Page 74 of Devil's Iris
26
ROMERO
The chapel smells like roses and warm vanilla, no doubt from the floral arrangements the wedding planner has positioned strategically along either side of the benches leading towards the makeshift altar. My tie feels like it’s strangling me, so I adjust it for what has to be the fifth time, even though I know it’s sitting perfectly.
What I’m feeling isn’t nerves—at least not the kind normal grooms experience. It’s not fear of commitment or vows or the weight of marriage. It’s her.Leni. The thought that perhaps I’ve bitten off more than I can chew with this woman.
I’ve known her for mere weeks, and yet she’s systematically dismantling my carefully constructed life, piece by piece. My routines. My walls. My goddamn sanity.
My gaze drifts to Amelia, Leni’s trainwreck of a mother, sitting in the front row. She’s even thinner than I remember, which would be concerning—if I gave half a shit about her wellbeing. When I visited her barely a week ago, it was to put her in her place for daring to lay her hands on Leni.
She’s pale as a ghost but sober. At least this morning. I made sure she understood exactly what would happen if sheshowed up high and ruined Leni’s day. Her limbs tremble slightly from the withdrawal, but she clutches her wedding program tightly, as if it’s the only thing keeping her anchored to reality. I make a mental note to look into a decent rehab facility for her. Somewhere quiet. Private.
Then the chapel doors swing open, and suddenly nothing else matters. Nothing else exists.
The music changes, the violinist transitioning to the sweet melody Leni mentioned was her favorite that night at the River Café. My chest swells as every nerve in my body laser-focuses on that doorway, my heart racing.
But it isn’t Leni who walks out. Emma and Nora’s babysitters emerge first, holding the girls up so everyone can see the small basket of flower petals in their tiny hands. Beside me, Michael beams, pride radiating off him.
Next come mysorellinas, gliding down the aisle in matching blue dresses, their smiles soft but eyes suspiciously glassy. Emily, Gianna, and Elira—my sisters in every sense of the word, just like their husbands are my brothers despite the absence of shared blood.
The knot in my throat eases as I watch them. They took to Leni faster than I expected, and that does something to me. Makes this feel less like an elaborate performance and more like… something real. Like maybe, just maybe, Leni truly belongs in this family.
The melody blooms, the chapel doors open one final time, and there she is. My wife-to-be.
Beautiful is laughably inadequate to describe how she looks in this moment. Radiant? Ethereal? Even those words fall short. Her magnificent hair spills down her back, vibrant beneath her translucent veil, and the pure white of her dress makes her soft features and gorgeous gray eyes absolutely luminous.
She’s breathtaking.
Ethan walks beside her, brimming with pride in the customsuit I had delivered to their house a couple of days ago. When our eyes meet, I give him a small nod of acknowledgment—the closest thing to gratitude I’m capable of expressing right now.
If he hadn’t been so reckless, hadn’t gotten himself and Leni arrested that night, I wouldn’t have met her. Wouldn’t be standing here, heart pounding like a goddamn drum, watching them approach me.
I have to physically restrain myself from rushing to meet them halfway, from dragging her up to the altar so we can get this show moving. Because more than wanting her to officially be mine, I’m aching to see her reaction to the honeymoon I’ve booked for us. And to finally have her—to make good on the promise I made her in Vegas.I’m going to fuck her so hard.
By the time they reach the altar, I’m harder than granite and trying desperately to keep it from showing. I clear my throat, adjusting my stance as I extend my hand, and when Leni slips her fingers into mine, I feel the slight tremor running through her.
Nerves.
I squeeze gently, trying to offer what comfort I can without giving away just how affected I am by her touch.
“You’re a vision in white,bellezza,” I murmur, and her lips curve in a small, nervous smile.
“You don’t look half bad in that tux yourself, Romeo.”
My heart clenches at her attempt at levity. I smile back and guide her towards the waiting officiant, who immediately launches into his ceremony. He drones on endlessly, his words becoming distant white noise in my ears. All I can focus on is the way Leni is looking up at me. The way her fingers curl tighter around mine. The way my heart seems to expand in my chest the longer I stare into her pretty eyes.
This isn’t real. It’s a contract marriage. We’re just pretending to be in love.
But standing here, in front of the officiant, surrounded bymy family, hers, and half the city, I realize something that makes my stomach twist and my throat close up.
I’m not pretending anymore.Haven’t been for a while now.
And that’s a problem. A big fucking problem.
Time passes in a blur as we move through the motions.
We exchange our vows—those generic promises of love and protection and cherishing fed to us by the officiant. We speak them as if we mean every syllable. And in my case,Ido. Because as I look into Leni’s eyes, see them gloss over with unshed tears, those words stop being just a performance. They become mine. Every goddamn one of them.
