Page 31 of Of Oaths and Secrets

His eyes dart toward Leo and the woman by his side. Anger flashes across his face, his grip on my hand tightening. When he turns back to me, there’s a softness in his gaze.

“It’s okay,” I murmur, feeling tears pricking at my eyes. He squeezes my hand tighter.

“No,” he whispers, his lips brushing against my ear. “You’re not her, and thank God for that. There’s no one like you, Nora, and I’m the one who gets to keep you.”

His words send a shiver down my spine. They carry a weight, a hint of possessiveness, something deeper than duty. I feel his thumb tracing circles on the back of my hand, a small, almost tender gesture. For a moment, I think I see something softer in his eyes, but I dismiss it as my imagination.

The officiant clears his throat, and we turn back to him. As the ceremony continues, Rafaele’s hand never leaves mine, his grip steady, a silent reassurance. To others, he might appear stoic, but there’s a tension in his posture, a protectiveness I hadn’t noticed before.

When he speaks his vows, his voice is steady, but there’s a warmth in his words, a softness that feels… almost affectionate.

“I do,” he says, his gaze locked onto mine. It’s just two words, but the way he says them, with a weight that feels like more than just a formality, makes my heart skip a beat. I quickly push the thought away; he’s just playing his part.

“I do,” I echo, keeping my voice steady.

When it’s time for the kiss, Rafaele cups my cheek, his touch unexpectedly gentle. His lips brush against mine, soft yet firm, remaining just a heartbeat longer than necessary. The warmth of his breath grazes my skin, and despite myself, my pulse quickens.

He pulls back, his hand still gripping mine, leading me down the aisle. I sense something different in the way he holds me, but I shake my head, dismissing it. This is just an act; it has to be.

As we pass the rows of guests, his thumb continues to trace small circles on the back of my hand. It seems almost absent-minded, a touch that isn’t meant to be noticed, but I do, andI find myself clinging to it. His touch is grounding, a small comfort that makes me forget the eyes watching us—Leo’s smug grin, Camilla’s uncertain smile, even my mother’s distant gaze.

I sigh softly as we finally exit the church, the importance of the moment pressing down on my shoulders. Rafaele glances at me, his brow furrowed. “Nora, this isn’t what it looks like.”

I shake my head, determined to stay composed. “It doesn’t matter,” I say, my voice quiet but firm. I head toward the car waiting to take us back to his parents' estate. “Let’s just get this over with.”

His jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing at my words. For a moment, I think he might say something more, but he simply nods, his expression unreadable. We slide into the back seat, and a tense silence settles between us.

The car door closes, and as we pull away from the church, I focus on the steady rhythm of the road beneath us, trying to block out everything else—the guests, the stares, and the questions that still remain.

But in the quiet, his hand stays over mine, firm and steady.

For now, it’s enough.

Chapter Eight

Rafaele

I’m going to kill Leo. And Camilla—for accepting his invitation and showing up with him like that. She should have known better than to trust my brother, especially today of all days.

I turn my gaze to Nora, who is chatting with Lucia at the table. And yes, I might kill her too. The way she was so dismissive, thinking—whatever it is she’s thinking is going on with Camilla—it’s infuriating. I know this marriage isn’t about love, but the level of indifference is almost offensive.

Her calmness gnaws at me, like she’s already resigned to some fate I haven’t even considered. As if she’s already decided that nothing about this—me, us—matters. Does she think so little of me that she’d believe Leo’s antics would mean anything at all? Does she think I’d parade around with another woman on the day I marry her?

I grip my glass tightly, feeling the weight of my frustration building. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. She’s supposed to understand what’s at stake here, not dismiss it with that cool, detached smile. She barely looked at me during the ceremony,hardly acknowledged the kiss or my words. And now, she’s sitting there, chatting away with Lucia, like none of it matters.

I take a deep breath and force myself to loosen my grip on the glass. No, this isn’t the time to lose my temper. I need to remind myself that I chose this. I chose to be in this situation, knowing the risks. I can’t let her get under my skin like this, but damn if she doesn’t make it difficult.

Paolo comes up behind me, placing a hand on my shoulder. "You’re glaring at her like you want to put her in the ground,” he mutters. “It’s your wedding day, Rafa. Try to look a little less murderous.”

“Isn’t that what the heartless Mietitore is supposed to do?”

“Is that who you want to be?” Paolo asks, his tone soft but pointed.

I sigh, shifting my glare from Nora to him. “She has no faith in me as a person. I’ve never met anyone so… detached.”

“Is she though?” Paolo challenges.

I think back to the way her eyes shimmered when she apologized to me, the slight tremor in her hand when she took mine. There was something there, a flicker of emotion she quickly masked, leaving me to wonder if I imagined it.

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