The church was an old, familiar building that had served as a solace for me as a boy when my homelife became intolerable. Something about the cut fieldstone rock that had been worn by several lifetimes of weather to a soft, muted gray, the stained glass windows, the red accents in the interior, it all made the world fall away when I entered.
“What?” I asked when Isabella pulled to a stop just outside the round wooden doors with their cross emblems.
She was trembling from the cold and I only barely refrained from slipping out of my jacket and draping it over her shoulders.
“I’m afraid that I will burst into flames if I enter a church with you,” she said.
Gaze forward, she missed the smirk that tugged at my lips.
“Come,” I said, reaching down to grab her hand, feeling her whole body stiffen at the contact. “We need to make this official.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Isabella
I’d dreamed of my wedding day countless times in my life.
My family used to tease me when, as a girl and even a teen, I used to buy wedding magazines and cut out my favorite dresses or flower arrangements or cakes.
It had all always been very clear to me.
A big church wedding with my family and friends followed by a reception in a sprawling room somewhere. Something beautiful, but understated. Not trying too hard.
I imagined my mom getting tipsy at the open bar and getting on the dance floor to make memories that would be put to film that she would later regret. I pictured the menu, the band, the smiles on my loved ones faces.
But I’d never pictured the man.
I figured he would become clear to me when the right one finally crossed my path. I never wanted to sully my daydreams of my wedding with the faces of the guys I actually dated. A list of men who’d never meant anything close to important to me.
I was a romantic, though. I believed he would find me if I gave him enough time.
I should have settled for one of the other random guys I’d dated. It would have saved me from this fate.
If I’d done that, though, would it be one of my female relatives instead? I couldn’t imagine a single one of them being condemned to this fate. Maybe it was better that it was me.
In all the times I pictured my wedding day, though, I never imagined being dragged out in the freezing cold in what was no more than a slip. Without my mom. Or my brother. With absolutely friggin no one that loved me around.
At that thought, I felt the sting in my eyes again, needing to blink the tears back as Primo kept leading me down the aisle of pews and up toward the altar where the shrunken form of the priest stood waiting for us. Waiting to seal my fate.
He seemed clueless to my being forced into the situation, at least. He gave me a tight smile that spread when it shifted to Primo.
Strange.
But okay.
From there, things were a bit of a blur.
Words were read from the Bible.
Then Primo was being prompted to recite his vows.
I watched as he produced the wedding ring that was clearly designed to go with my engagement ring. It was made of black diamonds in a shape that had it cupping the shorter point of the kite-shaped stone on my finger.
I was more distracted by Primo’s warm hands on my frigid ones as he said his words. Maybe he looked at me. I didn’t know. I had my gaze downcast, a part of me so disassociated that the priest needed to prompt me twice to start repeating after him.
And then we got to the words.
Those two words.
The ones that would seal this whole deal.
“Miss?” the priest prompted again, making me shake my head, snapping out of my stupor.
“I… do.” I’d barely managed to choke the words out.
But they came out and they were heard.
And it was all over.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride,” the priest invited.
My stomach twisted at the words.
But before I could even think to respond to them, Primo’s hand was grabbing the back of my neck with the same pressure and possessiveness that he’d done back in his apartment. This time, though, he was dragging me forward until my chest crushed to his. I had one short moment to feel the hard line of him before his lips were crashing down on mine.
Hard.
There was nothing soft or sweet or even formal about this kiss.
It was rough and primal, borderline painful.
Before I could even count to five, though, it was over, and Primo was thanking the priest, saying he would see him soon, then turning to go down the aisle again.
“Are you coming?” he asked, turning back to me, brow raised. “Mrs. Esposito?” he added, and the title was like a kick to the gut, knocking out all my air.