Arranged Mafia Marriage

Aurora

“In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, go in peace with Christ.”

“Thanks be to God.”

The voices of those congregated slice through the noise in my head. After Christian had lifted my veil and peered into my face, everything else had faded. All I could see was him. All I could smell was his masculine scent. All I could feel was the touch of his fingers as he held mine. I reveled in the warmth of his body as he pulled me forward to face the priest. Throughout the ceremony, I’d been unable to focus on the priest’s words. That is, until Christian had slipped the wedding band onto my left ring finger-a simple gold band embedded with a tiny amber stone and a blue stone next to it.

Massimo hands me the ring and I slip it onto Christian’s ring finger. That’s when I realize this entire ceremony feels too real… More than real… It feels huge… Like, life-changing huge.

I gulp, and a trembling grips me. My muscles seem to seize up, and I turn my body, ready to run. Christian closes the distance between us and steps in front of me, effectively cutting off my escape. He notches his knuckle under my chin and raises my head.

“It’s too late,” he whispers. “I can’t let you run now.”

“I have to go,” I hiss, “I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I can’t.”

“It’s only a kiss, Flower.”

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

He lowers his face until his breath twines with mine. “Open your mouth,” he orders.Text © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

I press my lips together, and he smirks.

“No kissing allowed in church,” the priest protests from behind me.

We are in Italy, and unlike Hollywood movies where the bride and groom are allowed to kiss in church, here the priests frown on it unless it’s a chaste peck on the cheek. Knowing Christian, he’s not going to be satisfied with that.

I am proved right when he chuckles, “Sorry, Father, but we do things my way from now on.” He brushes his lips over mine once, twice. He bites down on my lower lip, I gasp, and he instantly sweeps his tongue inside my mouth. He locks his lips over mine and sucks on me, ravishes me, dances his tongue across mine, and kisses me with such intensity that my head spins. My knees buckle, and he wraps his arm around my waist and hauls me to him.

I am aware of applause breaking out, of rice being showered on us, and yet he doesn’t stop kissing me. He pulls me to him, close enough that every inch of my chest seems to be plastered to his. My nipples tighten, and my breasts swell. My thighs graze his, and I am aware of his arousal stabbing into my belly. I try to pull away, but Christian holds me firmly. He deepens the kiss, and it’s like he is fucking my mouth with his tongue. My head swims, a groan bleeds from me, and his lips curve. He slows the kiss until his lips are barely touching mine. Then he raises his head and peers into my flushed features.

The priest clears his throat. Christian glares at him, and he pales. He glances between us, then turns and walks off.

“At least he survived the wedding,” Luca jokes. He’s referring to the fact that Michael shot and killed the priest subsequent to Michael and Karma’s wedding. Something I heard later from Karma. She mentioned to me that was the moment she realized the kind of man she had married. Someone for whom death was as close as life.

Me? I knew exactly what I was getting into when I agreed to spy on the Sovranos for the stranger who had approached me when I was in London. It’s one of the reasons I had returned to Sicily, after all. My father’s failing health had provided the timely cover for me to get a foothold in their inner circle. If it were not for the fact that I had acted on impulse to help Karma, I would have continued the arrangement without being noticed by Christian. But he had noticed me, and now, here I am.

Christian twines his fingers with mine, then turns to face the assembled crowd. He brings my hand to his mouth and kisses the fingertips, and there’s a chorus of sighs from the women in the audience. This is when we should be forming a receiving line at the back of the church, but it’s another tradition my bridegroom seems to have dispensed with.

Nonna walks over. She pauses in front of us, and Christian bends his head so Nonna can kiss his forehead. Her eyes glisten. “You made me very happy today,” she murmurs, then turns to me and kisses me on my cheek, “and you are a beautiful bride.”

“Thank you,” I reply.

She turns to Christian, “Thank you for delaying your honeymoon so you can spend some time with us.”

“H-honeymoon?” I choke out the word.

“Yes, darling,” Christian turns to me, “I know how much you are looking forward to the two of us being alone.”

I open my mouth to protest, but he shakes his head, “No, I know. It’s a lot to ask you to wait for our away time, but you have been so understanding about it. You are a true Mafia bride.”

Jerk. He knows that’s the one thing I hate being called. It’s the one thing I swore to myself I’d never be, yet here I am, standing next to my Mafioso husband, wearing his ring on my finger. I try to tug my hand out of his grasp, but he tightens his hold on me.

Nonna glances between us. “You know, I was so sure that the two of you were putting on some kind of show meant to fool me into believing that you were together, but now-”

“Now?” Christian tilts his head.

“Now,” she turns to me, “seeing the happy glow on your face and the glint of possession in yours, Christian,” she glances at him, “I know that it wasn’t an act.”

“But, Nonna-”

I begin to protest when Christian interrupts, “Aren’t we going to be late for the wedding reception?”

I scowl at him and he smirks. “Bet you can’t wait to have our first dance together as husband and wife, eh?”

I swallow. It’s done; for better or worse, he is my husband, and I am his wife. At least, for the next thirty days. A tremor grips me, my feet and hands feel numb, all of the blood drains from my head, and I sway. Christian immediately releases my hand and puts his arm around me. He pulls me close enough that his masculine scent fills my nostrils, which only makes everything worse. Pressure builds behind my eyes, and to my horror, a tear squeezes out from the corner of my eye.

“Oh, my dear,” Nonna exclaims, “the events have been too much for you. Perhaps, the two of you should skip the wedding reception and proceed directly to the honeymoon?”

“No,” I burst out, “I… I’ll be okay. I just need to eat something, is all.”

“Haven’t you eaten breakfast?” Christian scowls at me.

I glance away.

“You shouldn’t starve yourself, Flower.” He turns to Nonna, “Why don’t you head on to the reception, and I’ll feed my wife before we join you?”

Half an hour later, I glance out of the window of our bedroom. Our bedroom, in our new home that Christian purchased for us. Which happens to be adjacent to Michael and Karma’s home, which Michael purchased after they married. I’ve shed the veil, and the dress now resembles more of a gown, something that is perfect to wear to a wedding reception, thanks to Karma’s design.

There’s a knock on the door, and Cassandra wheels in a trolley with dishes. She glances from me to Christian, who’s kicked back on the settee. “Do you need anything else?” she asks.

“Thanks for helping out, Cassandra,” Christian murmurs as he rises to his feet.

“You shouldn’t be working today.” I cross over to her. “You did come to the wedding, didn’t you? I don’t think I saw you.”

“I was there, all right.” She gestures to the dress she is wearing under her apron. “It was a beautiful ceremony, Aurora.” She smiles at me. “You were such a radiant bride; you made me cry.”

“I did?” I blink. “To be honest, I was so nervous I don’t think I remember much of the ceremony.”

“As long as you remember the kiss at the end, I’m not complaining,” Christian jokes.

“You are coming to the reception, aren’t you?” I reach for Cassandra’s hand and grip it. Her fingers seem too warm… Or rather, mine are too cold.

She frowns at me. “Everything okay?” she asks in a low voice.

I open my mouth then close it. Heat singes my back, and I know Christian has come up to stand behind me. He places his hand on my shoulder, and I gulp. I force my lips to curve in a smile. “Yes, of course,” I tip up my chin, “everything’s good. I’m just hungry, is all. I couldn’t eat this morning; too many nerves.” I force myself to laugh.

She peers into my features for a few seconds more. “I’ll leave you to it.” She squeezes my hand one last time before she turns and walks out.

Christian guides me to a chair, and I sink into it. He pulls off the covers of the plates, then places one of them in front of me. I glance down at the pasta, and my stomach rumbles.

He pours a little wine into a glass for me, then points at my plate, “Eat.”

He places the other plate in front of the other setting, then takes his seat. He begins to eat with gusto, scooping up the pasta with his fork, guiding it to his mouth, before he chews and swallows. The strong tendons of his neck flex as he drinks from the wine glass. My husband is not just handsome… He’s virile and so gorgeous to look at that it hurts.

“You’re not eating,” he reminds me, and I turn to my food. I manage to finish half of what’s on my plate before I push the remaining in his direction.

“You’ve barely eaten anything.” He scowls.

“I’ve had enough.”

“One more bite,” he coaxes me.

“But-”

“Go on.” He picks up some of the pasta with his fork and offers it to me. Holding his gaze, I open my mouth, and he feeds me. To anyone watching this scene, we’d come across as a conventional couple, with the husband so concerned about his wife’s well-being that he’s making sure to feed her.

Only, I know how fake all of this is. He brings another forkful to my mouth, and I turn my head. “Don’t,” I say through gritted teeth, “please don’t fake your solicitude.”

“I am truly worried about your well-being, and you know that, Flower.”

“And please, can you stop calling me by that nickname?” I jump up to my feet. “Jesus, why do we have to continue with this wedding, when you know that it’s my fault that you got shot.” I begin to pace-back, forth, back-as I wring my hands. “I can’t go on like this, Christian. Especially when you are pretending to be all nice and caring toward me.”

“I am not pretending, Aurora,” he says in a gentle tone. “Or, let’s back up. I am not strictly pretending.”

“Huh?” I turn on him, “What do you mean?”

“A part of me wants to push you against those windows, so your tits are pressed against the pane, and fuck you from behind so every time I plunge inside you, you scream so loudly that our guests will hear you.”

“Oh…” I shiver; my nipples bead. “And the other part of you-”

“Knows that it’s best that I wait here with my arms across my chest and hear you out, so I finally understand what it is that is bothering you so much.”

“If I tell you, you’ll hate me, Christian. And I couldn’t bear that. Don’t you understand?”

“Try me.” He pours himself more wine, then tops up my glass and offers it to me.

I draw in a breath, then march over to him. I grab my glass and drain it. The alcohol hits my stomach, and I cough. “That’s good wine,” I sputter.

“The best,” he agrees. “So, what is it that you want to tell me?”