Page 8 of Deception & Desire

If I weren’t standing so close to her, I might not have picked up on the fact that Mia’s hands begin to shake.

She quickly balls them into fists and turns sharply to the priest. “Just get on with it.”

The last wedding I attended was my sister's. Isabella had flown me out to Vegas for what was supposed to be a week-long trip. I made it through the vows before turning right back around and heading straight home to New York.

This is somehow worse.

I couldn’t have stopped Isabella if I’d tried. She was in love, and to her, that was worth all the risk that came with it.

Whatever this sham of a marriage will turn out to be, there’s no way to sugarcoat it by blaming love. It’s a transaction, a soulless binding of souls in the presence of four entire witnesses.

Every word that comes out of the priest's mouth feels like a death sentence.

The only person in the room that might feel worse is the woman before me. Which is somehow oddly comforting.

“Leon Natali and Mia Chiavari, have you come here today to enter into this covenant of marriage freely and without reservation?” the priest asks.

I feel the corner of my mouth twitch at the sight of Mia rolling her eyes. “Oh, yes, no reservations here.”

When the priest looks at me for my confirmation, I simply nod—I don’t trust myself to speak.

He instructs me next to take her hand, which would be easier if she wasn’t still gripping her fists together. But eventually, I manage to coerce her fingers flat against my palm while desperately trying to ignore the small tremors running through them as they are pressed against my skin.

The ceremony continues with us both monotonously repeating his words verbatim. It’s Marco who supplies us with rings, simple bands that complement the color of Mia’s dress.

I barely register the coolness of the metal as Mia slips the ring on my finger. I’m more focused on the way her fingers wrap around my wrist to hold it steady, as if she doesn’t trust me not to jerk my hand away.

When it’s done, we both look away from our hands at the same time and I’m suddenly very aware of how close she is, of how soft her fingers feel in mine.

“Leon, you may now kiss your bride.”

I don’t really think when I bring her hand up to my lips. But I’m rewarded with an unguarded moment of surprise as I press a kiss across her knuckles.

“May I present to you, for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Natali.”

3

MIA

There is a heat in Leon’s eyes as he kisses my hand, that makes me momentarily breathless.

For a man who has only exhibited the iciest of demeanors since the moment I stepped into the room, this sudden shift is alarming.

It’s not fair, really. This would all be a lot more bearable if I could draw a very clear line under any physical attraction I felt for him. That way, I’d know for sure if I was acting out of duty as opposed to anything else.

Because logically, I know this man to be soulless, dangerous, and, quite frankly, controlling. I hadn’t missed how easily he’d spouted that nonsense about not tolerating male attention.

For that reason alone, I yank my hand from his grasp at the earliest opportunity.

But, objectively speaking, Leon Natali wasn’t the worst thing I could be looking at right now.

Which makes things a little blurry.

Leon Natali is confusing me with his stupidly intense eyes and gentle touches and his perfectly indecent scent of rum spice and black pepper.

My husband, ladies and gentlemen, I think sarcastically, having to prevent myself from rolling my eyes. What a sham.

“Congratulations,” my father whispers as he goes to kiss my cheek.

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