The chapel was dressed in elegance—white roses blooming in the centerpieces, candlelight flickering softly along the aisles, and the hum of gentle music echoing beneath the glass chandeliers. Guests mingled in murmurs and excitement, their polished shoes tapping against the marble floor. But Lorenzo stood still.
At the far end of the hall, in his custom-tailored suit, he looked every bit the perfect groom. Except for the quiet storm brewing inside him.
Everything is ready. We're just waiting for my bride—my soon-to-be wife.
He had rehearsed that line in his head countless times. To sound sure. To sound proud. Yet as the clock ticked forward, his eyes wandered across the room, searching not for Amara—but for Violet.
And there she was.
Standing near the edge of the gathering, her black dress clinging to her like a secret, eyes unreadable, lips set in a straight line. She was the only one who knew the full truth. After all, this wedding was their plan. A calculated move. A means to an end.
But now, seeing her there, hurt hiding behind mascara-laced lashes, he wasn't so sure how clean this cut would be. He knew it would sting, for her. And perhaps, somewhere beneath his well-crafted armor, for him too.
"¿Dios mío, Enzo? What did I just land into?"
He turned, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as the voice reached him.
There she was—Sophia. His older sister, effortlessly stylish even in her creased pilot uniform, suitcase still rolling behind her, aviators perched on her head like a crown.
"Sophie?" Lorenzo blinked. "What the—are you serious right now?"
"You didn't really think I'd miss my little brother's wedding, did you?"
He blinked, still processing. "You didn't say anything. I thought you were in Los Angeles. Flying."
"Diverted my schedule. Gave my co-captain a heart attack," she teased. "Had to see this fairytale for myself."
Her presence, unexpected and grounding, twisted something in Lorenzo's chest. Sophie had always been the free one. The one who chose the skies over the family legacy. But she came—for him.
She dropped her suitcase and pulled him into a quick, firm hug. "Surprise! I caught the next flight from LA. You're lucky I love you."
"You flew in wearing that?" he chuckled, stepping back to take her in.
"What? I came straight from the runway to the runway," she grinned, spinning dramatically in her uniform.
Lorenzo rolled his eyes. "You haven't been home in two years. I figured you wouldn't fly in for anything less than a funeral."
"Well," she said, winking, "that depends… is this wedding more of a celebration or a slow burial?"
"Rude."
"Accurate."
He laughed under his breath, shaking his head. "You're unbelievable."
Sophia grinned. "So, this girl. What's her deal? You sure about this?"
"She's… something else," Lorenzo admitted, voice softening. "She's grounded.
Intense. Kind of stubborn. But she's good. Really good."
"And she's marrying you? She must be a saint."
"I'd say 'desperate,' but sure, let's go with saint."
Sophie bumped her shoulder into his. "So what happened to Señor Playboy who
swore off marriage forever?"
He gave a lazy smirk. "Maybe he met someone who didn't try to impress him."
Sophie raised a brow, impressed. "That's dangerously mature, Enzo."
"Don't get used to it."
A pause passed between them before Sophie asked more gently, "Are you happy?"
Lorenzo looked out toward the estate's wrought iron gates. "I think I could be. Maybe that's enough for now."
Sophie gave him a long look, then nodded. "Fair."
Then her expression shifted back to mischief. "Well, I need to go transform out of this Captain Marvel look and into something that won't make the wedding photos look like an emergency landing."
Lorenzo chuckled. "You look fine."
"I look like turbulence. Give me five."
She grabbed her suitcase, winked, and turned toward the guest quarters. "Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone, hermano. I still have to approve the bride."
He called after her, "I thought this wasn't your flight!"
Without turning, she tossed a hand in the air. "Every wedding needs a little drama, no?"
And just like that, she was gone, heels clicking confidently against the cobblestones, leaving Lorenzo alone again—half amused, half unnerved, and fully
unprepared for what was about to unfold.
As guests slowly took their seats, a hush settled over the chapel. The air thickened with expectation. Lorenzo adjusted his cufflinks, straightened his tie, and let out a breath that trembled more than he intended.
A wedding meant to seal an agreement. A bride with hesitant eyes. A lover in the crowd. A sister with questions.
And a groom unsure of the man standing in his own shoes.