Page 72 of Ruins
The tenderness in his voice surprises me.
“Thank you, Papa,” I say softly, tucking my hand into the crook of his arm as he leads me downstairs, Mimi trailing behind.
The weight of the moment settles over me with every step.
At the double doors leading to the garden, Mimi slips ahead, stepping into the soft serenade of music as she takes her place as my maid of honor.
The garden is magical. The air is thick with the scent of roses, and the soft hum of anticipation ripples through the crowd like an overfilled champagne flute ready to spill over.
And there—at the end of the aisle, beneath the ornate gazebo—stands Santo.
Not a hair out of place. His suit tailored to perfection. A man carved from discipline and control.
But his eyes—his dark, stormy gaze—is locked onto me. Only me.
A shiver rolls down my spine.
My father guides me forward, his grip steady, grounding. I can feel the weight of every gaze, hear the hushed whispers carried on the warm breeze.
But none of it matters.
Because Santo’s eyes never leave mine.
He doesn’t move, doesn’t so much as blink, but as we approach, a muscle in his jaw twitches.
Maybe he feels this too.
“Are you ready?” My father’s whisper pulls me from my thoughts as we reach the altar.
A wave of unexpected calm settles over me.
“I am,” I reply, steady, certain.
He presses a kiss to my forehead before offering my hand to Santo.
Santo steps forward.
The moment his fingers brush mine, a slow, unfamiliar tingle spreads through my palm.Electric. Undeniable.
He holds my hand—not too tight, not too soft, but with a quiet claiming.
His eyes search mine, a thousand emotions swirling beneath the surface.
The officiant clears his throat, shattering the silence.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today...”
As he continues with the traditional opening of the vows, I find myself studying Santo’s face. Wondering if he will be faithful in this marriage, if he feels the same nervous excitement as I do.
His gaze softens as he watches me.
Just slightly.
The vulnerability flickers there, fleeting but real, and somehow,thatreassures me more than any vow could.
This is just as new for him as it is for me.
“Do you, Vasilisa Nova Popov, take Santo Dante Amato to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
