I wanted her.Che voglia, I wanted her. I’d wanted her from the moment I met her, but this… this was different. It wasn’t just lust anymore. But I knew she deserved more than a quickie at the town hall. She deserved a proper celebration, a day to remember. And after everything she’d been through, after everything I’d put her through, the least I could do was give her that. I buried my impatience—the gnawing need to claim her—and focused on making her happy.
The wait felt like torture—her so close, yet untouchable. But this wasn’t just tradition; it was ritual. Our vows in marriage would tie us together, two souls becoming one flesh. The way she described it was unlike anything I’d ever heard. I used to see marriage as a transaction, a way to secure power or status. But Gemma… she understood it as something sacred, a covenant before God. And as I listened to her, something shifted inside me. For the first time, I wanted that too… the real deal. The blessing. The covenant. I wanted it all with her, the physical and the spiritual.
We’d agreed the event would be held in one week. In that time, I did something I’d been eager to do for so long. Officially propose. We’d missed out on an official engagement, and I’d been itching to do things properly ever since Cassandra’s comment about Gemma’slack ofengagement ring at the banquet. The regret, the initial gut punch, and the fantasies after... they’d become something new: a drive to redo our history.
I booked a night out at Lombardy’s fanciest restaurant and whisked out a five-carat, oval-cut diamond ring. When I knelt on the marble floor and secured her hand in mine, my pulse hammered against my ribs. Her shining eyes sparked a surprising sense of contentment. She said yes. We kissed, and the applause from the surrounding table was almost deafening.
Gemma had no say in our first marriage, and she admitted she disliked the idea of a church wedding. She wanted a chuppah canopy because she loved the ancient custom of how the sheer white cover represented God cloaking and blessing the bride and groom. I arranged for whatever her heart desired. Under the rose-covered canopy, her face glowed with joy, and I knew I’d do anything to keep that smile on her face.
The party fell into full swing. Our guests ate their three-course meals and clinked their champagne glasses as we cut into ourcake. They snapped pictures during our first dance and roared with laughter at our jokes during the speeches.
The entire night, I kept her by my side, soaking in every second of her radiance. We loitered near the buffet as our guests drank, laughed, and danced. Every time I glanced at her… at her pink lips stretched into a broad smile, the soft hue of her skin… the need to have her alone clawed at me. I was counting down the seconds until I could possess her completely.
Several waiters roamed the vicinity and offered canapes and refreshments.
Gemma plucked a flute glass from the tray a passing waiter carried.
She’d already slugged a few sips when we’d cut the cake. I snatched the beverage from meeting her lips, waved another waiter over before perching the glass back on the tray, then shooing the staff member away.
“I wanted that.” She tossed me an accusing glower. Her bottom lip jutted in a pout.
“You’ve lost your mind if you think I’ll let you get drunk and flake out on me tonight.” No way I’d repeat the night I had to haul her home drunk from her father’s birthday party. I craved this night for far too long and refused to take a gamble.
She snorted a laugh, no doubt recalling the night where she begged me to make love to her before calling me chicken and passing out.
She should thank me for my patience because I wished to cut the music and end the celebration, then haul my bride caveman style to our bedroom. A bedroom we were at last able to share.
“What?” Her brows wobbled with innocent mischief. “If I remember correctly, a cold shower helped.”
I whipped to her, my eyes verged from bursting out of my skull. “No more cold showers, Gemma. Not tonight or any other for the rest of our lives.”
She curled her arms around my neck. “You promise?”
I encased her slim waist in my hands. “I vow it, Mrs. Cammarata.” I kissed her, a strong, sure kiss awakening our senses, leaving us both breathless. If she could be sure of one fact, I was a man of my word. The kiss deepened, all pretense of holding back dissolving. I tugged her closer, my fingers imprinting into her dress, molding her body against mine. The white silk was a cruel barrier, taunting me with the promise of what lay beneath. I angled my head, demanding more, tasting the sweetness of her mouth, the warmth of her breath. I wanted her, needed her, with a ferocity bordering on desperation. My hands, which had been tracing the curve of her waist, now roamed possessively, pressing her tighter. I felt her gasp, a small, involuntary sound fueling the fire raging within me.
Before she could even blink, I bent down and scooped her into my arms, lifting her off the ground.
“But… the guests,” she protested, her voice laced with a mixture of amusement and concern.
I didn’t break stride. “Let them try to stop me,” I growled, my voice low and dangerous. “I’ve waited long enough.”
Few heads turned as we passed; a mix of amusement and disapproval flickered across the faces of a few guests. The rest of the party danced and chatted the night away.
We reached the villa, and I headed up the stairs, kicking the bedroom door open with my heel, the sound echoing in the sudden silence. A soft glow bathed the room, the candlelight casting long, dancing shadows on the walls. The king-sized bed dominated the space, covered in a luxurious silk duvet.
I lowered her to her feet, my heart thrumming with a mixture of anticipation and tenderness. Her gaze settled on the bed, her expression a blend of wonder and trepidation. Taking her trembling hand in mine, I guided her into the room, our footsteps echoing on the tiles. Closing the door behind us, Ishut out the remnants of the outside world. Tonight was a new beginning, built on the foundations of trust, respect, and a love that had weathered every storm.
???
Gemma
Two years later.
Enzo and I sat cuddled on my hospital bed with our baby daughter swaddled in a pale pink blanket my mother sent over from Australia. He placed a soft kiss on his daughter’s head, over the tuft of dark hair.
“Ciao.” Carina rolled in, bouquet in hand, and parked her wheelchair alongside the bed.
“Oh, Carina, they’re beautiful.” The baby girl in my arms stirred, and I patted her bottom to soothe her wails.
