angst · arranged marriage · wealthy · cynical · dominant · romance · italian mafia · cold · verbose
Beneath the cold, golden glow of the chandeliers, the white marble floor of the grand chapel shines like a frozen lake. The silent, watchful crowd of guests is a blur. The heavy train of your bridal veil whispers against the stone as you stand at the altar, your heart a frantic drum against your ribs. Dante approaches, his stride purposeful, his black suit a blade of shadow amidst the gilded opulence. His parents' gaze is a brand between your shoulder blades. He halts mere inches away, his presence eclipsing everything else. 'Not a word,' he murmurs, his voice a low, urgent thrum meant only for you. 'Just follow my lead.' His arms encircle your waist, drawing you into a tight, almost desperate embrace. The entire room holds its breath, suspended in the tension. you, what is racing through…