Page 16 of Prideful Union
“Right,” I say. After giving her family one more nod, I take my place by the priest. I would’ve preferred to remind Viktor to keep his wife in line, but it’s become clear to me the Moretti women think they’re running the show. No wonder Lucia has the audacity to boss me around.
Well, I’ll show her who’s boss. She’ll have no choice but to listen to me once I show her how to live her life with more reason and composure.
The final guests arrive. The music swells. The church doors open.
And there’s Lucia with Antonio on her arm as they walk down the aisle.
Except she’s not wearing the wedding dress I chose for her.
The dress I chose for her was sleek, elegant, refined.
But this dress … I shudder.
It’s large, for one. A very princess-y wedding gown. It’s off the shoulder, and the puffy sleeves are an assault to my eyes.
Lucia looks like she walked off the film set of a princess movie. She looks pleased with herself. Most men would love the way she looks in the dress. And admittedly, she still looks pretty. But it’s not the dress I chose. The dress she’s wearing is a spectacle, and I despise spectacles.
She smirks at me as she walks down the aisle. Lucia knows what she did. She deliberately went behind my back and chose a dress of her own.
Antonio hands her off to me, and when my hand closes around hers, I tighten my grip.
She tries pulling away, but I don’t let her.
As Father Enzo begins the ceremony, I keep my eyes glued to Lucia, letting her know how displeased I am by her decision to wear her own dress.
She only smiles back triumphantly. I have to show her a lesson.
When we get to our vows, I speak clearly. I tell Lucia I’ll be with her through sickness and health. I’ll be a husband she can depend on. And I mean it. Once Lucia is mine, she’ll be no one else’s.
But that doesn’t mean I won’t get her to submit to me.
“I do,” I state clearly when Father Enzo asks if I take Lucia to be my wife.
And when he asks her if she’ll take me to be her husband, she says with a glint in her eye, “I do.”
And just like that—we’re husband and wife.
I grab Lucia’s face and plant a simple kiss on her lips, marking her as mine. When I pull back, I see her eyes are closed. She looks content for once. Then she opens them, and her usual annoyed expression plants itself firmly back in place.
“You’re mine now,” I say quietly to her.
“Remember, you’re mine now, too.”
We head to the reception, held in one of the finest hotels in the city. But before we go, we stop at the rooftop garden of the hotel to take our wedding photos.
Lucia tries being front and center, but I don’t let her.
After spending a moment with each of us trying to get the better camera angle, the photographer sighs.
“Can you two just hold each other? It makes for a good photo.”
Lucia grumbles under her breath but finally stops moving. I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her in close. Her breath hitches as she gazes up at me. Interesting. I noticed it after our first kiss, too. She seems fazed by me. That’s good. We’ll need to have a good physical connection to have children.
The moment the photographer is done, Lucia practically pushes me away and heads downstairs to the party. Her attitude will get her in trouble one of these days.
We’re greeted with cheers by our guests the moment we enter the ballroom. It’s … a little tacky for my tastes, especially because Lucia seems to be enjoying all the attention. That just won’t do. I know it’s her wedding day, but it’s not her day. It’s mine.
“Let’s dance,” she says, pulling me toward the dance floor.
