She used to talk to that crown.
She used to confess her happiness, her fears, and when she told me about it, I assumed she wouldn’t wear it, but there she is, wearing a small tiara that means more than anything during this moment.
It’s her confession to me.
It’s her worship.
It’s her surrender.
And her eyes… her eyes aren’t on me—but Roman.
Chapter Ten
“There is no exquisite beauty without some strangeness in proportion.” —Edgar Allan Poe
Del
Chase Abandonato, mafia god, is walking me down the aisle. I try not to panic as people watch as he leans in and does what my stupid dad should have done had he been alive.
His job.
I keep my head high and tell myself it’s going to be okay, and I look to Roman, the man I thought I would one day marry, the one I’m walking toward but not to.
A tear slides down my cheek, though nobody can see it because of the veil covering my face. I momentarily imagine a world where it’s him at the end of the aisle, then immediately feel bad because I love King as a person, a friend, just in a different way than I love Roman.
He’s incredible.
He’s protective.
But if I start thinking about King, I feel like I’m betraying Roman, and it makes my chest hurt despite the fact that I could easily have fallen for King in another life.
I promise myself I can love them both.
I promise myself that this is the best option.
I am selfless.
I am not bitter.
I am a woman.
I am a leader.
I lift my chin higher.
“That’s the spirit,” Chase says to my right. “Hold it high.”
“What?” I whisper.
“Your head,” he says right back as we almost make it to the altar. “Always hold it high—especially when everyone around you wants you to bow.” We stop; he lifts the veil and strategically wipes my tear, then whispers, “You bow to no one.”
I lift my chin higher.
He presses a kiss to each cheek.
“Thank you.”
Chase smiles. “The sun will still rise tomorrow.”
“Who gives this woman?” the priest asks.
“Me.” Chase turns toward him, almost annoyed. “And…” The room itself almost moves as every one of the bosses from each Family as well as the captains, the made men— basically all of them, including a few women— stand. “The rest of us.”
“Are you all in agreement?” the priest asks.
“Yes,” they say in unison.
I tear up again.
I’ve never had support. It had always been my mom and me, and then my dad betrayed everyone, and now I’m stuck with my uncle, and it just… it feels like someone just stopped the bleeding like someone said it was okay and put a bandage over my heart.
I don’t want to let Chase go.
I stand there longer than I should.
And I look up at him again like I need him to tell me it’s okay, that it’s going to be okay. He adjusts my veil and whispers again. “Don’t let life make you bitter, Del. Trust us. Trust… your King.”
Is he, though? Is he mine?
I finally look at him. I lift my eyes to him, and all I see is peace in a lifetime of war and destruction.
It’s like Chase knows I’m finally okay as he hands me over to King. I can feel Roman watching us, waiting, tensing.
I take King’s hand, knowing that this is that moment, the defining moment where a person knows things will never be the same, and yet she wonders how she’ll ever make it through.
But his hands are warm, not clammy.
King’s eyes are beautiful.
His hair is tousled over the side, longer than I thought, with shots of caramel and red poking out, his green eyes focus on me like I’m the only person in existence, and his smile is genuine. White teeth gleam from behind full lips that spread out like he really is excited to marry me when I know that he can both see and feel Roman behind me.
And yet, his gaze doesn’t flicker away.
He doesn’t look upset.
He looks determined.
So I smile back up at him.
His eyes light up, and I suddenly want to get closer—so I do. It’s all for one purpose, right? To align the Families? His body is warm as I cling to his muscled arm and wait for the priest to begin the ceremony.
Everything is a blur until the priest starts the vows. I’m ready to repeat whatever I need to say when he looks to King. “I understand you have a special vow you’d like to say to your soon-to-be wife?”
King nods. “Yes, I do.”
“Proceed.” He folds his hands and waits.
Meanwhile, I’m ready to pass out. Was I supposed to write a vow? Do something romantic? Shit. I want to puke. Did I just forget because of all the stress?
“I know…” King grips my hands in his; they’re warm, strong, they’re everything that says it’s going to be okay and that he’ll lift me if I can’t walk, if I can’t move, those hands will always stay. “…that we didn’t plan for this or to do our own vows, so stop looking at me like you’re ready to pull a gun.”