Page 87 of Savage Vows

I’ve never heard of someone from the county clerk’s office delivering an official document. It can’t possibly be legal. But that doesn’t seem to concern anyone in the room.

After a cursory glance at our IDs, she says, “I need you both to sign here.”

She hands me a pen and points to where I’m supposed to scrawl my name. I scan the page and see two blank lines, and they’re both backdated.

Puzzled, I glance at Matteo. He raises an eyebrow. The message is clear. Be quiet and do as I’m told.

Even though I’m probably committing fraud or whatever it’s called, I affix my signature.

Matteo quickly follows suit.

“Good luck to both of you,” she says before leaving.

“I’ll be ready to proceed whenever you are,” the priest tells us. “Take your time.”

Promising we’ll be as quick as possible, Bella moves me to the bridal room where there is a photographer waiting for us.

“I’m Marcella,” the woman introduces herself. “Already took pictures of the flowers.”

Flowers?

I glance around and am shocked to see a beautiful bouquet. I recognize white orchids, but there’s other blossoms that I don’t know.

“There’s a touch of jasmine in there,” Bella tells me. “Your signature scent.”

I’m touched. How can she think of so many details?

When I’m dressed and ready, Marcella snaps dozens of photos, even some of me and Bella together, posing with fake smiles.

We make our way past the main sanctuary, and when we reach the chapel, I stop to draw a breath, hoping to steady my nerves.

“You’ll do fine,” Bella reassures me. “Just stay in the moment. Don’t think about anything other than what Father Thomas is saying.”

Matteo and Nico are standing next to the priest, facing me, and Marcella is nearby.

“I’ll go first.” Bella touches my elbow. “Follow when you’re ready.”

When she’s standing on the far side of the officiant, I bring my chin up. Matteo’s gaze is locked on me.

In his suit and tie, his brows knit together, he’s even more formidable and handsome than ever.

I’ve seen him in a whole new light, and I respect the man he is.

“Come to me”,he mouths.

Focused on him, I take a single step, then another.

The small, intimate chapel has thick stone walls, an arched ceiling, and a single stained glass window that casts jewel-toned light onto the worn wooden pews.

The setting, if not the circumstances, is magical.

Father Thomas begins the ceremony, his voice warm and steady. But as he leads us through our vows, the traditional promises of love are absent, replaced by words of honor, respect, and fidelity. My heart skips a beat, but I push the thought aside.

Our wedding is about duty, and nothing more.

Bella offers me a ring to slip onto Matteo’s finger, and then he slides one into place on my hand.

His eyes never leave mine as he repeats the words that will bind us together.

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