Chapter Two Hundred and Thirty Seven

Chapter Two Hundred and Thirty Seven
Alexander

Six months had passed.

It felt like a lifetime and a blink all at once.

Six months of speeches and apologies, of rebuilding what my father tried to burn to the ground. Six months of policy drafts, foundation plans, and royal councils. Six months of learning how to live without fear, how to breathe again with Leonardo beside me.

But also—

Six months of wedding planning.

Which, according to every woman in my life, was not an event. It was a war campaign.

My mother took over immediately. So did Leo’s. What started as a quiet idea—a simple, symbolic ceremony—had become the diplomatic event of the decade. I lost count of the dress fittings. The floral arrangement disputes. The time the Swedish interior minister and Leo’s nonna argued over whether we could serve meatballs and ravioli on the same menu.

Somehow, we survived it.

Leo, miraculously, did not flee the country.

Instead, he dove headfirst into the madness—protocol training, consort briefings, press rehearsal interviews—and somehow managed to charm every official who was initially horrified by him.

Now, standing in my private suite, facing the ornate mirror where four different stylists had just left me fully dressed, I felt… still.

Not calm.

Not yet.

But still.

My hands rested over my chest, fingers brushing the edge of the golden ceremonial sash.

And for the first time in months, I could look at myself and think, I’m ready.

There was a knock.

Then another.

The door creaked open, and Karl stepped inside.

He wore his best suit, one hand at his side, the other clutching a small square box he clearly didn’t know what to do with.

“Your Highness,” he said—then caught himself. “Alexander.”

I turned to him.

He looked at me like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to feel something. Like the weight of the moment was just barely pressing through that armor he always wore.

Then, wordlessly, he stepped forward and extended the small box between us.

“This was my father’s,” he said, his voice low. “A family medal. He gave it to me the day I became a soldier. And now… I want you to have it.”

My throat tightened as I opened the lid to reveal a modest, beautifully aged silver pin—an eagle with its wings spread wide.

“I—” I couldn’t speak. I just reached for it, holding it with both hands like a precious treasure.

“May it bring you strength,” Karl said softly. “And remind you that you’re not alone.”

I looked up at him, heart full. Then I smiled through the tears welling in my eyes.

“I’m glad you’re here,” I whispered again.

His jaw clenched just slightly. Then he gave a single, silent nod—and before either of us could overthink it, I stepped forward and hugged him.

Not a royal gesture.

Not a formal nod.

A hug.

And, this time, his arms came around me at once, hugging me tightly, with the same emotion I felt.

He held me there for a moment. Not long—but long enough.

When he pulled back, his voice was quieter. Rougher.

“Your mother… she’s waiting outside. She looks ready to faint.”

I smiled again. “She won’t.”

He gave a short nod, straightened my sash like he couldn’t look me in the eye, and said, “Are you ready?”

I glanced toward the windows, where the music was already playing, the light golden and soft.

“I think I’ve been waiting my whole life for this.”



Leonardo

There were thirty-seven ways to incorrectly hold a dessert fork.

I’d been personally scolded for twenty-three of them.

Six months ago, I was a public menace with a noble last name. Today, I was about to become the royal consort of Sweden. Officially. Publicly. Legally. In a matter of minutes.

I stared at myself in the mirror, fidgeting with the cuffs of my ridiculously sexy white-and-gold jacket. I looked like a cross between a prince and a well-dressed soufflé. My hair was fighting for its life. My hands were trembling.

But I was here.

And I was about to marry the man who’d survived everything with me. A king I’d watched rise from ruin. A boy I fell for in the middle of a scandal. A soul I would chase into every lifetime, across every border.

Six months of training hadn’t made me any more graceful.

But it taught me how to bow without swearing, how to address royalty without saying “dude,” and how to smile through seven press events without flipping a table.

Most days, I failed the tests.

Like the time I accidentally sat in the Queen’s chair during a mock state dinner and Karl’s soul left his body.

Or when my etiquette tutor—who might actually have been raised in a monastery—smacked the table with a ruler every time I reached for the wrong goblet.

Or the time I said, “Nice hat,” to a Duke wearing a ceremonial headdress worth more than my apartment.

But somehow, through some divine miracle—or maybe just sheer Leo Vittorio stubbornness—I survived it.

And I didn’t run.

Because at the end of it all, I wasn’t doing this for the crown.

I was doing it for him.

To learn how to stand next to him—not just behind him.

My parents had already been in and out three times this morning—my mother crying again, dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief that matched her outfit as if tears were part of the look. My father, bless him, tried to fix my tie even though it was perfect, offering a rotating list of “classic” marital advice that included “Don’t let the sun set on an argument” and “Never underestimate the power of snacks.”

Giovanni—my little brother, who wasn’t so little anymore—walked in looking suddenly tall and handsome in his formal suit, asking if he’d get a title now that I was marrying into royalty.

“No, Gio,” I said. “But you get to brag for the rest of your life, and that’s way more dangerous.”

Eventually, I shooed all three of them out to find their seats before someone knocked on my door.

Dante peeked in, looking criminally hot in his tux. “You ready to make history, Your Grace?”

I snorted. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

He stepped in, adjusting my crooked sash with a look that was far too gentle for his usual sarcasm. Then, for once, he didn’t joke.

“You’re doing what many of us dream of,” he said quietly.

I blinked. “Marrying a king?”

He shook his head, voice softer now. “Marrying the love of your life. Not everyone gets to do that, you know?”

I stared at him, warmth spreading in my chest.

“I know,” I whispered. “You will too one day… You’re a Vittorio, after all.”

He laughed, rolling his eyes as the tension broke.

“You’ve ruined men for me, you know that?” he said, nudging me. “Set the bar a bit high...”

He held out a hand, and I took it.

“Let’s go,” I whispered.

“Let’s get you married,” he grinned.



Alexander

The violins shifted.

I stepped into the light with Karl by my side, arm linked through his, eyes locked ahead—

And then I saw him—my beautiful man, my soon-to-be husband, and the love of my life.

Waiting for me at the altar, dressed like a royal storm I never wanted to outrun. His hair soft and wild, his grin trembling, and those eyes…

Those eyes that never stopped choosing me.

My heart thundered in my chest as the crowd rose.

Somewhere in the distance, I heard my mother’s breath hitch. A whisper. A soft sob.

But I only saw him.

And I walked forward, toward the rest of my life.