Unholy Intent (Unholy Union 2)

I swallow and shift my gaze back to his.

“You choose. Sign them now or tear them up. Tear them up and marry me, Cristina. Marry me right. No dead roses. No thorns. And no ghosts to haunt our future.”Epilogue 2DamianOne Year LaterMichela watches her son proudly. She looks good. California agrees with her. Or it’s the man at her side I only met a few minutes ago that’s put a little color back in her face. I’ve already got Tobias looking into who he is.

Bennie is my best man. He’s nearly ten and I hate that I only see him a few times a year. But it’s what Michela wants, and I’ll give her the space she needs. For now. I’ve given her share of the Di Santo inheritance back to her but am managing Bennie’s trust myself. A backup plan just in case she decides to cut me out entirely.

Cristina’s aunt and Simona sit in the pew opposite Michela’s. It’s a small wedding. Neither of us really has any friends.

The music changes and a hush falls over the church. It’s time.

The double doors open, letting in a bright white light.

I turn.

Standing in the doorway with that light behind her, Cristina looks like an angel. Like she’s been sent from heaven above.

My heartbeat kicks up as she takes a step inside. The doors close. And I’m in awe.

She is stunning in her wedding dress. A proper wedding dress this time. A snow-white lace gown cut close to hug her body and fanning out below her knees to touch the floor. In her hands, she holds a single long-stemmed red rose. No thorns. The red matches the color of her lips.

From behind the floor-length veil, violet eyes lined with smoky black, lock with mine.

She is fierce, my bride.

Different than the last time we did this.

She walks alone down the aisle. Liam was supposed to escort her to me, but he took off a few months ago. I know she’s worried about him. I am too, honestly. But I just got a location. I haven’t told her that yet. I plan on paying him a visit myself first to encourage him to get his head out of his ass before he gets hurt.

Clearing my throat, I focus my eyes on her. The music and the faces in the pews fade from my periphery as I take her in.

My wife. My bride. My love.

No bridesmaids for her. No girlfriends to speak of, even considering school. But I think that’s how she is. Who she is.

We’re the same in this, she and I. And we’re closer for it.

I smile when she reaches the altar. When I lift her veil to look into her eyes, I see the vulnerability alongside that ferocity. The strength she’s always had. I never doubted it, not even in the beginning. She wouldn’t have survived me if she’d not been strong.

“You’re beautiful,” I say.

She smiles and a tear slips from her eye. I watch it make its way down her cheek, and when a second one follows, I cup her face and pull her to me gently. I lay a soft kiss where that tear is, and when I do, she turns her face a little, just enough to lay her cheek against mine.

I slide my hands down her arms and interlace my fingers with hers. That single rose drops to our feet. I smell the soft scent of her perfume, feel the smooth skin of her cheek.

“I’m nervous,” she whispers.

I draw back, set my forehead against hers, and we lock eyes.

“Don’t be. This is right. We are right. I’ve got you.”

“I know you do.”

“And I love you.”

“I love you, Damian.”The end