The church bells tolled, low and solemn, when Salvatore finally allowed himself to look at her. She was walking toward him, the hem of her gown catching the light like fire dancing on snow. He had promised himself he wouldn’t care, that this marriage was nothing more than duty to his family, to hers. A contract. Nothing more.

And yet, in that single glance, something inside him fractured.

When she reached his side, he offered his hand. His touch was firm, practiced, but a tremor passed through him that he quickly buried. She noticed—he could see it in her curious gaze—but she said nothing until the vows were finished, the rings exchanged, and the applause of the guests faded into the reception’s glow.

Later, away from the crowd, she broke the silence first. “Do you always look so… indifferent, even on your wedding day?”

Salvatore’s lips curved faintly—not a smile, but something close. “Indifference is easier than pretending to feel what I don’t.”

She tilted her head, studying him. “And what if you feel more than you admit?”

For the briefest moment, he looked at her fully. The softness of her voice, the quiet strength beneath it, unsettled him. He turned away, his tone sharper than intended. “Then I would make sure no one ever knew. Especially you.”

Her breath caught, a mix of surprise and hurt, but she did not step back. Instead, she whispered, “Our parents may have arranged this marriage, but we’re the ones living it, Salvatore. You can shut me out all you want, but sooner or later, I’ll see the truth in your eyes.”

Her words lingered in the air like a challenge, or perhaps a promise. Salvatore’s hands curled at his sides, every instinct urging him to retreat behind the steel walls he had always relied on. But the walls were already cracking, because she was right—his eyes betrayed him.

He leaned closer, his voice low, dangerous. “Be careful what you ask for. You may not like what you find.”

She met his gaze without flinching. “Try me.”

For the first time in years, Salvatore felt something stir—a dangerous mix of fear and desire, of longing and restraint. He wanted to tell her everything, to confess the storm raging inside him. But the words caught, unspoken, as he stepped back and slipped his mask firmly into place once more.

“We should return,” he said coolly, though his chest burned. “The guests are waiting.”

And with that, he offered his arm.