Page 117 of Fierce Hearts

I took a deep breath and nodded, shoving all family business thoughts from my mind as I focused on my wedding instead. "Still can't believe I'm getting married," I said sheepishly.

“You deserve this, Sofia, you’ve done us all proud,” Caterina said, kissing my cheek before slipping inside the chapel while my heart surged at her words.

Julia squeezed my hand. "Marco would be so proud," she whispered, her eyes glistening, but she blinked them away and smiled. "You truly deserve this, Sofia.” She slipped inside as well, and I glanced at Meredith as I readied myself.

"He's going to be over the moon, Sof," Leo said as he gave me a soft look and took Meredith's hand. "Take care of him, as I'm sure he will you."

"Always," I promised.

They both turned back to the doors, and my heart fluttered as they were pulled open for us.

"I'm here, tesoro," my mother whispered as she hooked her arm through mine.

The string quartet began playing, and I watched as Meredith and Leo made their way down the aisle. Leo moved to stand beside Gray as his best man, while Meredith took her place.

Then it was my turn. My mother patted my arm, and I clutched my bouquet of white roses and baby's breath tight.

"Ready?" she asked.

I nodded, my heart lurching as we moved forward. My mother held her head high with pride, and I tried to channel her calm right now as we entered the chapel.

As we stepped into view, the guests rose. I recognized faces from both the Savoca and Donati families, along with hospital colleagues and friends. But my eyes found only one person—Gray.

He stood tall at the altar, his black suit perfectly tailored, his hair neatly styled. But it was his expression that caught my breath. His eyes widened as he saw me, filling with tears even as his smile grew. The naked adoration on his face made my own eyes sting.

This man had seen me at my worst—scared, angry, desperate. He'd accepted my past, the blood on my hands, without hesitation. He'd held me through nightmares and morning sickness. And still, he looked at me like I was the most precious thing he'd ever seen.

Each step toward him felt like coming home.

When we reached the altar, my mother placed my hand in Gray's, and I felt his fingers tremble slightly against mine.

"You're breathtaking," he whispered, those green eyes holding mine, overflowing with love.

The ceremony passed in a blur. I remember the weight of the wedding ring as he slid it onto my finger, a custom piece designed to slot in with my engagement ring, lined with diamonds and a few small rubies. I remember the tenderness in his eyes as we exchanged vows. I remember thinking how strange it was that I'd once feared this connection, this vulnerability.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the officiant said. "You may kiss the bride."

Gray's hands cupped my face delicately, like he feared I might crumble, as he leaned in. His lips met mine in a kiss that was both gentle and promising. When we broke apart, his forehead rested against mine.

"My wife," he murmured, the words making my heart soar as the crowd broke into cheers and applause.

The reception was held in the villa's grand ballroom, with its crystal chandeliers and marble floors. We danced our first dance to "Can't Help Falling in Love," Gray holding me close, one hand splayed protectively over my bump.

"Happy?" he asked, his breath warm against my ear.

"More than I thought possible," I admitted.

Throughout the evening, I found myself watching him—laughing with Meredith, dancing with Bianca, chatting respectfully with Julia and others of my family. This man who'd once been known to me only as Meredith's brother had become so much more. He'd stepped into his role as a true Donati with surprising ease, balancing the violence associated with the name when necessary with the diplomacy he'd always excelled at.

As the night wore on, Gray's hand rarely left mine. His touches grew more lingering, his glances more heated.

"You keep looking at me like that," I murmured after catching his gaze for the third time in as many minutes, "and people will talk."

"Let them," he replied, his voice low. "I can't help it if my wife is the most beautiful woman in the room."

His fingers trailed over my bare shoulder, making my skin prickle.

"I want you," he whispered later, as we swayed to a slow song. "I want to be with my wife properly."

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