Page 55 of Not Mine to Keep

Braden had landed us my dream gig of playing on Broadway.

Wagner’s “Bridal Chorus,” “Here Comes the Bride,” started playing, and the devil offered me his arm to walk me down the aisle. I stared at Armani, unsure what to do, but for the sake of appearances, allowed him to link our arms.

Peering through the veil, I took in the sight of the guests. On Armani’s side, it was a sea of mostly unrecognizable faces. In the groom’s section, it was practically empty. Izzy and three men were there, and I had to assume the guys were Constantine, Enzo, and Hudson.

Can I do this? Get married?My shoulders fell at the memory of Aunt Tia being watched. Her life was on the line. Of course I had to go through with this.

Izzy caught my eyes, gave me a light nod of “you’ve got this”—well, that’s how I translated it—then I looked beyond her to put eyes on the groom for the first time.

Each nervous step down the aisle matched three quick beats of my heart.

Alessandro was too far away to make out his expression, but the man truly looked handsome in his tuxedo. He was also standing on his own two feet without support, confirming what Izzy said, that he was now “okay” despite a rough night.

No maid of honor or best man stood up there with him, only a man decked out in a fancy outfit—someone on Armani’s payroll to officiate the wedding.

When Alessandro’s palm went to his heart over his tux jacket and he tipped his head a touch, I was pretty sure he was signaling something to me as well. His way of letting me know everything would be okay. To keep walking to him. Or maybe he was on the verge of a heart attack about losing his bachelorhood?

I swallowed, surrendered a nod, and kept on moving, stepping on rose petals. However, there was no sign of a flower girl or cute kid as a ring bearer. Honestly, I was grateful everyone in this nightmare inside the church appeared to be over eighteen.

As we closed in on the platform, Alessandro’s eyes on me gave me comfort. His stoic look, hands now clasped in front of him, and a warm, gentle expression that kind of surprised me, given our situation, managed to help slow my pulse a bit.

The facial hair he’d started to sport was now gone. Clean-shaven. His wavy hair was tamed and pushed to the side of his forehead with gel. And the man wore the tux. It didn’t wear him.

It took me a moment to realize I’d made it to the top, and Armani was now turning toward me to lift the veil. I resisted the impulse to throw up when he leaned in and kissed my cheek. He murmured something in Italian, and this was one time I was grateful to be clueless at what he’d said.

The priest—I assume that’s who he was—motioned for me to step alongside Alessandro, and when I looked at the groom without my veil, my legs became wobbly. Because up close with an unobstructed view, I could see “calm and collected” had only been an act. He was as nervous as I was. There was a visible vein at the side of his neck, as if he wereclamping down too hard on his back teeth. Dots of sweat at his hairline. And as the priest began speaking in Italian, I realized Alessandro was wringing his hands together, not calmly clasping them.

When the next part of the wedding took place, we quietly studied each other like we were at a funeral instead. I barely heard the Liturgy of the Word spoken. Not that I would’ve understood it since everything was in Italian.

“The vows are next,” Alessandro mouthed to me a moment later, and I had to assume he was politely translating whatever the priest had said, clueing me in on what was going on at my own wedding. He fingered the collar of his shirt just above the black bow tie and stretched his neck around a bit.

Was he going to be a runaway groom? I wouldn’t blame him;Iwas on the verge of bolting. But Aunt Tia’s life kept my uncomfortable heels rooted in place.

“I don’t have vows prepared,” I whispered, hoping I didn’t need to make any up on the fly.

“Same.” Alessandro frowned, then turned his attention to the priest and said something in Italian. “Can you repeat what he says in Italian instead?” he asked, eyes meeting mine again, and all I could do was nod for my answer.

Sweat trickled between my breasts and down my back as I echoed the Italian words to the priest to the best of my ability.

It was Alessandro’s turn to recite the vows next, and listening to him speak Italian was almost too much for me, because he could quickly reignite my love for the language after Armani’s very existence had ruined it. Every word from him was so smooth and silky, I had to look away for a moment to collect myself. To remember this was fake.

I stole my focus toward the assembly to see them standing during the Rite of Marriage. Rings I’d forgotten we’d need were brought out. Two yellow-gold bands were removed from a little see-through, netted bag—symbols of the eternal love for your partner.

The priest spoke again in Italian while offering a band to Alessandro, and he came over to me, noticeably swallowing. I forced up my left hand so he could slide the lie onto my finger.

When it was my turn, he held my eyes instead of looking at the eternal symbol on his hand, and told me, “We have to kiss now.”

“Calliope?” the priest prompted.

Wait, does the kiss mean we’re married now? Is it over?Trembling, I started to feel dizzy.Shit, don’t faint.

As if sensing I was losing control, Alessandro pulled his hand away from mine only to snatch both my forearms, helping keep me steady and grounded.

“We can do this,” he promised, but could we? Really?

It’s just a kiss.

His brow tightened as he continued to study me, slowly dipping in closer for the inevitable moment my heart would probably burst from my chest. I copied his move when he shut his eyes, and my heart galloped double time as I waited for his lips to meet mine.

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