Chapter 8

When Delilah and Mary finally reached their apartment, the driver gave a polite nod before driving off into the night. 

Delilah watched the car disappear, her thoughts still tangled with the odd exchange she'd overheard earlier. 

She and her aunt quietly entered the apartment.

Mary wasted no time sinking into the living room couch, rubbing her temples as if the evening had been exhausting. 

Delilah, on the other hand, remained standing by the door for a moment, her mind racing. 

She hadn’t wanted to bring up what she’d overheard in the car—too risky with the driver nearby—but now that they were alone, she couldn’t let it go.

"Aunt Mary," Delilah began, her voice cutting through the silence. "What were you and Elder Donato talking about earlier?"

Mary looked up, startled by the sudden question. "What do you mean?"

"At the table," Delilah clarified, stepping closer. "I heard you talking to him. What were you discussing?"

Mary blinked, trying to maintain her composure. "Oh, we were just talking about the wedding preparations, dear. Nothing important." Her voice was light, too casual, and it only made Delilah more suspicious.

Delilah folded her arms, her gaze steady on her aunt. "Are you sure that’s all it was?"

Mary hesitated, her eyes briefly darting away before she nodded. "Yes, of course. Just the wedding."

Delilah’s brows furrowed. She wasn’t sure what to make of it. 

The truth was, she hadn’t understood much of the conversation. She had only caught her name and the word "safe" in Italian. 

Her limited grasp of the language left too many gaps, but something didn’t sit right with her.

"Safe," Delilah muttered under her breath, repeating the word she had heard.

Mary shifted uncomfortably on the couch, noticing Delilah’s growing doubt. "Delilah, you don’t need to worry about anything. The Donato family is only concerned with making sure everything goes smoothly."

Delilah narrowed her eyes slightly. "Is that all? Because I could’ve sworn there was more. You and Elder Donato seemed… secretive."

Mary forced a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "There’s no secret. It’s just a lot to prepare for, you know? Weddings, especially one like this, come with a lot of responsibility. Everyone wants it to go perfectly."

Delilah studied her aunt, sensing that something was being left unsaid. But without more details or understanding of the full conversation, she couldn’t push any further. She didn’t want to start a confrontation without knowing the full truth.

She sighed softly, letting it go for now. "Alright then," Delilah said, her voice resigned. "I’ll take your word for it."

---

Delilah had tried everything to stop the wedding. 

She had pulled off tantrums, faked sickness, but none of it worked. 

Every excuse she conjured was dismissed, every plea ignored. 

Now, here she stood, dressed in her wedding gown, a heavy resignation weighing on her heart.

The dress hugged her curves, accentuating her slim waist and full hips. 

It was an ivory satin gown, the material sleek and smooth, shimmering faintly under the soft light of the ceremony space. 

The bodice was adorned with delicate lace with a modest neckline, while the fitted silhouette clung to her every curve, trailing down into a graceful train that swayed as she moved. 

Her veil was pinned neatly in her hair, falling softly around her face, but it did nothing to hide the internal struggle etched on her features.

She could feel Mary’s presence beside her as they prepared to walk down the aisle. 

The music began, filling the church with a serene melody. 

Delilah took a deep breath, her bouquet of roses trembling slightly in her hand. 

She wasn’t nervous about getting married—no, she was frustrated. 

She didn’t want this marriage. She didn’t want to be tied to Marco.

Her gaze drifted down the aisle, landing on Marco, who stood at the altar in his sharp black tuxedo. 

He looked handsome, that much was undeniable. 

The tuxedo fit him perfectly, his tall frame exuding confidence and strength. 

As their eyes met from afar, she felt a blush creep up her cheeks, but she quickly hid it, forcing her expression into something neutral.

"I’m not interested in this marriage," she thought to herself, trying to shake off the unwanted feelings. "... If anything, I’d rather just have a fling with him."

Her mind betrayed her, recalling the dirty dreams she'd been having—dreams of Marco, his hands on her, his body pressed against hers. 

It infuriated her how she couldn’t seem to forget about him, couldn’t shake the thoughts that plagued her mind. 

"A fling would make me forget." She muttered to herself. "One night, that’s all I need. But this marriage… it will only bind me to him for life. I can't deal with that."

Just as Delilah walked down the aisle, arm in arm with Mary, Marco’s eyes never left her. 

He admired her as she moved closer, the sway of her gown, the soft rustle of fabric against the stone floor. 

And when she finally got near enough for him to see her curves properly, he licked his lips, a flicker of something darker crossing his gaze.

When Delilah finally reached the altar, the officiant began leading a prayer. 

Marco couldn’t stop staring at her, his heart racing at her closeness. 

Her presence sent a thrill through him, a desire that had been simmering for so long it was almost unbearable now. 

He bit his lip, suppressing a groan. 

His thoughts were anything but holy as he imagined her curves beneath him. 

Once this marriage was done, he could finally have her to himself, just like he’d always wanted.

Delilah bowed her head slightly, closing her eyes during the prayer, but she felt it—the unmistakable sensation of someone’s gaze burning into her. 

She lifted her head slightly and looked to the side, locking eyes with Marco.

He quickly cleared his throat, attempting nonchalance, but she wasn’t fooled. 

"He’s the one staring at me," she thought, her mind snapping to his usual flirtatious behavior. 

He was always looking at her like that, like she was something to be devoured. 

She glanced away, her cheeks warming.

The officiant continued with the ceremony, guiding them through the traditional rites. 

When it came time for the "Speak now or forever hold your peace" portion, Marco barely paid attention. 

He didn’t expect anyone to object—they were the only ones present, after all. 

Even Elder Donato wasn’t here, busy with work as usual. 

There were no guests, no friends. 

The wedding was private, as both Mary and Marco had insisted.

As the officiant invited objections, Marco was ready for them to skip this part and move on. 

"Let’s just get this over with," he whispered, eager for the wedding to end so he could finally claim his bride. 

But just as he opened his mouth to suggest it, the sound of a loud car engine echoed through the quiet ceremony space, breaking the stillness.