NICCO
Dio.
This moment.
Cazzo.
It is everything.
I can feel the sweet, soaring pull of violins in my very soul. Massive chandeliers and elegant white candles, encased in Swarovski glass of various shapes and sizes, illuminate the ballroom, casting a magical glow across a sea of faces. Three hundred, more or less, are seated in the audience today, and three of them are mia famiglia. They are sitting in the front row, dropping their busy schedules to fly halfway across the world for me. Vivi even brought Aria's father along, keeping him safe from Juan Pablo's reach through her security team. I steal a glance in their direction.
Mamma has happy tears in her eyes.
Papà is beaming from ear to ear.
Even Vivi looks ecstatic to be here.
Their presence means more to me than I want to admit. The scent of fresh flowers brightens the gravity of what is to come. But I feel no fear or anxiety. Merely anticipation.
I am beyond ready to take the plunge.
If you asked a year ago where I might be standing on this very day, my answer could not be further from the spot where my feet are planted at the moment. Love was not supposed to be written in my stars, and the mere mention of marriage would have sent me dashing for the hills. I guess that is what separates love from romance. I was good at romance and romancing others because my heart was too jaded to fall for my own lies. The game rarely played me because I was too good at playing it.
Hell, I excelled as that double-balled, dick-headed idiot for far too long.
Thank God my fuckboy days are behind me. They are nothing to brag about. Any idiot with a dick and two balls can string together a few heartfelt compliments, pay for a nice date, and then fuck a woman until she comes a handful of times. Ironically, I have realized that true love is oftentimes the antithesis of romance. It is rare, painful, hard to find, and even harder to keep.
Aria taught me everything I know about love.
She will soon teach me much more about the love between husbands and wives. I once believed that such sacred bonds existed only for deserving souls. Like my parents. Never for prodigal sons like me. Mamma and Papà caught lightning in a bottle, and I simply could not imagine that lightning would strike twice. Nor did I yearn to establish anything meaningful or all-consuming with anyone. Easy come and easy go. That was my motto before Aria.
A crooked, self-deprecating grin raises the edge of my mouth.
Funny how the feelings that once repelled me are now the ones I cherish most. I glance around me, and my smile broadens as soul-quenching fulfillment settles within. There is nowhere I would rather be than here right now. My feet stand firmly in place—no earthly force can move me from seeing this through—as I wait on bated breath to become Aria's husband.
It feels unreal.
The beautifully ornate altar beside me.
The classic black and white Armani tux on me.
The love burning within my chest, so intense and mad for her that it might very well consume me.
Indeed, everything seems too good to be true. I almost pinch myself as I take in my surroundings. If it is a dream, I hope to never wake up. Mia principessa is about to become mia regina.
My queen.
Perhaps, the day feels so dream-like and quixotic because I know how much of it is being staged for the sake of the Danmore acquisition. I wish it did not have to be this way on our special day, but Aria and I are up against a psychopathic criminal who will stop at nothing to bring us down. I am comforted, though, in knowing that Aria loves me. At least, I suspect she harbors such affection for me. Admittedly, Aria has not proclaimed the words aloud. Yet. But, surely, a woman like her would not do the things she did for a man who did not own her heart. There is no doubt in my mind anymore. She is mine as much as I am hers. The love we give each other and the love we show the world will be unbreakable. No matter what. It is not for the faint of heart. Our feelings have been forged through heartbreak and healing. My marriage to Aria will be indestructible because of such a deep-rooted and powerful foundation.
But this wedding?
There is more calculation in it than heart. A piece to be maneuvered on the chessboard. We must anticipate Juan Pablo's moves and undermine his strategy by utilizing every resource at our disposal. Call me biased, but I find the method behind Aria's madness to be rather brilliant.
If we cannot beat them, join them.
The damage is already done, after all. Thus, our team—and not Juan Pablo or the media—will be the ones feeding the rumor mill to satisfy the public's appetite for spectacle. Sex tapes are sensational. But a sex tape that ends in a ten-million-dollar wedding makes for an even catchier headline.
Enter the Plaza Hotel.
The last two weeks have raced by like figments of fantasy. I cannot believe that I am standing in this New York landmark. Rising eighteen stories tall in the Manhattan skyline, this French Renaissance-inspired château style building has been here since 1907. It was the closest thing we could find to a castle in the middle of the city.
Why does it have to be a castle, you ask?
Aria and I need to turn our scandal into a fucking fairytale. Our tape is everywhere. Something drastic must be done to offset the damage. Oliver—that bastard—has been taking advantage of my bad publicity to stall the Danmore acquisition. The way Aria and I handle this matter must be louder, grander, and smarter to overshadow the video's significance in the public eye.
If people won't stop obsessing over our relationship, she suggested shortly after the leak, let's give them more of what they want.
Something shinier and newer to capture their wolfish thirst for the shiny and the new.
But not on their terms.
The plot twist?
On our terms.
I agree with Aria wholeheartedly, and our plan of attack begins in this hotel. It is the perfect backdrop to set our strategy in motion. Since I was a child, I have been fortunate enough to stay in some of the world's finest establishments, and the Plaza does not disappoint. True to its unsurpassed reputation, the interiors of this Manhattan staple are even more impressive than the exteriors. A lush row of dramatic floral arches—arranged with thousands of fresh white roses and blush pink peonies—line the long aisle before me. They stretch to the double-doored entrance. Overhead, canopies of white wisteria flowers are draped alongside large crystal chandeliers. On all fronts, it feels like we are about to be swallowed by a heavenly cocoon of florals.
In truth?
None of this opulence screams Aria to me. I know from what she wears to the office every day and how she decorates her apartment that her tastes are much simpler and subdued. But this grandeur, funnily enough, is what Aria requested from the wedding planner. Our entire wedding is meant to be over the top, excessive, and eye-catching. A true marvel that no one can tear their eyes away from.
It exists to send a clear message.
We have nothing to be ashamed of.
Every garishly lavish detail is meant to strengthen our narrative and silence our harshest critics.
Even if you have seen us fucking, do not fuck with us.
This must be what it feels like to be two halves of a whole.
We are the undisputed king and queen of this domain.
It never fails to delight me when I am on the receiving end of Aria's trust. This shit never gets old. Her strength makes me strong. Even her vulnerabilities make me stronger because it stokes my desire to protect her. Not long ago, Aria broke down her immovable walls, gracing me with everything she had to give. It is a gift I intend to treasure. Forever. To be privy, at last, to her Machiavellian nature is a privilege that I do not take lightly. To be loved by her is the blessing of a lifetime.
Moreso than ever, I refuse to let anyone come between us.
Juan Pablo may have fired the first shot, but we will checkmate him soon enough. The tables will turn in our favor, and his head will roll. Aria has already started sending in the evidence to her contacts in the SEC and the media. My lawyers are ready to defend her to the death whenever Juan Pablo tries to retaliate.
The fight has begun, and I am dying to draw blood.
Among our three hundred guests, several well-known journalists are in attendance. Aria made sure to have our PR team include them on the guest list. Starting with this fairytale wedding, we will use the press to help us spin a love story for the ages. One that will warm even the blackest of hearts.
That is the power of a good fucking story.
As the steady, timeless chords of Pachelbel's Canon fill the air, I am overcome with emotion. Aria will be making her grand entrance soon. An eager longing thrums through my veins. The doors are set to open any second now.
I cannot wait to call Aria my wife.
Our wedding may be a movable chess piece in this game of life and death, but, giuro su Dio, our marriage will be steadfast, true, and unmovable by opposing forces.
Only death do us part.
As the live string quartet continues to play, the heavy wooden doors at the other end of the ballroom swing open. A vision in white appears. My gaze is immediately riveted on my gray-eyed diavola. With her father at her side, the pair of them walk toward me in time to the music. A diamond tiara sits atop her head, pinning her veil in place. Aria looks like a real princess. Her gown is a work of art. The lace is exquisite. Handmade. With every step she takes, an extravagant eight-foot train trails behind her. I can feel the crowd's reaction. Their collective gasps. Their awed whispers. Their unfiltered commentary. I do not blame them. I cannot look away from Aria, either.
It is not the dress, however, but her that steals my breath away.
When Aria and her father approach me near the end of the aisle, the music dies down, his gaze finds mine, hesitating for a minute second, before handing over his daughter. Brief and fleeting though it may be, our connection leaves a lasting impression. Man to man, I sense the unspoken plea in his eyes.
Please take care of her.