Page 67 of Wicked Sinner
His lips twitch. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
I look at him, thinking about everything that's led us to this moment. Three weeks ago, I was a single woman with no complications beyond keeping my father's shop running. Now I'm about to marry a crime boss to protect myself and my unborn child.
“No,” I agree reluctantly. “I guess it wasn’t.”
—
The wedding happens so fastit makes my head spin.
Within an hour of our conversation, I’m ready to get married—or as ready as I’ll ever be, at least. I choose the dress that I wore out to dinner with Caesar, because it’s the one I think is the prettiest, I tell myself, and not out of any sentimental leaning. I don’t have any jewelry other than what he bought me for that night, so I put that on as well, with the nude flats. My leg is aching, and I pop some additional pain medication to get me through standing up for the vows.
We end up back at the same church that Caesar dragged me to that day he tried to get me to say the vows in front of Father Martinez, except this time we walk in the front door and down the aisle together. The church smells like old carpet and incense, a strangely comforting smell, and if the circumstances were different, I would almost enjoy this.
I was never the type of girl to dream about a big wedding or want something fancy and extravagant. If this were real, it would be fine for me—a simple wedding just the two of us in a dress I like, and going home together after. The thought leaves an ache in my chest—I almost wish itwerereal, just for a moment.
The ceremony itself is brief. Father Martinez reads the vows, with two new security guards, whose names I don’t know, watching this time to act as witnesses for the license. Caesar produces rings out of nowhere, two thin gold bands that I hadn’t expected, and we exchange them while repeating the words that Father Martinez asks us to parrot. When Father Martinez asks if I take Caesar to be my husband, I hesitate just long enough for Caesar to give me a sharp look.
"I do," I say finally, and the words feel strange in my mouth.
Caesar's voice is steady when he says his vows, calm and collected. When we get to the part about kissing the bride, he leans in slowly, giving me time to pull away if I want to.
I should. I should tell him we’ve done the part we needed to do. But I can’t make myself move. And he doesn’t stop.
His lips are warm and soft against mine, and for a moment, I forget that this is all just pretend. For a moment, I’m taken back to that night in my garage, to the scent of oil and warm concrete and the humid Miami night, and a shudder of pleasure ripples through me as I feel Caesar’s mouth against mine again.
Then he pulls back, and reality crashes over me again.
I feel like I’m in a daze as we sign the license. I stare at the gold band on my finger as I scrawl my name, half-thinking it’s going to disappear. It fits perfectly, which is somehow more unsettling than if it had been too big or too small. Like this was always going to happen.
Caesar takes my hand, and I realize it’s time for us to leave. “We can go out to dinner if you like,” he says as we walk out, slowly on account of my leg. “Do something to… celebrate.”
“This wasn’t real.” I look ahead, keeping my voice steady as we walk out of the church. “What’s there to celebrate?”
I feel him flinch next to me. “Alright,” he says finally, and I swear I can hear a flicker of disappointment in his voice. “I’m sure you’re tired, anyway. Let’s go home.”
The penthouse isn’t my home, but he’s right about one thing—I am tired, too tired to argue semantics. I’m still not fully recovered from yesterday, and I want to be off of my feet. I don’t say anything else as we walk out to the Ferrari, Caesar opening my door for me to get in before he comes around to slide into the driver’s side and start the engine. I stare out the window as we drive back, wondering if I should feel different.
I’m someone’s wife now. Temporary or not, the marriage was legal. For now, I’m Bridget Genovese.
“I’m not changing my name,” I say aloud, suddenly, and Caesar looks over at me.
“Since it’s… temporary—” He says the word as if he doesn’t like the sound of it, “I didn’t expect you would.”
“Even if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t change it.” I look over at him defiantly, as if expecting him to argue. “Or I’d hyphenate it.”
Instead, he shrugs as if it doesn’t matter at all to him. “So long as Genovese was somewhere in your name, I don’t care.” He pulls out onto the highway, and I look at him, surprised.
“You really wouldn’t care?”
“Why would I?” He glances over at me with another shrug.
“Most men want to own their wives completely. Just their name slapped on hers, and nothing else.”
Caesar chuckles, but there’s something mirthless to it, as if whatever he’s thinking he doesn’t really find all that funny. “I don’t need you to carry only my name to know you were meant to be mine,bellissima.”
There’s a low, quiet conviction to his voice that startles me into silence. I look away quickly, out of the window again, feeling my stomach twist oddly. I tell myself I don’t like what he said, but I feel strange, all the same.
Caesar pulls into the parking garage, opening the door for me to get out. I follow him inside, to the elevator, and as he slides the key card into the slot for the penthouse, I feel a churning in my stomach, nerves overwhelming me at the idea of going back.
