TWELVE

TWELVE
LUCA

Beneath the vaulted arches of the Rose Main Reading Room, the weight of it all finally crashes down on me.

Once a sanctuary for silent study, the library now gleams like a palace—its hushed reverence traded for golden grandeur.

Marble columns tower overhead like ancient guardians, and the vast, frescoed ceiling stretches infinitely above, catching the whispers of hundreds gathered in designer gowns and tailored tuxedos.

They came for the spectacle. To gawk, to whisper, maybe even to see me falter. Some probably never thought I’d make it to this day. Others just want to be close when I do.

Gilded chandeliers spill warm light over everything—silk-covered tables, shimmering floral towers, and endless rows of rare books turned into backdrops.

The scent of peonies and roses floats above it all, chased by that familiar tinge of old paper and ink. My life, in scent form.

The silver sparkles. The crystal glasses catch and reflect candlelight like stars trapped indoors. It’s beautiful, almost dizzying. Like standing inside someone else’s dream.

Then Sophia enters.

Marcella guides her in gently, but I feel her panic like a gust of wind through the room. This should’ve been her moment—a triumphant fairy tale ending. Instead, she looks lost in it.

Her shoulders are drawn tight, her eyes darting around, overwhelmed by the stares, the silence that’s not really silent, the pressure.

She mouths, more to herself than anyone, “I can’t do this.” Her breath hitches—short, shallow, spiraling fast.

The room doesn’t help. The weight of so many people pretending to smile while picking her apart is unbearable. And I know—I know—if I don’t do something now, I’ll lose her before this even begins.

I raise my voice. Firm. Unapologetic. “Everyone out.”

The chatter dies instantly.

A wave of stunned silence washes through the room. Then a ripple of confusion. Murmurs, reluctant movement, the sweep of silk skirts and the tap of designer shoes on marble as they start filing out.

Within minutes, the library is empty again—just Sophia and me in the echoing quiet.

She stares at me, chest rising and falling fast, but her gaze softens as the pressure lifts.

“You didn’t have to clear the room,” she says, voice shaking, but steadier than before.

I reach for her hands, grounding her. “I did. You’re the reason they were all here.”

She lets out a shaky laugh, one that almost breaks. “I take the train all the way up here just to read sometimes. It’s peaceful… and worth it.” She pauses, looking around like she’s still trying to convince herself it’s real. “I used to imagine getting married in a place like this.”

“You are,” I say, my voice low and certain. “Right here. Right now. You’re doing it.”

She looks at me again, vulnerable and unsure. “It feels like a dream. Like I’ll blink and find myself back in my tiny apartment.”

"This is happening," I breathe, pulling her closer. "You’re not imagining it. I’m right here."

My lips find hers—not rushed, not greedy, but with a kind of urgency that says I’m yours, and I’m staying.

She melts against me, her tension unraveling as her forehead comes to rest on my chest.

“When your mind starts spinning,” I whisper, my arms a shield around her, “I want you to think of this. Of me. You're safe now. No one’s touching you. Not while I’m breathing.”

She nods, her voice barely there. “You always make me feel safe.”

“Yes,” I answer, brushing her hair back, my words steady as stone. “That’s never going to change.”

Our mouths collide again, and something electric flares to life—soft at first, then burning through us like a lit fuse. My kisses drift down her neck, and her breath catches.

“What are you doing?” she murmurs, almost dazed.

“Helping you breathe,” I murmur, easing her down to the carpeted aisle, velvet soft beneath her.

She glances at the door, nerves creeping in. “What if someone comes in?”

“I’d break them in half,” I say, voice low and deadly honest, as I lift her dress to reveal skin I’ve dreamed of touching.

Her underwear slides down easily in my hands, delicate and damp. I pause for a heartbeat—long enough to look at her, to let her see everything I feel—then lower my mouth to her warmth.

She gasps, hips twitching as my tongue explores her, every movement deliberate, worshipful. Her hands clutch the fabric around her as I taste her slowly, like a man starved.

Her thighs tremble against my palms, and I press them apart, needing more, needing all of her. The way she moans wrecks me—it’s need and trust and want all tangled into one sound.

I lose myself there, mouth working her over with reverence and hunger, my name a broken chant on her lips.

The air turns thick, heavy with heat and the wild pulse of desire neither of us can hold back. She’s all I can taste. All I want. And in this moment, nothing else matters.

My cock hardens at the thought of burying myself deep inside her, claiming her as my own.

One finger slides into her, slow and deliberate, parting her warmth as my tongue teases that tender bundle of nerves.

She jerks beneath me, gasping like the air’s been stolen from her lungs, her hips lifting to chase the sensation.

“Keep going like that,” she pants between moans, a breathless laugh tucked behind her words, “and I might lose it. In a damn library, no less.”

Her body answers before she does—moaning, twisting, practically begging. I grip her hips harder, my thumbs pressing into her skin as I pull her closer, letting her grind against my mouth with wild abandon.

The sound of her cries echoes through the silent, dim-lit room, bouncing off the old bookshelves and worn stone walls. Her thighs tremble against my shoulders as I bury two fingers deeper, curling until I find that magic spot inside her that makes her jolt.

She claws at the edge of the table behind her, knuckles pale, breath ragged. “God,” she whimpers, body wound tight like a bowstring. She’s close—so close—and I feel every second of it.

My tongue circles faster, in perfect rhythm with the thrust of my fingers. Her taste is all over me, warm and intoxicating, and I can't get enough. Every desperate sound she makes, every twitch of her hips, just pulls me deeper into the frenzy of her need.

She’s shaking now, her breaths turning into sharp, frantic pants. And then I feel it—that shift in her body, the way everything tightens and then snaps loose.

She comes apart beneath me with a broken cry, her back arching clean off the floor as she screams my name, lost in the chaos of release.

“Atta girl,” I murmur, slowly pulling back, wiping my mouth as I stand.

She looks up at me, wide-eyed and wrecked, her cheeks flushed and lips parted. There’s heat in her gaze, but also something more—something trembling on the edge of surrender.

I should walk away. We’re supposed to be at the altar by now.

But instead, I unbuckle my pants, letting them fall enough to free my aching cock. Her eyes lock onto it instantly, hunger flashing in them like lightning.

“On your knees,” I say quietly, my voice low and rough with everything I’m holding back. “Now.”