Page 6 of Beneath the Shadows
Before I can answer, Valentino interrupts. “It’s too simple. We need something more extravagant, something that reflects our status.”
I clench my jaw, swallowing my frustration. “Of course, Val. Whatever you think is best.”
He grins, satisfied with my answer. “See? It’s not that hard doing things my way.”
As the meeting drags on, my patience wears thin. Valentino’s arrogance is suffocating. The way they openly flirt and brush against each other only adds to the pressure. Inside, I’m seething, but on the outside, I keep up the façade of a happy bride-to-be.
Finally, Shannon gathers her things, still beaming. “I think we’ve made great progress today. I’ll send over the finalized plans for your approval.”
“You have my number,” Valentino says, standing. Instead of shaking her hand, he kisses her cheek. “Call me, and I’ll stop over and pick them up personally,” he says, his voice low.
“That sounds perfect,” she giggles, blushing again.
I struggle to not roll my eyes.
As soon as we get outside, I turn to Val. “You should’ve taken her in the back room and fucked her.”
He raises an eyebrow, clearly unfazed. “And what makes you think I haven’t?”
“I figured as much,” I mutter, looking away, my stomach twisting.
“She’s convenient.” Val shrugs, completely indifferent. “It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with. You’re the one who’ll be in my bed every night.”
I clench my jaw, trying to hold back the bile from rising in the back of my throat. “Right,” I say, my voice hollow. “Lucky me.”
Antonio
Valentino didn’t bother to give her more than two weeks. Two weeks to plan a wedding that’s more a spectacle than a celebration. But that’s who he is—always desperate to claim what he believes is his, even if it was never meant to be. Control, wealth, Alessia—they’re nothing but conquests, pieces to be owned, not cherished.
While Val’s busy building his perceived empire, the rest of us are left scrambling, working around the clock to keep the business running while making sure this damn wedding goes off without a hitch.
Carinwood Estate is a stunning place, sprawling and elegant, set just outside the city. I’ve heard the whispers. Aunt Domenica wasn’t exactly happy about the choice of venue. She would’ve preferred the ceremony to take place at the family church. But it’s the one thing Alessia insisted on.
My mind drifts back to that early fall day, when Alessia and I sat under the bleachers in our usual spot. The air was cool, carrying the first hints of autumn. A light breeze kept blowing her dark hair across her face. I can still see her tucking it behind her ear as she smiled at me. In that moment if felt like nothing else mattered—it was only me, her, and the way she made everything feel right.
"Do you ever think about what your wedding would be like?" she asks, catching me off guard.
"Not really," I shrug. "Never figured I'd have a say in it."
Alessia was always quiet and thoughtful. She rarely talked about the future, but for some reason, that day, she was different. Lighter. Peaceful.
“I want to get married in Italy. By the sea,” she says, a dreamy quality in her voice. “The sun would be setting just as we said our vows.
She looks up at me, her dark eyes full of hope, as though she could see the scene unfolding before her. I swallow, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Who’s standing there with you?” I ask, the words slipping out.
But then we were interrupted. The coach’s whistle cut through the air, signaling the end of football practice. A group of guys jogged past, shouting and laughing, and the moment shattered, disappearing as if it had never happened. Just like that, our conversation was left unfinished.
I never got to hear who the groom in her daydream was. I always hoped she would’ve said my name, but then again, I never deserved to be anyone’s choice. Not then, and certainly not now.
The sound of a loud crash snaps me back to the present. My head jerks toward the noise, and I hurry around the corner. A young woman is kneeling on the ground, frantically picking up the pieces of a shattered centerpiece. Her hands tremble as she tries to clean up the mess, clearly upset. Without thinking, I rush over to help her.
“Let me get that for you.” I crouch down to pick up the larger pieces.
“You don’t have to do that, sir,” she replies, her voice trembling. “I can’t believe I was so careless.” A tear trickles down her cheek, but she quickly swipes it away.
“It was an accident,” I offer, trying to soothe her.