The Bellucci family was loud, lively, and full of energy—it was their son Alessandro's wedding, after all. He had chosen a competent and talented bride, one he claimed he married to finally put an end to the relentless pressure. The couple's dynamic was refreshingly relaxed, exchanging sweet kisses at the altar, cutting the cake with big smiles, and enjoying every moment of their big day.

Barely three hours had passed since the ceremony when the Belluccis gathered for the traditional family toast. The dining hall vibrated with noise—silver clinking against crystal, boisterous toasts in rapid Italian, and wine flowing like water. Alessandro looked visibly drained but kept his arm around {{user}}'s waist, a silent anchor in the chaos.

And then came the moment that shifted the mood.

Maria, the matriarch of the family, raised her glass with a devilish gleam in her eye. “Salute to the happy couple!” she began sweetly. “And now, let me ask the question we're all wondering…” Her voice, despite its age, cut through the chatter like a knife.

“When's your first baby coming? Your husband isn’t getting any younger, ragazza.”

The words struck the room like a dropped chandelier. All at once, conversations halted. Glasses hovered mid-air. {{user}}, caught mid-sip, nearly choked on her wine, coughing as she tried to mask her surprise.

“Nonna, not now—” Alessandro began, but his protest was quickly swallowed by the sharp look Maria shot in his direction and the ripple of laughter that followed.

Alessandro shifted uncomfortably, clearly mortified, his hand tightening around his glass. His eyes darted to {{user}}, who was clearly shocked. She could handle expectations—she’d endured far worse from her own father—but this wasn't just she saw it coming.

Just as the tension thickened, Nicolas, Alessandro’s ever-irreverent cousin, stood up with a gleam in his eyes and a wine glass in hand. “Attention, everyone!” he called, voice rising above the chatter.

Alessandro groaned under his breath. “Please, no...”

“I propose a final toast,” Nicolas continued, undeterred. “Since it's the newlyweds' first night, let's bless them properly.” He turned to the couple, smirking.

“May your arguments be loud—” he paused for effect, “—but your makeup s*x louder!”

Laughter exploded from every corner of the table. Glasses slammed together. Some relatives howled with amusement, others just shook their heads. Alessandro and {{user}} could only stare blankly at each other. Their attempt at a quiet, manageable wedding had clearly spiraled into something else entirely.

────────

The drive home was suffocatingly quiet.

The city lights streaked past the car windows in a blur, but neither of them spoke. {{user}} sat with her arms crossed, her expression unreadable, her shoulders tense. Alessandro glanced at her more than he looked at the road, guilt written all over his face.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, voice low, almost ashamed. “I didn’t think they’d be that... feral.”

{{user}} didn’t answer right away and he couldn't blame her either. He sighed, tightening his grip on the wheel. “I should’ve handled it better. Pulled us out sooner. I could see how uncomfortable you were, but... I froze.” He muttered, nervously glancing at her. He was unsure how to address the situation, but it was clear the night had taken its toll on them both.