2. The Wedding

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~PAIGE MATHEWSON~

Dadda is patting his cheeks with his damp handkerchief as we stand in front of the giant mahogany double doors that will lead us to the altar.

"Are you crying because your darling baby is getting married or because she is getting married to Dante Russo?" I ask him.

He blows his nose and gives me a flat look, but my dear old man answers the question nevertheless. "A little of both."

I smile at him.

"Don't worry too much about me, Dadda," I tell him. "I am me. I will be fine."

He nods.

"I know." He says. "But I feel like I have failed you. Failed you and your mother so much that I cannot even tell your mother what is going on."

"Momma does not need to know any of this," I say. "We have to protect her peace of mind."

"I am so proud of you, my pea."

"Don't call me that."

"At least today you can let me-"

"No."

"Come on-"

"Absolutely not."

"We are opening the door." One of the event organizers informs us.

Dadda and I quickly fix our postures as the doors fling open and soft piano notes fill the air.

There are murmurs of how beautiful the bride looks. I know right? The bride deserves an award for getting all of this ready in three days time.

I look forward at the end of the aisle and over there stands Dante in a traditional black tuxedo.

He smirks at me as I take slow conscious steps in my mermaid-cut wedding dress.

What I would do to wipe that smirk off of his face!

After what feels like a century of people staring at me, we finally reach the end of the aisle and Dante takes my hand from my Dadda.

"Just..." Dadda stutters. "Just don't break her heart. If you ever feel like you can't love and cherish her, call me. I will come to take her home."

Despite the fact that I initially wanted to say that I do not have a heart that can be broken, my Dadda's words bring tears to my eyes.

"That is not possible." Dante smiles. "That won't ever happen."

Dadda nods.

"She will be the happiest with me." Dante continues. "I promise."

And for the first time, I hear the accent in his voice. And my extraordinary ability to read people tell me that I just picked up his tell. His tell when he is lying is that his Italian accent comes up.

I close my eyes.

So he did not plan to keep me happy.

But that's okay.

I do not plan to keep him happy as well.

I send a smile in my Momma's direction before the two of us turn to face the minister.

He yaps forever before we say our 'I do's and exchange rings.

"By the power vested me, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Dante has his ever-present smirk in place as he pulls me to him, grabbing my ass in front of the five hundred-something guests and kissing me. His friends hoot in the background. He explores my mouth as if this was our bedroom, and I try to push him away. This is not proper behavior.

When he finally pulls away, I can barely breathe and I can feel the metallic taste of blood on my lips. He gives a hard squeeze of my butt cheeks before he lets me go.

I glare at him. He tilts his head in the direction of the guests as if asking me to behave. As if I am the one who needs to behave.

I am going to make him regret making a spectacle out of me on my wedding day.

.

.

.

After the little stunt he pulled at the altar, I wanted to stay as far away from Dante as possible. But apparently you can't do that when you just got married to him.

Talk about the stupidity of the human race.

"Are you okay?" My mother comes to my side. "You seem miffed."

Her eyes follow mine, which to where my so-called husband is, enjoying with his friends on the dance floor as he downs his nth tequila.

I sigh. "My taste in men sucks." It is all I can bring myself to say.

"Honey..."

"Mother dearest, won't you be a dear and go make the announcement for the first dance?" I say, giving her the sweetest smile, the smile which she knows is never real.

"Are you okay?"

"I am pissed, Momma." I try people. I try my best but my Momma keeps pushing me. I am not my Dadda to hide every small inconvenience from her for the sake of her happiness. I am not the one married to her and I am not the one responsible for her happiness.

"Baby..." My Momma takes a step forward but I hold up a finger.

"Just go."

She reluctantly nods and heads off in my Dadda's direction.

I turn back to where my so-called husband is. Our eyes meet.

He smirks at me.

And I give him my fakest smile.

.

.

.

My Dadda is crying buckets again. 

As 'I Loved Her First' by Heartland play, one would expect any bride to be emotional. But not me. 

As I watch the snot trickle down to my Dadda's lip, I grimace wondering when this was going to get over. 

For someone who has spent his whole life being somewhat of a tyrant, my father dearest is extremely soft when it comes to me and my mother. The two women in his life who make him weak, you can say. 

I love my parents. They are the best. I have seen and read how parents can be but my parents have been nothing but loving and doting in the past twenty-six years of their lives. 

I am their rainbow baby, the miracle baby who was born after three of their little ones died in the womb or at birth. They raised me with the love they had saved for all four of us. I have nothing to complain about. 

But I am me. 

I will complain. 

Dadda is being extremely embarrassing right now. 

I hear the change in the notes, the transition to Perfect by Ed Sheeran and Dante steps forward, holding his hand out to my father. 

A sob escapes my Dadda and while the rest of the guests aww, I roll my eyes. 

He pulls me to a bone crushing hug, placing multiple kisses on my hairline before giving my hand to Dante. 

"I-" He starts but Dante cuts him off nodding. 

"She will be safe with me." 

His accent does not turn up. Phew, at least he promises my safety. We would have had a problem otherwise. 

Dante wraps both his arms around my waist, both his palms resting very close to my ass. Does he consider himself a horny teenager? He is thirty-four years old for God's sake. 

Yeah, there is a whooping eight years between us. He was probably having sex before I even knew what it was. 

"Take your hands any lower and we will have a problem." I tell him, flashing a smile at the onlookers as we swayed to the music. 

"They are looking for some action, you know. We are supposed to be happily married, mia moglie." The accents rolls off of his tongue as he calls me 'my wife' and directly tickles me in the core. We are going to have a problem if his accent turns me on when it appears only when he lies. 

"Everyone in the high society knows how arranged and business marriages work." I roll my eyes. "Trust me, these people cannot wait to have the cake and go home and gossip about how Paige Mathewson, the crazy bitch, ended up with this catch." I nod in his direction. 

The smirk is back in its place and for once, I am not annoyed by it. 

"What's wrong with Paige Mathewson Russo?" He puts emphasis on the new addition to my name. 

The question rakes a laugh out of me. "You will find out soon enough, mio caro marito." 

I grin as I watch his brows raise in surprise at me calling him 'my dear husband'. I love surprising people.

"You speak Italian." It's a statement. Damn right, I do. 

"I understand Italian." And plenty other languages but I keep mixing up languages when I try to speak them so I usually just give up. 

Dante twirls me around, bringing my back to his front. A gasp escape my lips when I feel his hardness against my ass. 

"That's not a good look for a groom." I murmur as I tilt my head as he brings his lips to my neck. 

"Trust me, mia moglie, this is the only acceptable look on a newly wedded groom." 

A giggle rumble out of my throat, only to be swallowed by his lips on mine. 

Cheers surround us as he cups my face  and I cover his one hand with mine. My husband is not a slow kisser. He does it intense and rough. Or is it just with me because he does not want to feel anything but the raw primal need linked to it. I will find out in a while. 

His one hand slides down to just above my breast. 

"Get a room, you two!" The voice of who I recognize to be Dante's friend Miller reaches us. 

Dante pulls away long enough to mouth something at Miller and his mouth is back on mine the next second. 

This time, I pull away. "Maybe he is right. We should wait till we get to a room." 

"Then I can't wait." He murmurs before pecking on my lips one last time before the dance continues. 

Take away his perversity and Dante Russo is an excellent dancer. Which I had already understood when I watched him dance with his friends. We didn't stop at our first dance. We danced to plenty other numbers while the rest of the guests joined. I even danced with Miller who told me Dante actually has a crush on me. 

I doubt Miller knows what is actually going on in his friend's mind. I plan to decipher that out soon. 

"Okay, that's enough dancing." Dante pulls me away from my Dadda who was enjoying another dance with me. 

"Why?" It is obvious that my Dadda wants to protest the intrusion but he cannot. 

"Let's cut the cake, throw the grains and call it a night." 

His intentions are clear. He wants to proceed to the wedding night. 

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