Page 87 of His Enemy's Daughter
“He really does.” I smile.
He glances toward the terrace where voices drift. “I should let you finish getting ready. But Regina? Thank you. For including me in this, for fighting for my future, for... everything.”
“Thank you for keeping me alive long enough to escape.” I squeeze his hand once more. “Now go. Find a seat. Watch me marry a man I so completely and utterly love.”
Giordano’s laugh is soft, and then he disappears down the hall with his marshal shadow, and I return to the mirror for final adjustments. The woman looking back is ready—no more delays, no more doubts. Just forward momentum toward a future that’s chosen rather than forced.
The ceremony is simple, intimate. Father Benedetto speaks in Italian-accented English about love, commitment, and the grace of second chances. Mauricio’s hand is steady in mine. His vows are delivered with his quiet but unwavering confidence. When he slides the ring onto my finger, his smile is purely victorious.
My vows come easier than expected—promises about building empires and choosing futures and loving him even when he’s insufferably arrogant. His laugh rumbles through the small gathering, warm and genuine.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife.” Father Benedetto’s blessing carries approval. “You may kiss your bride.”
Mauricio doesn’t need the invitation twice. His kiss is thorough, claiming, loaded with promise that makes heat bloom despite our audience. When we finally break apart, Simeone’s applause leads the others.
The reception flows naturally with wine, food, and toasts that range from heartfelt to inappropriate. David regales everyone with their prison stories. Tiziano actually smiles. Even Giordano relaxes slightly, his marshal maintaining a discreet distance.
As sunset paints everything gold, I find myself on the terrace with Loriana while the men talk business inside.
“How are you feeling?” she asks, bouncing Alessandro gently. “Emotionally, I mean. This is a big step.”
“Good. Really good.” I watch through the window as Mauricio laughs at something David said. “Which is strange. I thought I’d be more nervous.”
“Why would you be nervous? You already lived together, built a business, and survived multiple attempts on your lives. Marriage is just making it official.”
“I suppose.” But there’s something else, a secret I’ve been carrying for six days now. “Loriana... can I tell you something? I haven’t told Mauricio yet.”
Her attention sharpens. “Of course.”
“I’m pregnant.” The words feel surreal even as I say them aloud. “I’ve been trying to figure out the right time to tell him, and then the wedding got closer, and I didn’t want to overshadow—”
“Regina.” Loriana’s interruption is gentle but firm. “That’s wonderful. And you need to tell him. Today. Now.”
“On our wedding day?”
“Especially on your wedding day.” She shifts Alessandro to her other hip. “Trust me. This is the kind of news that makes the day even more meaningful.”
My hand drifts to my still-flat stomach, feeling the weight of new life growing there. A child. Mauricio’s child. Our child, created from choice instead of obligation.
“I’m terrified,” I admit quietly. “What if I’m like Sabino? What if I don’t know how to be a good parent because I never had one?”
“Then you’ll figure it out together.” Loriana’s smile is knowing. “Just like you’ve figured out everything else. Besides, you already know exactly what kind of parent not to be. That’s half the battle.”
Mauricio appears in the doorway, concern flickering across his features. “Everything okay?”
“Fine.” I cross to him, taking his hand. “Actually, can we talk? Privately?”
His expression shifts to something more serious as he follows me to our bedroom, away from guests and celebration. When the door closes behind us, he turns to me with storm-gray eyes that see too much.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” I take a breath, steadying myself. “I have news. Good news, I think. At least I hope you’ll think it’s good news.”
“Regina.” His hands find my shoulders. “You’re making me nervous.”
“I’m pregnant.” The confession tumbles out unfiltered. “About eight weeks. I found out earlier this week but didn’t know how to tell you with the wedding and everything happening and—”
He kisses me, cutting off my nervous rambling with lips that taste like promise and wine and future. When he pulls back, his smile is incandescent.
