Page 22 of His Vow
He’s handling the situation better than I am, given this isn’t how he saw his future turning out either. Like me, he’s a pawn in our fathers’ game of control. And like me, he’s gambling with his future happiness too. Double or nothing seems appropriate when we’re in Vegas.
“Okay.”
This is what we’ve been reduced to, single-word responses. Ant disappears into his room, and my shoulders relax a little. It’s hard pretending to be strong, even with him, when inside I’m so fragile I could shatter into a million pieces at any moment. I stroll over to the window and pull out my cell to send Rose a text with the suite number.
“I’m going to go meet my brothers,” Ant says, returning to the living space.
My body stiffens, but otherwise, I don’t move.
He steps closer, turning me slowly until our gazes catch. Indecision clouds his eyes. He feels this disconnect too. And when he opens his arms, I move into their circle, and they close around me. I sink into the comfort of his embrace, and for the first time in a long while, I relax a little. Maybe this is what I needed all along, to be held.
“It’s okay, we’ve got this,” he whispers next to my ear.
My fingers curl into the fabric of his jacket. This might be our last hug as friends, and I don’t want to let go. In just over an hour, we will be downstairs on a terrace saying I do. Regardless of what we hope to happen or what promises we make, this wedding will change everything.
The moment is over too soon, ending with a light kiss on my forehead. And it’s sweeter than every other time he’s done this in the past, lingering a moment longer as he inhales deeply.
He steps back. “I’ll see you downstairs, then?” His eyes are full of uncertainty as he seeks reassurance in mine.
“I’ll be there.” I won’t let him down. He’s always shown up for me, and this is my time to show up for him.
He picks up his suit carrier and leaves. Turning back to the window, I wrap my arms around my waist, hoping to hold in the emotion filling my chest cavity. I just have to hold it together a little longer.
A light knock raps at the door, and Rose sweeps in like a breath of fresh air, carrying a bottle of champagne. With her usual exuberance, she hustles me toward the shower with a bunch of instructions. This is exactly what I need—a Rose-reboot to get me out of this funk I’ve fallen into.
Half an hour later, I’m showered and dressed, but the reflection of the bride in the floor-length mirror doesn’t feel like me. This isn’t how I imagined my wedding day would be. Even if, as a teenager, this was the man I hoped to be standing beside. My childish fantasies were way more extravagant. My dress was fuller like a fairy-tale princess, with a long train and sparkling crystals handsewn onto the fitted bodice. Even at that age, I aspired to be a fashion designer.
At least one of my dreams came true.
I run my hands down the ivory silk fabric from hip to thigh. The simple tea-length dress slides over my curves. The cowl neckline dips between my breasts, and thin beaded straps go over my shoulders to intricately lace the fabric together across my back, leaving it mostly bare. It’s Vegas sexy, rather than romantic.
“Beautiful,” Rose enthuses, standing beside me. She’ll be my maid of honor, not that the occasion warrants one, but I’ll feel much better having her beside me. For her, I designed a similar black silk dress, with thin straps over the shoulder and a thigh-high split in the front.
“Grazie. And you are too.” I smile back at my friend.
“A glass of champagne to settle the nerves?” she asks, holding out a flute filled with bubbles.
“I might need more than one.”
Her brow creases in concern. “Luce, you don’t have to go through with this. Antonio would understand if you couldn’t.”
“There’s no other way to break the contract.” We’ve had this conversation—or similar ones—a few times now, ever since I told her of my plan to marry Ant. And every time, she’s tried to talk me out of it.
“I’m worried about you getting hurt.”
I turn to face her fully. “It’s okay, Ant won’t let that happen.”
She raises her glass to take another sip while her gaze searches mine. Her blue eyes dart back and forth, but she doesn’t say anything. I’ve never known her to hold back her opinion before.
“Go on, say what you’re thinking,” I urge.
“Antonio would never deliberately hurt you, but …” She takes a breath, and I hold mine. “But we both know you’re in love with him. You always have been.”
The breath I was holding whooshes from my lungs. I tug my hand from hers and walk over to the minibar to refill my glass. “I don’t love, love him. I love him as a friend, just like I love you.”
She purses her lips and makes a hissing sound. “You can pretend all you want to, but I could see the truth from the day you arrived at boarding school. You could not stop talking about the cute American boy who was your friend, and nothing’s changed. You light up whenever his name is mentioned.”
I gulp down some of the champagne I just poured, and my eyes water as the bubbles explode in my mouth. It’s a good excuse to not reply.
