Page 146 of Dangerous King
But I'll spend every damn day of my life earning the right to keep her.
The officiant clears his throat. "The rings?"
Toni steps forward until a low, unmistakable growl cuts through the ceremony. Shadow.
That scrappy little mutt trots proudly up the aisle, the velvet ring box strapped to a tiny satin pillow on his back. His ears are perked, his tail is high, and he stops right in front of us like he knows damn well this is his big moment.
Toni crouches to retrieve the box—and immediately freezes when Shadow bares his teeth and lets out another warning growl. A few guests chuckle. I smirk.
"You want to try that again?" Toni mutters, hands up like he's negotiating with a cartel boss.
Cat's soft laughter breaks through the tension. She leans down, whispering something only the dog can hear as she unfastens the box with nimble fingers. Shadow's tail wags. The little traitor's completely whipped. She straightens, holding the rings in her palm, smirking at me like,see, you're not the only one who growls when someone touches what's his.
Jesus Christ, I love this woman.
I take her ring and slide it onto her finger, slow and certain like a promise made flesh. "With this ring," I say, voice thick, "I give you everything I am. My name. My loyalty. My soul. You're mine now, Catalina Sartori. And I'll spend the rest of my life proving I deserve you."
Her eyes shimmer with emotion, and when she slips my ring on next, her hand trembles.
The officiant's voice cuts in, "I now pronounce you husband and wife."
A grin pulls at my lips. I don't wait for permission. I pull her to me and kiss her like it's the first time all over again, hungry, reverent, and a little desperate. She melts into me, her hands on my chest, fingers gripping the lapel of my suit. For a moment, there's no family, no mafia, no threats, no future. Just her lips. Just her warmth. Just this perfect moment.
When we finally break apart, the applause swells. I turn with her in my arms to face the crowd. My wife. My future. My fucking queen.
Shadow barks once beside us, like he approves.
I'm floating. I'm not sure if it's the champagne, the adrenaline, or the way Enrico keeps stealing glances at me like I've hung the moon, but I feel weightless. Giddy. Untouchably happy.
I'm sitting next to my husband.
Myhusband.
The word tastes sweeter than any dessert. I sneak a look at him. He looks so dark and devastating in his tuxedo, his wedding band gleaming on his strong hand as he reaches for his wine glass. He doesn't take his eyes off me.
Everywhere around us, there's laughter and warmth. Tables are arranged across the lawn like a garden dream. Golden chandeliers sway gently above us, suspended from high poles as if plucked from some enchanted ballroom. Red roses and whitelilies overflow from crystal vases, and their perfume mingles with the smell of roasted lamb, fresh bread, and honey-glazed vegetables. Guests chatter cheerfully at every table; glasses clink in a steady rhythm.
Clink-clink-clink-clink.
Another wave of that familiar sound. I turn just in time for Enrico to take my chin gently and kiss me, slow and deep. A cheer erupts around us, with hoots and whistles from his brothers, my brothers.
My cheeks ache from smiling. My body still tingles from the ceremony, and my heart—my foolish, once-cynical heart—beats like it never thought it would be allowed to love this freely. This fully.
I never thought I'd have this. Not really. A wedding. A white dress. A husband who looks at me like I'm both salvation and sin. But here I am, surrounded by family, flowers, and flickering candlelight.
I reach under the table and give Enrico's hand a squeeze. He laces our fingers together and lifts our joined hands to his lips, kissing my knuckles.
"You good, Mrs. Sartori?" he murmurs.
"So good I don't even believe it's real," I whisper back.
He grins that lazy, wicked grin of his. "It's real. And it's only the beginning."
Dio mio, I believe him too. I've become a believer in happily ever after fairytales. In princesses who don't marry the prince, but the dragon, who protected them all along. But even a princess needs to use the restroom. Before the guests decide on another roundof clinking silverware against glasses, I whisper to Enrico that I'll be right back.
"Where are you going?" He creases his brow.
I laugh, "You don't ask a lady that."
