I didn’t want Serafina, not the woman she’d turned out to be—maybe the girl I’d desired and longed to possess had never existed in the first place. She was a figment of my fantasies, something I’d construed to make my possession of her an even bigger triumph. I’d been young. I’d enjoyed the envy of other men who wanted her for themselves. Their pity and schadenfreude following my humiliation by Remo’s hand had only fueled my fury and hunger for revenge . . . and my insatiable need to prove myself.
Today, I considered myself a different person. I was still too prideful, still hungry for revenge, but it wasn’t all-consuming. It had been a long struggle, one I was still fighting, but the party five months ago had only spurred me on.
In the beginning and over the years, I’d compared Sofia to her sister. Had looked for similarities, for hints that our bond was doomed as well. Marrying another Mione woman had seemed like tempting fate.
As I regarded my young wife striding toward me, I realized she had little of her sister, and I was relieved. Serafina and my obsession with her had almost brought me to my knees. Sofia wasn’t her sister. She was less poised, less controlled, and wore her emotions on her sleeve. I’d considered those traits disadvantages, now I realized they weren’t.
When Pietro finally handed Sofia over to me, her palm was cold and sweaty in mine. She briefly met my gaze then quickly looked away, her cheeks tinging red. The way her fingers didn’t close around mine and the way she leaned away the slightest bit made it clear that she still hadn’t overcome her aversion to my closeness.
Since our encounter at the party, Sofia had avoided me and whenever we’d met, she’d been nervous and aloof. She had no reason to be ashamed and she certainly didn’t have to fear me. Her youth and inexperience excused her foolish behavior. I only had my wrath as explanation, and it wasn’t a good one.
I allowed myself to take Sofia in, to see her for what she was: a gorgeous young woman. Not a consolation prize, not Serafina’s sister.
And damn it, Sofia was stunning. I was glad she’d stopped dyeing her hair blonde. Her auburn hair contrasted beautifully with her fair skin and baby blue eyes.
She had a soft smattering of freckles that I’d never noticed before, probably because makeup had covered them up, which was a shame because they added to Sofia’s charm. Her dress wasn’t pompous like I’d thought. She’d opted for an elegant, flowy piece that accentuated her almost elfin figure. I had trouble taking my eyes off her when the priest began his speech. His words held little meaning to me, but with hundreds of eyes on me, I had to pretend.
Sniffling came from the pews. Perhaps Mom. Ines was usually more controlled, even if her immaculate mask had had a chink in it since Serafina’s kidnapping. I shoved the thought aside. Today, the past would lay dormant.
After the priest pronounced us man and wife, Sofia stiffened. It was time for the kiss. Ever since that night, my dreams had been filled with Sofia. Kissing had been only a small part of my fantasies. Seeing Sofia’s reaction to my closeness, I knew our sexual encounters would take a very different turn from my dreams—at least until I could show her how good I could make her feel. I hadn’t been a selfish lover in the past, but my one-night stands with the blondes had hardly been about pleasure and more about venting my anger. Of course, Sofia didn’t know that. I could only imagine how she imagined our sex life would be like. While I loved to dominate and was a demanding lover, what Sofia had witnessed definitely wasn’t what I had planned for her.
Turning fully to her, I took the lead and cupped her cheeks. She met my eyes, and I hoped she could see that from this day forward, I’d do my best to make her forget our painful encounter and all my other fuckups. She closed her eyes when I leaned down and pressed my lips against hers. This should have been our first intimate moment, Sofia’s first experience. Maybe one day she’d only remember the good.
When I pulled back, her cheeks were red, but she was still tense. Her eyes fluttered open, beautiful blue and unguardedly hopeful. That was the look from the past . . . before I’d crushed her innocence into dust. As if on cue, her expression turned wary. She looked away and I released her face, taking her hand instead. Applause rose among our guests, and soon everyone was standing, waiting to see us out.
I took Sofia’s hand into mine and led her down the aisle and out the church where staff with champagne and finger food were waiting for us.