Chapter 7
Four men in black suits moved toward Luca.
He stood frozen, still trying to process what was happening.
Then his eyes went red and his voice broke.
“Costa. This is my wedding. I spent three months planning it. You’re going to steal my wedding? Steal my woman?”
“You’re forgetting-the Sicily project. Your family’s been working on it for three years. And the approval rights went to
me.”
His voice turned ugly.
“And anyway, have you got no bottom line at all?”
“A woman who crawled in my bed for ten years-and you’re putting her on a pedestal? What’s next, Costa? Bragging
about secondhand clothes?”
The men seized his arms.
Alessandro looked down at me. “What he said-‘
“I don’t care.” I said.
Something flickered at the corner of his mouth. His eyes softened with something close to pain.
He squeezed my hand and turned back to the priest.
“Continue.”
Behind us. Luca’s voice turned from screaming into something else. Something raw.
“Rebecca. Please. I came back. I didn’t get the certificate with Serena. I really didn’t. Did you hear me?”
“This wedding-I promised you. I planned it for you. For myself too. You were the first one I ever wanted to marry-
His voice faded into nothing.
The doors shut behind him.
The priest cleared his throat. “I now pronounce you husband and wife.
Alessandro reached into his jacket and pulled out a ring.
Clearly one he’d had made a long time ago.
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He took my hand and slid it onto my finger.
“Done.” he said. “You dodged me in college. Then I had to beg your father just to be allowed to marry you-and you ran
again. Not this time.”
I smiled.
My parents had given me ten years. After ten years, if I came back with Luca, they’d accept him.
If I lost the bet… I’d marry the man they chose.
Alessandro Costa.
That was my punishment.
For years, I’d worked like a dog. Constant business trips. Less and less time with Luca.
And Costa-my so-called enemy-I saw him more than I saw my own fiancé. At project sites. Across negotiation tables. In
conference rooms.
But he’d always been a blurred figure. A silhouette. Someone on the other side of a table.
Until now.
I looked down at the ring on my finger.
And suddenly, the pieces came rushing back.
College. I’d loved jewelry design. Filled sketchbook after sketchbook.
My father called it a waste of time. Management. The family business. That was the real thing.
One day. Costa had come to visit. He’d found my sketchbooks.
He’d crumpled one of the pages and tossed it in the trash.
“What’s the point of doing this?”
That design-
It was on my finger now.
He’d kept it. All these years. For a decade.
Waiting for this day.
My eyes stung.
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I drew a breath, took the other ring from Gianna, and slid it onto his finger.
When it settled into place, he curled his fingers slightly. Just enough to brush against mine.
Applause swept through the cathedral.
I looked up at his face-
The doors opened again.
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