Page 5 of His Savage Obsession
She rolls her eyes at me, adjusting her bandage dress with a casual grace. The outfit clings to strategic parts of her body, making her the center of attention for the men milling about the chapel tonight. "I'm just making sure. Men aren't shit, Mattie," she quips, her tone both teasing and oddly protective.
"It's Enzo," I correct her, a hint of annoyance creeping into my voice.
"Whatever. They'll say anything to get a woman into bed. If all you want is to fuck Autumn and be done with it, I get it. She's a hot piece of ass, and I bet deflowering her is going to be super fun for you. But if I find out that you annul this marriage in a couple of weeks and never speak to her again, I will burn your house down." Isabella's voice is steady, but when she gives me a look that shakes me to the core, I know she means every word. There’s no doubt in my mind that she’s dead serious. "Do I make myself clear, Mattie?"
I don’t bother to correct her this time; what’s the point? "Crystal."
Thank God the preacher is finally ready to start the ceremony. I run a hand along Autumn's waist as I pass by her, a small gesture meant to convey comfort amid the chaos. She looks up at me, her eyes sparkling with a hint of nervous excitement, and flashes me a small smile before heading to the end of the small aisle to convene with Isabella.
As I make my way onto the altar, Costantino claps me on the shoulder with a hearty laugh. "She's a nice girl," he says with a grin that lights up his face. "The family is gonna fuck you up though." His words hang in the air, a reminder of the weight of tradition and expectation pressing down on me as I take my place before the gathered guests.
Hers? Mine? Both of ours? The possibilities are endless, swirling in my mind like a whirlwind of dreams and hopes. But as I stand up there, beaming with a sense of joy and anticipation, I manage to push aside all thoughts of the politics entwined in our union. Autumn walks gracefully down the aisle, her borrowed veil cascading around her like a shimmering waterfall, framing her face and accentuating her beauty in a way that takes my breath away. In all the countless scenarios I envisioned for our union, this moment—this unexpected twist—was never one of them. Yet, paradoxically, it stirs the deepest emotions within me, more than I could have ever anticipated.
I can barely hear the preacher’s words above the thunderous sound of my own heart pounding in my chest. Her hands in mine feel like the softest touch in the world, a warmth that grounds me amidst the whirlwind of the occasion. Somewhere in a dimly lit hallway just off the room, I can sense another couple preparing to step into their own moment of forever. This is, without a doubt, the least romantic way we could have chosen to solidify our vows, yet it feels so undeniably right to me. "I, EnzoBianchi, take thee, Autumn Gallagher, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward," I declare, my voice steady, resonating with a sincerity that fills the space around us.
Come what may, hell or high water, I vow to keep her safe. I will love her endlessly, fiercely, without reservation. I will cherish her in every possible way. I may not have woken up this morning with the foresight of marrying Autumn, but by tonight, I will lay my head on the pillow with her by my side, a comforting presence in the chaos of the world. And tomorrow, when we face the formidable challenge of her family and mine, we will do it together, united in our love.
"You may now kiss the bride." The preacher’s voice lacks the enthusiasm I feel surging within me, but despite that, my heart swells with an overwhelming joy as I lean in, ready to seal our shared promise with a kiss that signifies our new beginning.
With my hands wrapped around her waist, I pull Autumn Bianchi closer, relishing the moment as I kiss my wife. The warmth of her body presses against me, her hips and breasts fitting snugly against my frame, igniting a fire within me. Her tongue boldly grazes my lips, and I can’t help but smile against her mouth, lost in the sweetness of this newfound intimacy.
Costantino erupts into cheers in Italian, his exuberance filling the air with a festive spirit, while Isabella, ever the resourceful friend, manages to locate a bottle of champagne. The bubbly liquid cascades down like joyful raindrops, interrupting our kiss as the preacher and staff begin to holler at her to stop. "It's fine," I try to reassure him, waving a hand dismissively. "I'll pay for damages."
As I glance back at Autumn, I’m captivated by the stars shimmering in her eyes, filled with a mix of excitement anddisbelief. Droplets of champagne splatter against her slip, darkening its delicate fabric and causing it to cling to her tight little figure. "Iz, come on," she says, placing a gentle hand over her friend’s, her voice steady and soothing. "Let’s take this outside."
Her calm demeanor contrasts sharply with the whirlwind of emotions raging inside me. I’ve admired this woman from afar for so many years—her laughter, her kindness, her strength—and now, in this exhilarating moment, she is firmly mine. In just a matter of hours, I have claimed her heart and soul. Soon, all we need to do is sign our names on the dotted line, and it will be official. Nothing can come between us, not her pesky brother nor the weight of family expectations. In just a few hours, she will be wedded and bedded, and I can hardly fathom how all those hours I spent dreaming of bridging the gap between the Bianchi and Gallagher families are finally coming to fruition.
"C'mon, Sal," I say with a playful wink at my best man, my excitement bubbling over as I gesture toward the bar, "let's grab a glass of champagne."
He stands there for a moment, clearly starstruck by Isabella, his eyes wide with admiration, but then he shakes it off and follows me out. "I'm telling you, mate, I'm gonna hook up with that one tonight," he declares, a wicked grin spreading across his face.
I can’t help but think back to everything Autumn warned me about before I had a chance to caution Costantino. "She's a wild card," I remind him, echoing my wife's wise words with a serious tone. "Seriously, just be careful with her."
His gaze is fixated on Isabella, and he responds with an air of dreamy conviction. "I think I'm in love."
Somehow, I can't shake the doubt that creeps in. Costantino falls in love the way the rest of us change our underwear: daily, without a second thought. But I have a feeling that Isabella is a force to be reckoned with. If anything, she’ll be the one to break his heart, not the other way around. She has that captivating allure, the kind of girl who can ruin a man. What was it she said about good pussy? The memory makes me chuckle, knowing full well that Costantino is in way over his head this time.
6
AUTUMN
Ican't quite put into words the exhilarating thrill that churns in my stomach during the drive home. Not to my meticulously curated house, which feels far too large for just one person, where sleek, high-tech cameras are artfully arranged in the corners of my common living areas, but rather to the shared sanctuary that Enzo and I have created together.
When I revealed the existence of the cameras, Enzo's expression morphed into one of shock. I noticed his grip on the steering wheel tighten significantly, as if he were trying to anchor himself against the weight of my admission. A fleeting worry crept into my mind—what if he lost control of the car in his surprise? "My father is extremely protective," I explain, my voice steady yet tinged with the urgency of my father's intentions. "He just wants to ensure that I'm not doing anything that could besmirch the family name."
Enzo sends me a quick glance, his eyes sparkling with a mix of incredulity and sarcasm. "Like marry a Bianchi?" he quips, his tone teasing yet edged with genuine curiosity.
I reach across the small expanse of space that separates us, my fingers brushing along his arm in a tender gesture that sends a warm rush to my cheeks. The contact of his skin beneath my own ignites a heat that spreads through me, amplifying the flutter in my stomach. "Enzo, we have so much to learn about each other," I say, my voice softening, "but I promise to make you a good wife." In name and in deed, I silently vow.
Isabella had given me an extensive rundown on sex, covering all the basics in a frank manner that both excited and unnerved me. I know where all the parts go—it's just the experience of it all that looms before me like an uncharted territory. She had assured me that if Enzo is good enough, I would barely even notice the pain. "If he sucks though, he'll probablybethe pain," she had added with a mischievous grin. The comment had lingered in my mind, an unwelcome shadow, and I’ve been trying to shake it off ever since. But as I sit beside Enzo, I can't imagine him bringing me any pain at all.
As we glide into our neighborhood, an odd sensation washes over me as we pull into the wrong driveway, a reminder of the unfamiliarity of it all. Enzo taps a button on his center console, and with a soft whir, the garage door rises to reveal his space. His home strikes me as a mirror image of mine, yet with distinct differences. In my garage, there are boxes stuffed to the brim with decorations that are currently out of season, remnants of holidays past, while Enzo's garage is meticulously organized, filled with all the essentials for lawn care. My father prefers to hire out for such tasks, whereas Enzo takes pride in tending to his own property with a dedication that speaks to his character.
"There are no cameras in my home," he reassures me as we step inside, his voice warm and inviting. "Feel free to get ascomfortable as you'd like. This is all yours now, Autumn." His words hang in the air, a promise of safety and belonging.
Although the layout of his living room and kitchen mirrors my own, it's the furnishings that set them apart. Everything in his home is an immaculate white, with sleek, modern lines that almost seem to strip away any semblance of personality. It lacks the warmth that my home exudes, a place filled with cherished mementos and traditional decor that reflects my parents' tastes—styles they would have happily taken back a few decades if given the chance.
Suddenly, I feel Enzo's presence behind me as he wraps his arms around my body, a gesture both comforting and intimate. "It's late, Autumn," he murmurs softly, his breath tickling my ear. "I want to go to bed—not just because it's been a long day, but because I want to be with my wife." He pauses, sensing the hesitation in the air. "I know it might be a little scary for you," he continues gently, "and we don’t have to have sex tonight if you want to wait. You're young, and I understand that. I don’t want you to think I married you just to get you into bed." His words are filled with sincerity, a reassuring balm to my swirling thoughts and uncertainties.