Black Hearted (The Margarelli Brothers 1)

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, holding up his hands. He answered a knock at the door then looked back at me.

“It’s time.”

She was too beautiful. Not real. An angel. The woman who appeared in the courtyard filled to the brim with flowers was far too magnificent to be flesh and blood.

My future daughter had already walked down the aisle in a beautiful dress, sprinkling petals everywhere. My niece was too young to do it, but she was also dressed for the occasion in a pale pink dress, held in Evie’s loving arms. Angelique had taken her seat and was smiling up at me when the bride appeared.

What did I do to deserve someone so beautiful? So good? So pure?

Well, not pure, exactly, I thought with a grin. The bride does have a bun in the oven. My bun.

The rest of the courtyard faded away. My family. I only had eyes for the ethereal creature floating toward me. Her dress was a creamy white that hugged her curves and flared out at the knee, making it appear that she was actually levitating. She did not walk. She glided.

The bodice was low cut, showing her unstoppable curves to their best advantage. But the capped sleeves and lace that covered her décolletage to the neck made it scintillating, not overtly sexy. She was classic. Modest without being the least bit boring. Demure without being coy. Literally perfect in every way.

Her cousin Luciano walked her down the aisle. He was chosen deliberately, establishing to everyone in attendance that he was her most important male relation. It was an important part of the plan. He gave me a hard don’t-mess-with-her-heart look as he placed her hand in mine, but I barely noticed.

The ceremony began, but I was still staring at my bride, her huge eyes artfully made up, her skin even more luminous than usual. Her lips . . . far too inviting.

When did I get to kiss her? Was it soon?

I realized I was acting like a fool when the priest cleared his throat disapprovingly. Only our old family priest would dare. Father Deponte had known me since I was in my christening gown. I heard Tony and Michael laughing at me. I tore my eyes away from Francesca to look forward.

“Marriage is a blessed institution. One that we should not enter into lightly . . .” he droned on, reading a short bible passage. He knew better than to test my patience with a long ceremony, thank goodness. He was familiar with my temperament. He had tried to teach me how to be virtuous many times, back in the days when I still went to confession.

It hadn’t worked, but I remembered the lessons, at least.

Finally, he got to the ‘I do’ part of the ceremony.

I stole another glance at my bride. I held her hand tightly so I knew she wouldn’t run off. I wanted to make sure she wasn’t on the verge of screaming ‘no’ when he asked her. But she looked calm.

“Vincent, do you take this woman to be your wife, your partner in all things, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer, until death do you part?”

“I do,” I said, my voice sounding unnecessarily loud as it echoed around the courtyard. That time, everyone laughed. I didn’t mind, though. It was almost done.

She was almost mine.

“Do you, Francesca, take this man to be your husband, to honor and obey . . .” He paused and I held my breath. “Well, maybe not to obey,” he amended, giving her an alarmed look. I turned my head and saw that she was glaring at him with actual daggers in her beautiful dark eyes.

This time, I laughed along with everybody else.

“Maybe give her the same vows you gave me, Father,” I added helpfully.

“Yes,” he said, nodding and looking relieved. He cleared his throat again. “Francesca, do you take this man to be your husband, your partner in all things, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer and, well, let’s just call it for richer,” he said, realizing how absurd the other part sounded. We were both as rich as Croesus and would stay that way for the rest of our lives.

Now everybody was laughing again. I rolled my eyes heavenward. I hoped to God that my bride wasn’t angry that her wedding wasn’t going exactly to plan. But when I looked at her, she was smiling.

“Until death do you part?” he was practically shouting in order to be heard over the crowd.

“I do,” my bride said calmly and firmly, leaving no doubt to anyone within earshot that she was proud to be marrying me.

“I now pronounce you man and wife,” Father Duponte said, looking like he needed a stiff drink. I couldn’t say I blamed him. “You may kiss the bride.”