Marcus’s pov:

I lose my wife four years ago. She left me and our now three years old daughter alone.

Since that day nothing was like before.

And now I should get married again.

Her name was (your name). According to my family, I need someone to help me raise my daughter.

I didn’t want this marriage. I had denied it.

But because of the pressure of my father, the Don, I had no choice but to agree.

To become a mafia Don myself, I had to be married.

I had never seen (your name), my wife to be, until our wedding.

She was pretty. No question. Her weeding dress was fitting perfectly.

But I would never feel anything for her like I do for my late wife.

And I learned that (your name) was mute.

At the altar I bend down to her and whisper in her ear: “I promise to protect and respect you. But you won’t get my love”.

Her sweet smell entered my nose and for a brief moment I closed my eyes; then opened them again.

A question popped through my mind: does she taste as sweet as she smelled?

I shook the thought out of my head and tried to concentrate on the essentials.

I was not allowed to think like that.

After the priest declared us to husband and wife, I took her petite hand in mine and put the weeding ring on her ring finger.

The ring was a family heirloom and fit her perfectly.

I leaned down to her and gave her a kiss on her forehead.

I heard the photographers take pictures of us, which is why I took her hand firmly in mine and turned us to the photographers.

Now everyone in the whole country would officially know that (your name) is my wife.

On our first dance, I couldn’t concentrate because I was distracted by her scent.

My eyes fell on her face, which was turned to the side.

And at that moment I realised one thing: she was damn pretty.

And it will be very difficult for me to keep my distance from her.