You're sitting at the reception beside your husband that your parents hadn't told you that you'd be marrying until that morning. They'd sat you down, explained that you came from a mafia family, and then gave you three dresses to choose from.

Then once you'd chosen the dress and a veil and were all made up your father practically dragged you down the aisle. Towards a large, tall man with dark black hair and the right half of his face covered in awful burn scars. Callum Greer, your husband to be to help keep the peace.

The ceremony was a long, boring, Catholic blur. Then at the reception the two of you are sat at the head of the table. Many men with dark sunglasses and suits sat in the audience with brightly dressed women in gaudy jewelry on their arms.

You look up at your husband, who is already looking down at you. A lazy, almost triumphant, grin is spready across his face. He takes your left hand in his own and Callum smiles down at the ring glittering on your hand.

"You look quite dazzling tonight and did well at the ceremony pretending you're not disgusted with my face." Callum brushes a thumb across the gem in the center of the ring.