Page 52 of Forbidden Bride (Forbidden 1)
“Okay.” I nod.
This somehow touches me more than I would have expected. That Marco wants to defer to me, that the decision will be both of ours. We’re not even officially married yet, and we already have more of a partnership than I ever could have had with Pietro.
When Marco opens the box, what I see tucked into the velvet, side by side, are two matching gold his and her bands with milgrain edging. Not too thick, not too thin. Timeless. Classic. Elegant. I love them.
He sets the box on the lectern and rejoins our hands, and then Father Alfredo begins a blessing. I know I’m supposed to keep my head down and close my eyes during the prayer, as Marco is doing, but I can’t stop peeking at my intended. His brows are relaxed, his breathing slowed. Peace has come over him. Any lingering worries I had about him changing his mind about this quickie wedding are banished with each passing second that he continues to hold my hands, his grip steady and sure.
The priest moves into the vows, keeping them simple, quick, and intimate. I’ve never paid close attention to the wording of vows at weddings I’ve attended, but now I find myself moved by Father Alfredo’s words, nodding along in agreement as he speaks of faith and faithfulness, of the covenant of marriage, of respecting and supporting and caring for each other as equal partners. I genuinely want all of these things, and I want them with Marco.
“For always,” I add.
“For always,” Marco echoes.
Before I know it, he’s sliding the gold band onto my finger, and then I’m placing the matching band on his.
And then we’re Mr. and Mrs. Bellanti.
And it’s time to seal our vows with a kiss.
There’s no heavy veil hiding my face from him. No layer upon layer of silk and tulle separating us. Marco steps into me easily, gently cups the back of my head, and draws me in for a warm, tender meeting of our lips. I feel like I’m floating on a cloud.
Father Alfredo is smiling warmly when we finally part. “You have truly been blessed this day.”
I blink back tears, but for once, they’re tears of joy.
Personally, I’ve never felt God smiling down on me like He must be today, to give me this man as my husband.
“Thank you, Father,” I say.
“You are welcome, Mrs. Bellanti.”
I look at my husband. The feelings welling in my chest are odd and unfamiliar. Overwhelming. I don’t know what to do, what to say, what to think. I’ve never been so happy.
“Breathe, Karina. Take a breath. You’re safe,” he murmurs.
I wipe at my tears and smile up at him.
Am I truly safe, though? Can I ever be free to live my life with my uncle still out there? My family knows I’m missing by now, obviously. I’m sure they’ve dispersed and set out looking for me, the wedding canceled at the last minute. Pietro is probably feeling even more murderous than my uncle is.
But Marco was right—you can’t marry someone if you’re already married. And in a Catholic ceremony, no less.
He truly has rescued me.
