My Dark Romeo: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance(41)

Did he really just make it about himself?

“As you should be.”

I clutched my white-rose bouquet. The thorns dug into my flesh.

Daddy opened his mouth.

Luckily, the music cut him off.

With Momma and Monica in charge of most of the planning—I cited headaches and nausea all month—I had no idea what song they’d picked. Ave Verum Corpus by Mozart.

How apt. I’d always associated it with violent carnage in cinema, à la The Red Wedding.

Even that wedding was better than mine.

I didn’t know how I managed to put one foot in front of the other, but I did. At some point, Daddy and I sliced through the orchid curtain and came into full view.

Gasps and hushed whispers wove across the aisle. Flashing camera lights licked at my skin.

My bridesmaids, Frankie and Sav, carried my dress train while six flower girls from my local church trailed behind, pelting white rose petals at the guests.

I gazed down and avoided eye contact with the guests, who rose to their feet, clapping and cheering.

I wondered if Morgan was here. Somewhere in the crowd. Sipping champagne, entertained by how foolish I looked, marrying a man who still worshiped at her altar.

In fact, I wondered if Romeo had seen her in the time between the debutante ball and now.

The thought made me nauseous. Not because I liked him, but because I refused to be made an even bigger fool than I already was.

I reached the altar. The man I’d last left chained to my bed, covered in whipped cream, stood before me. Powerful, imposing, and larger than life.

The imagery sent sudden, uncontrollable giggles through me. I felt my neck flush.

Then I peered up, and the laughter died in my throat.

I’d almost forgotten how glorious Romeo Costa was.

Almost.

He wore a sharp tux. His hair—shorter than I’d remembered, trimmed to perfection—was brushed back.

His gray eyes—usually flirting with the color blue—appeared almost metallic silver. His face was neutral and blank as an uninspiring painting in a waiting room.

When Daddy stepped aside and I positioned myself in front of him, Romeo surprised me by leaning forward, pressing his lips to my jawline.

Only, he wasn’t kissing my cheek.

That was just a show for our guests.

In reality, Romeo whispered in my ear, “Pull any tricks, and I assure you, your reputation won’t be the only thing I destroy.”

My brain short-circuited for a comeback. Blinking, I recognized the wedding officiant as a local priest from Chapel Falls.

Father Redd began the ceremony.

When my turn came to read from the vow book, I rattled off a wedding speech so cliché and so insincere, I was sure my soon-to-be-husband wanted to vomit from the tackiness.

Romeo breezed through his portion. Behind him, Oliver and Zach stood in designer tuxes.

Zach radiated impatience, flicking his eyes to his watch without lifting his wrist.

Despite his clean-cut charm and lovely manners, something dark lurked beneath his surface. Something just withdrawn enough to hint that he didn’t show his true colors to the world.

Meanwhile, Oliver—an open book full of colorful annotations—stared straight past me to my bridesmaids. If he thought Frankie was fair game, I had news for him, which I’d break right along with his balls.

Father Redd flipped a page in his officiant’s manual. “Do you, Romeo Niccolò Costa, take this woman to be your wife, to live together in holy matrimony, to love her, to honor her, to comfort her, and to keep her in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?”

Romeo laced his fingers through mine. They were cold and felt like clay. “I do.”

A charming smile slashed his face, dazzling the audience. It looked completely photoshopped.

“And do you, Dallas Maryanne Townsend, take this man to be your husband, to live together in holy matrimony, to love him, to honor him, to comfort him, and to keep him in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?”

Love and comfort him?

He was lucky not to leave the premises in an ambulance. My new dream was to contribute to his bodily scars with my own art.

“Hmm.”

Father Redd cleared his throat, chuckling. “I’ll take that as a yes?”

“I do.” I spat out the words.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

I didn’t know what to expect. Perhaps a dignified peck to seal the deal. But Romeo Costa was just full of surprises.

Instead, he stepped forward, wrapped my waist with his strong arm, and jerked me into him. With blood-chilling possessiveness, he cupped the front of my throat, dipped my body, and crashed his mouth over mine, exerting punishing force.

The gesture declared one thing—mine.

In the background, people went wild, cheering and whistling. Laughter, music, and feminine voices raving about the iconic kiss filled the venue.

“…as epic as his marriage proposal…”

“…never seen a man so crazy in love…”

“…should be a movie…”

I was limp in his arms, even when his tongue darted out and pried my lips open, confidently licking, playing, and exploring the inside of my mouth.

This was a statement kiss.

A kiss designed to inform the world I was now his property.