Chapter 97

Chapter 97
Blaze

“We really doing this?” I mutter, staring at my reflection.

The mirror gives me back a version of myself I’m still getting used to—clean-shaven, hair brushed back, black shirt buttoned to the neck. No grease stains, no smudges. Just nerves and something in my throat that won’t go down no matter how hard I swallow.

Eight fucking months.

That’s how long it’s been since Carlo walked back into my life like a goddamn knight and didn’t leave this time. Eight months of unlearning resentment, of sleeping in the same bed, of making space for his toothbrush. Eight months of fighting in the kitchen, fucking on the couch, and waking up tangled in limbs that feel like home now.

His dad's been on life support for three of those months. That bastard won’t die, and won’t live either. The doctors gave up saying hopeful shit. He has just a few months to live.

Now Carlo’s got the whole empire dumped on him, signed and sealed. His name's on everything—except technically, it’s his son’s name on the documents. Milan’s the heir. A two-year-old with curly hair and half his dad’s smirk. But until the kid grows up, it’s all in Carlo’s hands.

William—Carlo’s step brother—got his approved share and hasn’t been seen since. Probably off sulking in Monaco or wherever his kind go to lick their wounds.

Rebecca? She’s engaged. To some high-end lawyer with a face too clean and a handshake too firm. Carlo told me, casually, like he was mentioning the weather. Said she’s moving on saying it was better this way than living with a man whose heart is elsewhere, and that is honestly satisfying knowing the elsewhere is me.

I didn’t say much. Just nodded, shoved my hands in my pockets, and went back to fixing the carburetor on my old bike.

And now today… this.

We’re getting married.

No audience. No grand bullshit. Just us. A priest. A few people that matter.

I walk out of the bathroom and straight into Felix adjusting the collar of a slightly-wrinkled shirt.

“You look like you’re about to puke,” he says.

“Thanks. Just the kind of support I need.”

He grins, but there’s softness in his eyes. “Proud of you, man. Never thought I’d see this day.”

“Yeah, well… me neither.”

I step past him and into the living room. My mom’s sitting with Alexi and her girlfriend, legs crossed, makeup soft but perfect. She looks calm, but I know her. She’s been watching me all morning like she’s waiting for me to run. My mother, this who thing began because I wanted to see that smile on her face, but hell it's a lot more now.

Carlo’s in the backyard, under that stupid arch thing he insisted on. He’s wearing a suit, dark blue, no tie. Hair neatly done. That look on his face like he’s half-amused, half-waiting for me to say something inappropriate.

I walk toward him, heart slamming against my ribs. My boots feel too loud on the wooden floor as I cross the hallway.

The backyard’s quiet. The priest is already standing off to the side, flipping through a tiny worn-out book like it matters.

Carlo turns when he hears me. His eyes drag over me—slow, hungry, familiar.

“You clean up nice,” he says, voice low.

“You dragged me into this, you don’t get to be surprised.”

He laughs. “Dragged you? I asked you with a fucking ring and a nervous breakdown.”

“Same thing.”

He steps closer, and suddenly nothing else exists. Just him and that look he gives me. The one that says he sees every ugly part of me and still wants it all anyway.

“You ready?” he asks.

I swallow. “No.”

He arches a brow.

“But I want this,” I add quickly. “I want you.”

The priest clears his throat like we’re making this awkward. Good. We’re always awkward.

The ceremony starts and it’s short, thankfully. I’m not good with long speeches or God shit. But when he asks if I take this man, I don’t hesitate.

“I fucking do.”

Carlo smirks and says, “I do,” with that husky tone that makes my spine shiver.

The kiss is quick. I make sure of it. Everyone claps. Even my mom tears up.

Felix whoops. Alexi leans her head on her girl’s shoulder. The priest says something about blessing and eternity but I’m not listening.

Because Carlo is staring at me like I’m the only thing in the world that makes sense.

And maybe I am. For him.

We cut the tiny cake. My mom makes us take pictures even though she's rolling around in her chair. Carlo doesn’t let go of my hand once.

No one from his side came.

No brothers. No uncles. Not even one of those fake family friends rich people keep around.

Except his secretary. He showed up in black pants and a white blouse, looking like he’s ready to file a report on the whole event. He gave me a nod and handed over a small envelope with a gift card tucked inside.

We don’t care.

We never did this for them.

Carlo keeps glancing at me like he can’t believe I didn’t bolt. And I keep glancing back like I can’t believe this is real.

Later, when the backyard empties out and the leftover champagne’s starting to go warm, we sit on the back steps, watching the sky turn purple.

“You know,” I say, “I still remember hating your guts.”

Carlo nudges my shoulder. “You still kind of do.”

“Yeah. Just less violently.”

We fall quiet. He laces his fingers with mine.

“What started on a fucking race track,” I mutter, “and turned into this mess.”

He hums. “Yeah. And now?”

“Now we’re in a bigger mess. Legal, even.”

He laughs, loud and sharp. “Forever?”

“Forever,” I echo, and it’s scary how much I mean it.

He leans his head on my shoulder, just for a second.

The night settles around us. So much peace surrounding us.

And even if the world outside still thinks we’re wrong, fucked up, some twisted kind of couple that shouldn't exist—

We’re here.

We chose this.

And we’re not going back.