Page 93 of Wrong Marriage. Right Groom
Just like that, it was done.
Loretta Orsini was gone.
I was now Loretta Pérez.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it is my honor to present to you for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Rafael Pérez.”
A brief pause followed.
“May God bless this union and guide you both in the years ahead.”
The guests began to clap.
The sound filled the chapel, surrounding me from every direction.
The ceremony was over.
There would be no second thoughts.
No taking it back.
I was married.
“Congratulations, Rafael,” Ramiro said from somewhere behind me.
His tone was respectful, but there was something guarded beneath it—like even he understood the weight of what had just been sealed.
“Congratulations, brother,” Bruno added, voice drifting with detached amusement. “Didn’t think I’d live to see you chain yourself again.”
A faint pause followed.
Then Rafael replied.
“Thanks.”
Only that.
No laughter. No celebration. Just a single word placed carefully into the air and left there to mean whatever it meant.
His large, warm hand settled at my waist.
The contact burned through silk and straight into awareness.
I stiffened immediately, my breath catching before I could stop it. For a split second, I considered pulling away, but I knew better.
His grip wasn’t rough. It was controlled.
“Come,” he said simply.
Just one word. A command softened into something that almost passed for guidance.
Still, I followed him without hesitation.
He guided me down the aisle, his hand steady at my side as if he had already decided the pace of my body.
My steps faltered slightly in the heels, each uneven contact with the floor a quiet betrayal of my composure, but he did not loosen his hold.
The church doors opened ahead of us, and the air shifted instantly—cooler, cleaner, stripped of the heavy incense and enclosed silence that had pressed in on my lungs.
