Chapter 33 The Empty Side of the Aisle
Matteo
The rehearsal venue was only twenty minutes from the estate, but the silence in the car stretched like we were crossing state lines.
Valentina sat beside me, legs crossed, hands folded neatly in her lap, staring out the window like she could will herself anywhere else.
Maybe I should’ve said something. Asked if she was nervous. If she needed anything.
But the truth was, I was too busy thinking about what she’d said last night. About being a virgin. About firing a staff member without blinking. About the way she navigated my grandfather’s praise with practiced grace, but still caught me off guard with those moments of raw, unvarnished honesty.
She didn’t act like a woman raised in a world like mine.
And I was starting to wonder if maybe that was the point.
We pulled up to the venue—a sprawling stone estate turned event hall, draped in soft ivory linens and fresh florals already arranged for the wedding. Rosco parked, and I stepped out first, offering my hand to Valentina without a word.
She hesitated. Then slid her palm into mine, her fingers warm and steady.
“Ready to fake the happiest day of our lives?” she murmured under her breath.
I smirked. “It’s just a rehearsal.”
“Even actors rehearse.”
Inside, the ballroom looked nearly finished. Staff moved chairs into neat rows, catering coordinators buzzed past with clipboards, and Audrey floated in like a glitter-coated migraine, waving us over with her signature syrupy voice.
“Lovebirds! Right on time!”
Valentina’s smile didn’t reach her eyes.
The planner started walking us through the ceremony order—entrance, music cues, vows, timing for the recessional. Alessio arrived shortly after and slipped into the front row, cane resting against his leg, watching us with quiet pride.
“And we’ll need to practice the aisle walk,” Audrey chirped. “Valentina, do you know who will be walking you down?”
Valentina didn’t even hesitate. “No one.”
Audrey blinked. “Oh. I… see. Would you like to walk alone, or—”
“She’ll be escorted,” Alessio said from the front row, standing slowly. “By me.”
All eyes turned to him.
Even Valentina looked surprised. “Alessio, you don’t have to—”
“Nonsense,” he said, his voice firm but warm. “You’re becoming family. And unless you object to an old man stealing a moment of the spotlight, I’d be honored to walk you down that aisle.”
Her eyes shone for a split second before she gave a small nod. “I’d like that.”
I didn’t say anything at first.
Because for the first time, I was actually processing what she’d told me nearly three weeks ago. That there was no one she wanted to invite. That she had no family. No friends from childhood. No cousins or aunts or mentors or mother figures.
Just silence.
Just her.
And for some reason, I hadn’t thought much of it then. Too focused on the contract. The logistics. The plan.
But now?
Now, watching her standing in the middle of a room filled with my people, preparing to fake a future she had no one else to share with, it finally started to land.
She really had no one.
And I didn’t know why.
But suddenly, I needed to.
The rehearsal bled smoothly into dinner.
Caterers ushered us into the adjoining banquet room—round tables dressed in crisp linens, each topped with flickering candles and fresh florals meant to mimic the centerpieces for the actual wedding. Everything was perfect.
Too perfect.
Valentina walked a step ahead of me, her shoulders straight, chin lifted. The image of poise. Controlled. Regal.
But I knew the difference now.
I knew when her posture meant confidence… and when it meant armor.
So I reached for her.
Not obviously. Not dramatically.
Just my hand at the small of her back as I leaned in, close enough for only her to hear.
“You okay?”
Her head tilted slightly, but she didn’t answer. Just gave the faintest nod.
That was enough—for now.
The planner led us to the head table and seated us side-by-side. Alessio settled just a few chairs down, flanked by a few distant relatives and long-standing associates who knew better than to speak when he wasn’t in the mood.
Valentina’s plate remained untouched for the first ten minutes.
I pretended not to notice.
Instead, I brushed a lock of hair out of her face when she turned to look at the string quartet playing in the corner.
She blinked up at me. “What was that for?”
“It was in your eyes.”
She rolled those eyes. But she didn’t pull away.
From the corner of my vision, I caught Alessio watching. His gaze didn’t linger, but it was there—sharp, calculating, weighing everything.
So I adjusted in my seat and reached for her hand.
She looked at me, brows lifting slightly, but I didn’t explain. I just brought her knuckles to my lips and kissed them slowly—soft, deliberate.
Like we’d done this a hundred times.
Like I wanted to do it again.
Her breath hitched the tiniest bit. Enough for me to feel it in the way her fingers twitched in mine.
Alessio turned his attention back to his risotto with a satisfied nod.
Score one for the performance.
“You’re really playing this up,” Valentina murmured, low enough for only me to hear.
“Someone’s watching.”
“He always is.”
“Then let’s give him a show.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You enjoy this far too much.”
I smirked. “You’re beautiful when you’re annoyed.”
“You’re insufferable when you’re smug.”
“And yet here we are.”
She shook her head, a quiet huff of something that wasn’t quite laughter slipping from her throat. Then, finally, she picked up her fork.
Progress.
The rest of dinner passed with more soft touches, more glances that teetered dangerously close to real. I caught myself leaning toward her without meaning to. Noticing things I hadn’t before—the exact curve of her smile when she spoke to Alessio, the way she tapped her nails on her wine glass when she was thinking, the rare flickers of vulnerability that flashed behind her carefully trained expressions.
She was still a mystery.
But the more time I spent near her, the more I wanted to solve it.
And the less I believed she was here just to play a part.
Even if I reminded myself constantly that this wasn’t real.
Even if I couldn’t shake the question that had been gnawing at me since the ceremony rehearsal:
Where the hell did she come from?
Because no one just… appeared out of nowhere.
Not in this world.
Not in mine.