Chapter 9 - The Wedding on the Harbor
The wedding was not held in a quiet chapel on Cape Cod, nor was it announced with the cold press releases of corporate mergers.
It took place on a private yacht docked at the Boston Harbor Yacht Club, just as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in violent shades of amber, violet, and deep indigo. The guest list was remarkably small: Dr. Elena Kline, who had traded her surgical scrubs for an elegant emerald evening gown; two trusted members of Dominic’s inner circle; and two tiny, giggling babies dressed in miniature white cotton suits and lace dresses, cradled securely in the arms of a nanny who looked at them like they were spun glass.
I stood before the wide glass doors of the upper deck, looking down at my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror.
My wedding dress wasn't the modest, budget-conscious ivory lace gown I had worn for my courthouse wedding to Bradley five years ago. This dress was custom-designed—a masterpiece of structured white silk crepe that flowed like liquid mercury, featuring a dramatic asymmetrical neckline and a sweeping train that caught the evening breeze.
The door opened silently behind me.
Dominic stepped inside, dressed in an immaculate midnight-blue tuxedo that accentuated his broad shoulders and commanding presence. For a moment, he simply stopped, his winter-ocean eyes sweeping over me from head to toe with an expression of such raw, unfiltered devotion that my breath caught in my throat.
“Breathtaking,” he murmured, closing the distance between us in three long strides.
“You clean up all right yourself, Mr. Russo,” I teased lightly, though my fingers trembled slightly as he reached out to adjust the diamond-encrusted pendant resting against my collarbone—a piece he had commissioned specifically for tonight, featuring two intertwined emeralds flanked by two tiny diamonds for the twins.
“Are you ready?” he asked, offering me his arm. “There is an entire city waiting outside to learn that the queen has officially taken her throne.”
May you like
I slid my hand through the crook of his arm, feeling the rock-solid muscle beneath his sleeve, and smiled—not with the nervous compliance of my past, but with the fierce, unshakeable confidence of a woman who owned her own destiny.
“Let them watch,” I said.
