Page 7 of The Proposal

As much as I’d love to flee this clusterfuck, I’m not going to.

I blow out a long breath as I face forward again. Behind the altar, delicate carvings of angels and cherubs surround a marble statue of the Madonna, flanked by candles on either side. The flames dance in the cool air, and for a brief moment, I contemplate reaching out to knock over one of the candelabra’s with my foot.

I can’t marry Arabella if the church burns down, but even I know that won’t stop her father from seeing us eventually wed. I’d only be prolonging the inevitable.

I expel all the air from my lungs as the minutes drag by. The waiting only seems to make me angstier. I want to get this over with.

When the doors finally open and the pipe organ begins to play, I hesitantly turn my body in that direction as Arabella and her father appear in the centre of the opening.

The light outside casts a soft glow around her, outliningher silhouette. She looks like an angel, draped in layers of white, intricate lace and satin.

The tight-fitting gown she’s wearing clings to every delicious curve, highlighting her beauty in ways that make this situation almost unbearable.

It’s a shame that I know, all too well, the ice-cold person hiding beneath all that perfection.

The world fades, and the noise disappears. All I can focus on is her. My heart races in my chest, beating furiously against my ribcage, which is stupid since this isn’t a union of love.

She looks radiant, and for a brief moment, she feels like she was meant to be mine from the very beginning. But that thought is quickly quashed when her father takes the first step towards me. His eyes lock on mine with a glare that could freeze blood.

Arabella, on the other hand, remains still. Her arm is linked through his, and I watch helplessly as his free hand moves with brutal force to grip her wrist.

Without a word spoken, he jerks her forward so violently that it almost causes her to trip. My lips purse in anger as her body stiffens, her face a mix of shock and something darker—resistance, perhaps—but it’s not enough to help her break free as he practically drags her in my direction.

My chest tightens as a bitter surge of rage rises within me, but I can’t tear my eyes away from her long enough to act.

The walk is short, yet it feels like an eternity, and within moments, they are standing before me. Her eyes are locked with mine, and the anguish radiating off her is tangible. It claws at me, twisting my insides, making my black heart tighten painfully in my chest.

Deep down, I may be a monster, a man capable of despicable things, but at this very moment, I realise something:I would be anything for this woman.

My hand reaches for hers, but unlike her father, I don’t tug her forward. I simply wrap my fingers around hers andhope—no, pray—that she’ll come towards me of her own accord.

My features soften despite the rage that boils within me. “It’s okay,” I tell her, my voice low and reassuring, though inside, I’m anything but calm. Confusion and uncertainty flicker in her big green eyes. “You can trust me.”

Her father releases her, but he stays rooted, fury radiating from him like a palpable force. I’ll deal with him later. I have something more important to attend to right now.

My eyes never leave hers, and I silently hope that the intensity of my look is enough to convey the one thing I need her to understand: she will be safe with me.

It takes a moment—just a heartbeat longer than I would’ve liked—but slowly, she steps forward. And for that small, quiet gesture, I’m grateful.

I don’t let go of her hand as my gaze moves to her father. She may be petrified of this man, but I’m not. “If you touch her like that again, you’ll die.”

My words hang in the air, heavy with conviction. He feels the threat in my tone; that much is evident, and although his lips curl into a tight, menacing scowl, he doesn’t dare challenge me.

Without another word, he turns sharply and sits on the front pew, all his fury swallowed in silence.

When my gaze returns to Arabella, the shock on her face is unmistakable. She’s probably never seen anyone defy her father like that, but I’m the Don of my family now … her father’s equal in every sense.

This marriage may be unconventional and fraught with tension, but by the end of this service, she will be my wife. I do not take that knowledge lightly.

We may not like each other, hell, we probably even hate each other, but that doesn’t matter. From this moment forward, I will not stand idly by while anyone disrespects or harms her. She is mine to protect, for better or worse.

Lucia slides up beside me and whispers, “Watch her. She’s the type of woman who puts a certain something behind her ears to attract men.”

She’s referring to her cousin, Antonella, who’s been shamelessly flirting with me from the second we arrived at the wedding reception. Arabella and I may have entered into a marriage not derived from love, but who does that?

I frown. “What does she put behind her ears?” I ask, perplexed.

My question has her grinning. “Her ankles.”

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