Page 213 of Anti-Heroes in Love Duet
Your Capo
Of course, the dress fit perfectly.
It was vintage Valentino, luxurious and simple silk cut exactly to my proportions, so the straight skirt skimmed my waist and hips, and the bodice hugged my minimal curves. The sleeves were long, but the material was cut, baring my shoulders and upper chest.
It was elegant perfection, and I knew without confirmation that Dante had bought it for me himself.
I had ash in my hair from the burning car, and my shoes were scuffed from my travels. There was no mirror in the small rectory, so I couldn’t check my makeup, and I only had a small brush folded in my purse along with a tiny bottle of Chanel Number 5 perfume and a dying tube of red lipstick.
I was in a city I’d once condemned for the memories it harbored in a tiny chapel without friends or family or society photogs to capture the moment for Page Six.
Dante and I had only been together romantically for one month.
One month of car chases and abductions.
Of sex and exploration.
Of romance and tension.
A single month that felt like an entire lifetime.
A lifetime I never wanted to end.
So, I didn’t care.
Not a single fucking bit about any of the reasons I shouldn’t marry Edward Dante Salvatore.
The man who had taught me how to love and live again.
The man who had brought me back to myself.
I loved him before I even knew how to identify the feeling, and maybe that was why it happened. Because it was done before I could think to stop it.
Loving him had sparked the mass of tinder and kindling I’d stacked in my lonely soul for years, just waiting for someone to come along and ignite it. It had started in my heart and spread like wildfire through my veins, melting the tundra I’d made of myself for too long. Now, it raged within me, eternal and inextinguishable.
Everything that tried to get between us only proved to fuel the flames.
And I knew in my bones that would never change.
What happened when two villains fell in love?
Was there a happily-ever-after for people like us?
I wasn’t sure, and uncharacteristically, I didn’t care.
The only thing I knew for sure was that Dante made me feel so alive I burned, and I wanted to spend every single chaotic, beautiful day of the rest of my life smoldering at his side.
I smoothed my hands down the cool silk, took a bracing breath of the stale air, and opened the door.
My sister stood outside it, holding a bouquet of pure red roses.
I blinked.
Cosima had changed out of Mirabella Ianni’s singed wedding dress and veil into a simple poppy patterned dress, but there was still grime on her face and a thin cut down one arm. Even though she’d told me she was unharmed, relief coursed through me.
She swept her gaze over me from the base of the slight silk train to the top of my head, a smile blooming across her face that was so beautiful, it took my breath away.
“You are perfect,” she proclaimed softly as she handed me the flowers. “These are from the groom.”
