Chapter 9 - The Wedding at Aurelia
Six months later.
The restaurant Aurelia was closed to the public for the first time in its fifty-year history.
The grand dining room had been transformed into a fairy-tale garden of white roses, twinkling fairy lights, and gold accents. The butter was still shaped like roses, but tonight, the owner of the restaurant was waiting on us.
Friends, family, and legitimate business partners from across the country filled the pristine tables.
My former manager, Greg, sat in the front row, wearing a crisp tuxedo, dabbing a handkerchief at his eyes as the harp music began to play.
I stood behind the grand mahogany doors, wearing an exquisite white lace gown that flowed around my feet like sea foam. In my hand, I held a bouquet of white lilies and silver eucalyptus.
The doors opened.
I stepped onto the white aisle, taking a deep breath as my eyes locked onto the man standing at the altar.
Luca looked breathlessly handsome in a bespoke black tuxedo. Beside him stood Marco as his best man, holding two-year-old Leo, who was wearing a matching tiny tuxedo with a crooked silver bowtie.
As I walked down the aisle, Luca never broke eye contact with me. His dark eyes were filled with such profound, worshipful love that every step felt like floating.
When I reached the altar, Luca took my hand, his fingers trembling slightly as he brought my knuckles to his lips.
“You are the most beautiful sight I have ever seen,” Luca whispered.
The ceremony was intimate, warm, and filled with tears of joy. When the priest pronounced us husband and wife, Luca pulled me into his arms and kissed me with a deep, passionate devotion that drew thunderous applause from everyone in the room.
Leo cheered from Marco’s arms, throwing his tiny hands in the air. “Mommy and Daddy!”
During the reception, as music filled the room and guests danced under the chandeliers, Luca led me out to Table Twelve—the exact spot where our story had begun two years ago.
A single glass of Barolo and a silver necklace sat on the pristine white tablecloth.
“Do you remember this table?” Luca asked softly, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind.
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“How could I forget?” I smiled, leaning back against his chest. “I thought your baby just wanted my silver necklace.”
Luca chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to the shell of my ear. “He knew what he was doing. He chose his mother, and he saved his father.”
