hesitate

Here's a refined, slower-paced version of your scene, with a deeper focus on emotion, tension, and atmosphere:

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Lucian

Nico huffs beside me, crossing his arms. “Yeah, I’m glad he didn’t get an invite.”

I barely register his words. My mind is elsewhere. It has been all night.

Aurora.

The way she stood her ground at dinner. The way she kept her head held high, even when my mother barely acknowledged her. I should’ve expected it—my mother’s coldness, her disdain—but something about seeing Aurora on the receiving end of it stirred something sharp in my chest.

Possession.

Anger.

Something I don’t want to name.

I shake the thought away as we make our way upstairs. Aurora walks beside me, her fingers lightly brushing my bicep for the briefest moment before pulling away. Like she thought better of it. Like she caught herself before she could reach for something that wasn't hers to take.

She hasn’t said a word since we left the dining room. I glance at her, searching for some sign of what she’s thinking, but her expression is unreadable.

When we reach our bedroom, she moves with quiet precision—slipping off her heels, unclasping her jewelry, unzipping her dress with steady fingers. The fabric slides from her shoulders and pools at her feet. She steps out of it without hesitation, without a glance in my direction, and disappears into the bathroom.

I watch her go, my jaw tightening.

She’s quiet. Too quiet.

By the time she returns, the scent of her soap lingers in the air, fresh and clean. Her damp hair curls slightly at the ends, clinging to the fabric of my t-shirt—the one she slipped on, the hem brushing mid-thigh, leaving just a hint of lace peeking beneath.

The sight of her like this—barefoot, bare-faced, in my clothes—makes something tighten in my chest. Something dark and unrelenting.

But something is off.

She barely looks at me as she climbs into bed, pulling the sheets up to her chin. Her fingers toy absently with the diamond on her hand, twisting it, turning it, like she’s trying to get used to the weight of it.

I wait for her to say something.

She doesn’t.

I exhale slowly, shifting onto my side to face her. “You’ve gone mute, piccina.”

Aurora blinks, as if only just remembering I’m here. “Oh. No, it’s nothing. I’m just in my head, that’s all.”

I don’t like that answer.

I don’t like the way she sounds so far away, so… resigned.

The silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating. I prop my head on my fist, watching her closely. “Was it my mother?” I murmur. “The ring?” My voice drops lower. “Or was it the fact that our wedding is tomorrow that finally tipped you over the edge?”

Her lips press together, and for a moment, I think she won’t answer. Then, finally, she turns her head toward me.

“I did want to thank you,” she says softly.

I arch a brow. “For what?”

“For defending me to your mother. For the ring. For Nico.” She exhales, her voice quieter now. “All of it, I guess.”

Her fingers twitch once more against the diamond on her hand. Then, tentatively, she reaches up, her palm barely grazing my cheek before she pulls away again, retreating into the safety of her pillow.

“Just… thank you.”

Then she closes her eyes.

I watch her for a long time, unease curling tight in my chest. She looks like a prisoner taking her final, quiet march to the gallows.

I don’t like it.

The more I tell myself that this marriage is just an arrangement, that my feelings toward Aurora are nothing more than lust and mild irritation, the more I realize neither of those things are true.

I don’t just want her to be mine.

I want her to want to be mine.

And that might be the most dangerous thought of all.

Aurora hesitated at the threshold, knuckles hovering just above the open door before she finally rapped gently against the frame.

Lucian’s head snapped around at the sound, his sharp features shadowed in the dim light of his office. His expression flickered from unreadable to something far less welcoming.

“You couldn’t wait?” he muttered, leaning back in his chair, his tone laced with impatience.

Aurora swallowed, steadying herself. “That’s not what I came for.”

He arched a brow, waiting.

She exhaled, stepping inside and carefully shutting the door behind her. “I just... I wanted to talk. Before it all begins.”

Lucian’s lips quirked slightly, though there was no amusement in his expression. “And you thought sneaking into my office in nothing but a robe was the best way to do that?” His gaze flicked over her, assessing.

A nervous laugh escaped her. “Giulia said the same thing.”

His silence was unnerving.

“Can we just talk,” she tried again, softer this time, “without biting each other’s heads off?”

Lucian’s fingers drummed once against the armrest before he extended his hand toward her. An invitation. A challenge.

Aurora hesitated only a moment before stepping forward, drawn into the orbit of the man she would soon call her husband.

“If you’re about to tell me you’re having second thoughts,” he murmured, his eyes dark and unreadable, “then let me remind you—this wedding is happening.”

A flicker of irritation sparked in her chest. “That’s not what this is about,” she said, lifting her chin. “I just…” She swallowed. “I wanted to make sure we understand each other before we stand in front of all those people.”

Lucian exhaled sharply through his nose. “Aurora.” He said her name like a reprimand, but there was something else beneath it—something almost indulgent.

“I don’t want us to be at war for the rest of our lives,” she admitted.

His lips twitched, not quite a smirk. “War is exhausting.”

A beat of silence stretched between them before he reached for her, pulling her between his thighs. The warmth of his hands against her waist sent an involuntary shiver down her spine.

“You won’t be silenced,” he murmured, his voice quiet but firm. “You won’t be controlled. You wanted to stand by my side, and I know exactly who the woman is that I’ve chosen to marry.”

Aurora lowered her gaze, chewing her bottom lip. “Do you promise?” she whispered.

Lucian tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his eyes. “As much as I enjoy your little attitude,” he mused, “I don’t want a wife I have to fight every step of the way. We will be loyal to each other. We will respect each other.”

Her breath caught. “Equals,” she pressed. “Like we were in front of your mother. Not just when people are watching—but always.”

His expression softened, his thumb brushing against her jaw. “Always,” he murmured.

A weight lifted from Aurora’s chest, her shoulders dropping slightly in relief. Before she could second-guess herself, she cupped his face, rising onto her tiptoes to press a slow, deliberate kiss to his lips.

Lucian responded just as unhurriedly, as if they had all the time in the world. As if they weren’t on the verge of stepping into the unknown together.

When she finally pulled back, she exhaled shakily. “I just wanted that to be ours,” she whispered.

His eyes searched hers before his lips curled in the faintest smirk. “If you ever wanted to stop speaking your mind, piccina, I’d have to cut out your tongue.”

Aurora huffed a small laugh, rolling her eyes as she stepped back. “I have to finish getting ready. I’ll see you at the altar.”

Lucian smirked, his voice low as she turned away. “I know you can’t resist me.”

She shot him a look over her shoulder. “You wish.”

With a parting chuckle, she slipped out of the room, her footsteps light as she ascended the stairs.

By the time she reached Giulia’s bedroom, the weight in her chest had been replaced by something else entirely.

Excitement.

Giulia eyed her knowingly, hands on her hips. “Did you have to kiss him?”

Aurora laughed, smoothing a hand over her robe. “It’s not like I won’t be doing plenty of that later on.”

Giulia snorted, swatting her shoulder before turning to unzip the garment bag.

The sight of the gown stole Aurora’s breath.

Beaded silk draped in perfect folds, cascading into a train that pooled like liquid light. The kind of dress fit for a queen.

She swallowed hard, emotions thick in her throat as she met Giulia’s gaze in the mirror.

“All ready to go?” Giulia asked softly.

Aurora nodded.

She was ready.

Stepping into the gardens was like stepping into a dream.

Rows of polished pine chairs lined the white aisle, garlands of delicate greenery draped between them. A string quartet played softly in the background.

And there, at the end of it all, beneath an archway of twined olive branches and white peonies, stood Lucian.

His black tux was a stark contrast to the golden tan of his skin, his hands clasped in front of him in a show of tightly restrained composure.

For a moment, he looked unreadable. Then his eyes found hers, widening slightly. The corner of his lips twitched in the merest ghost of a smile.

Aurora exhaled slowly, steadying herself as she took Nico’s offered arm.

Lucian Boncini was terrifying. Unyielding.

But as she walked toward him, she could almost believe—just for a moment—that he was hers.