fire and engulfs me. I lose myself in the brutality of the moment, drowning in the punishing press of his lips. I want to sweep my tongue into his mouth and drink him while I explore every square inch of his body. But the moment my fingertips trace the line of his jaw down to the beating pulse in his throat, he scrapes his teeth along my lower lip and nips me. It leaves a sting that feels like a spanking, and then, just like that, it’s all over.
He releases his hold on me, and I slide down his body until my feet hit the floor. Part of me wishes a crater would open beneath me and swallow me up. It would spare me from the chill I feel when he cuts me a disinterested glance like he’s already erased the memory from his thoughts.
When the priest tells us it’s time to greet the witnesses, I have no choice but to reorient myself. It’s the last thing I want to do, but I snap back into performative mode, nodding as the men in cloaks come to pay their respects. They each greet Angelo with, “Dominus et Deus, Mr. Vitale,” before offering their well wishes and stepping aside so the next can do the same. It’s standard procedure for a Society wedding, and they will also bear witness to the marking ceremony later this evening.
“Let us join together now for the reception,” the priest announces as the last of the witnesses departs. “The bride and groom will follow shortly.”
The crowd slowly disperses, with many of the women pausing to let their eyes linger on Angelo before they narrow on me. It’s an uncomfortable reminder that my now-husband was once one of the most prized bachelors on their fathers’ lists of prospects. He was always highly regarded, and if he hadn’t proposed to me first, I have no doubt almost every man in this room would have gladly offered him his choice of any of their daughters. It also isn’t a stretch to imagine that many of these women once hoped to find themselves in my place.
As I glance at Angelo, I can’t help but wonder why he didn’t choose one of them instead. There are an inordinate number of beautiful women who would have volunteered to be his wife. In fact, I can think of one in particular who never stopped her pursuit of him.