Page 41 of Shadows of Steel
Harlow
Today is my wedding day.
The words sit heavy in my mind, a weight I can’t quite shake. I never wanted this. Never imagined myself standing at the threshold of a life bound to someone else. I never needed anyone. Never longed for love or companionship the way others did. I had forged my existence upon solitude and survival, anchored by the unshakable conviction that I was all I needed. And yet, here I am.
Marrying a man I barely know. Tying my life to his, bound by duty rather than desire. I don’t feel ready. But readiness stopped mattering the moment this decision was made for me.
The days leading up to my wedding slipped through my fingers, blurring together until suddenly, inexplicably, I’m here, standing at the precipice of something inevitable. Dante and I barely crossed paths in the time up to this moment. Not by design, but not by accident either. We avoided each other, a quiet, mutual understanding. Maybe it was for the best. The less time we spent together, the easier it was to remind myself that this is nothing more than a business arrangement.
And yet, in his absence, I found an unlikely opportunity to spend time with Mattia and get to know him. Somewhere between our brief exchanges over breakfast and the quiet moments when he’d sit beside me without a word, a silent understanding took root. He’s a sweet boy, guarded, but not unkind.
But none of that matters now.
Stepping out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around my body, steam curling into the air behind me, I’m immediately met with chaos. Maids bustle around the room, moving seamlessly.
Near the vanity, a hairstylist and makeup artist are setting up, meticulously arranging brushes and palettes. In the centre of it all, my two cousins, Elena and Sofia, stand amidst the controlled frenzy, their presence a familiar anchor in a morning that feels anything but my own.
Sofia spots me first. “Finally!” she exclaims, her face lighting up as she rushes over, wrapping me in a tight, warm embrace. The scent of floral perfume instantly surrounds me, familiar and comforting. “I missed you so much!”
A small, reluctant smile tugs at my lips. “I missed you too.”
Elena leans against the vanity, arms crossed, looking unimpressed. “I still can’t fucking believe you’re actually getting married.”
I let out a dry, knowing laugh. “Trust me, I’m just as bewildered as you are.”
Sofia claps her hands together, ever the ray of sunshine. “It’s going to be fine! Who knows? It might even be beautiful.”
Her sister lets out a quiet scoff. “Right. Because arranged mafia marriages always turn out great.”
“Don’t be so grumpy,” Sofia says, elbowing her lightly. “It’s a wedding! And, Harlow—” her eyes light up as she rushes to a garment rack in the corner, dramatically spreading her arms toward it. “I brought five exquisite dresses for you, just as I promised.”
My brows arch, intrigue flickering in my gaze. “Five, you say?”
She blushes slightly, twirling a strand of her blonde hair. “Well, I got a little carried away…”
I step closer, trailing my fingers over the fabric of one of the gowns. “Did you design these?”
Her face turns a deeper shade of pink. “Maybe.”
I turn to her, sincerity softening my voice. “They’re beautiful, Sofi.”
Her eyes shine with pride, and she grabs my hands. “Try them on!”
The room erupts into motion. The stylists move swiftly, their hands precise as they begin working on my hair and makeup, transforming me with each careful stroke. Across the room, my cousins move with elegance, slipping into their bridesmaid gowns, sunlit shades of yellow, flowing and refined, each design meticulously crafted by Sofia herself. Despite being sisters, they are strikingly different. Sofi, with her golden hair and sun-kissed complexion, is the image of their mother, while Elena, with her dark, silky waves and porcelain skin, takes after their father. Where one radiates warmth and effortless charm, the other is softer in her presence, quieter, but with a bite that emerges when least expected.
“I still don’t understand why we had to wear yellow.” Elena grumbles, tugging at the fabric as if she can will it into another colour.
Her sister shoots her an exasperated look. “Because it’s warm, elegant, and looksamazingon us!”
Elena mutters something under her breath, but doesn’t argue further.
Finally, when the chaos settles and the room clears, leaving just the three of us, the girls carefully help me into my gown. As I step in front of the mirror, my breath catches.
It’s stunning.
The fabric is delicate yet structured, sculpting my figure before cascading into a flawless, flowing silhouette. Intricate lace detailing shimmers under the soft light, adding an ethereal touch, while the long, sheer gloves, an extension of the gown itself, encase my arms, a seamless blend of elegance and refinement.
As I take it all in, Sofi steps forward, carefully fastening the long, trailing veil into my hair. The weight of it settles against myback, a whisper of silk and tulle that drapes down like a cascade of moonlight.
