Page 62 of Nicoli

My insides coil tight.

“I do.” There wasn’t a single second’s hesitation, and one would find it comforting if it didn’t sound like he was accepting a business proposal.

The priest turns to me, and my stomach turns.

“Mirabella Tirelli, do you take Nicoli Del Rossa to be your husband? Do you promise to be faithful to him in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love him and to honor him all the days of your life?”

A giant lump in my throat comes out of nowhere, and I try to swallow it. I glance down at my ankle-high boots and black tights, the sight making this moment even more depressing.

I wipe away a tear and clench my jaw, trying to keep my shit together so we can just get this over with.

Straightening my shoulders, I lift my chin and look the priest in the eye. “I do.”

The priest nods. “What God joins together, let no one put asunder.”

I almost scoff at his choice of a blessing.

“Do we have the rings?”

An awkward silence settles, and I can practically hear everyone cringing around us.

Nicoli clears his throat. “I don’t have a ring, exactly.” He reaches into his pocket and reveals the white ribbon.

“Is that—” I place my hand on my chest “—what I think it is?”

He nods, the slightest hint of a smile curling at the edges of his lips.

My heart leaps inside my chest at one of the few things I do remember of my childhood. The sunny Sunday afternoon. The shade of the maple tree. Nicoli tossing stones into the grass. And the promise I tied with that ribbon around his finger.

His eyes find mine, and for a second, all of this doesn’t feel like a disaster. Not while he looks at me as if I’m the only person in the room while holding such a big part of our bond.

“I, um…” I glance around. “I don’t have anything we can use for you. Oh, wait.” I reach back and slide the black hairband from my ponytail. “Will this work?”

Nicoli smiles. “It’s perfect.”

“Well, this is definitely unique,” the priest says, and Nicoli smirks with a devilish grin.

“Father, everything about this is unique.”

As the priest finishes his blessing, Nicoli carefully takes the ribbon and loops it around my ring finger, securing it with a crooked bow. “With this ring, I seal my promise to be your faithful and loving husband, as God is my witness.”

His hand lingers on mine as he stares at the white silk—a piece of my childhood that has now become a token of our bond. I feel a warmth spreading through me at his touch.

“It’s perfect,” he murmurs. “Just like you.” How he looks at me leaves my knees weak and my heart pounding in my chest. I have no idea how he did it, but somehow Nicoli has managed to make a tiny part of this charade okay, especially when the feel of his hand on mine is electric.

I look up at Nicoli, my heart beating a little faster. His dark eyes are full of intensity, and for a moment, I feel like we’re the only two people in the world. The priest clears his throat, and I remember that I’m supposed to do my part now, too.

My hand shakes as I take the thin and flimsy hairband, knitting it around his finger twice. “With this ring, I seal my promise to be your faithful and loving wife, as God is my witness.” A single tear drips down my cheek. Every word I just said feels real. True. As if poured out of my heart and into the open space between us. And I can’t look at him because I don’t want to see the lie.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Heat rushes up my neck, and I awkwardly glance at the priest. “There’s no need for us—”

Nicoli grabs my cheeks in his palms, pulls me close, and kisses me without warning. I’m frozen, only to be warmed by his lips a second later. It’s not just any kiss, this sizzling connection of his mouth on mine. It’s passionate, fierce, and dizzying—every cell in my body alive with electricity. It’s words, declarations, and promises all rolled up into a single kiss that takes my breath away. My heart swells. There’s something about this moment that’s so real, and I allow myself to get carried away by it. My blood sings, and my soul hums to a tune that feels a lot like love, and I force myself not to forget what this truly is—a show and a sham—but I fail miserably. I fail because deep down there’s a flickering light of truth, the bright beam of the possibility that this kiss means so much more than just a solution to a threatening war.

Our lips part, but Nicoli doesn’t move away. He slides one hand to the back of my neck, cradling it gently, bowing his head to brush his lips against my ear. “You kept your promise, Hummingbird,” he whispers, and for a moment, I’m confused, my thumb toying with the ribbon around my finger. But then I remember the words I spoke that one sunny afternoon.

“I promise that if I haven’t found my prince by my twenty-second birthday, I will be your princess. And you know I always keep my promises.”

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