Chapter 9 - Veils, Velvet, and Vows
The private penthouse salon at the Shadyside estate was bathed in candlelight. Outside, the night was cold and clear, the Pittsburgh skyline glowing in the distance beyond the estate’s fortified iron perimeter.
Sadie stood in the center of the dressing room, wearing only a lavender silk robe that loosely hugged her figure.
On the velvet mannequin stand in front of her hung the completed wedding gown, hand-delivered by Madame Laurent’s chief seamstress that evening. It was a masterpiece of ivory duchess satin, draped with vintage Chantilly lace that swept across the bodice in delicate, floral patterns. The gown was constructed to celebrate every voluptuous line of her body—tapering sharply at her natural waist, then cascading into a majestic train edged with seed pearls.
"It’s too much," Sadie whispered, running her fingers over the cool satin. "I’m just Sadie from Lawrenceville. A week ago, I was carrying a mop bucket."
The double doors of the salon opened softly.
Marcelo walked in, having dismissed the guards and staff from the west wing. He had discarded his jacket and tie, wearing only a black dress shirt with the top three buttons open, exposing the hard hollow of his throat and the dark ink creeping up from his collarbone.
He crossed the room with quiet, feline grace, stopping directly behind her.
In the three-way floor-to-ceiling mirror, Sadie saw them together. Marcelo was tall, broad, radiating lethal danger and aristocratic power. And in front of him stood Sadie, lush, curving, her dark hair tumbling over her shoulders, her dark eyes wide with lingering wonder.
"You are not just Sadie from Lawrenceville," Marcelo said softly, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders, pushing the silk robe aside just enough to expose the smooth, ivory expanse of her neck. He bent his head, pressing a warm, lingering kiss to the sensitive junction where her neck met her shoulder.
Sadie closed her eyes, leaning back against his chest with a soft sigh. Her body instinctively curved into his, fitting against his hard planes like a missing piece of a puzzle.
"You doubt yourself because that coward spent six years trying to cut your wings," Marcelo murmured, his lips moving against her soft skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake. "He knew that if you ever realized who you were, you would leave him in the dust."
Marcelo reached into his trouser pocket and produced a long, flat velvet box. He flipped the brass catch open with his thumb.
Inside rested a necklace that took Sadie’s breath away.
It was a river of graduated diamonds, culminating in a colossal pear-shaped Burma ruby the size of a pigeon's egg, glowing with a deep, blood-red luminescence in the candlelight.
"The Vieri Empress," Marcelo said, lifting the heavy platinum chain from the velvet. "My great-grandfather commissioned it in Milan in 1912. It has only been worn by the matriarchs of our family. My mother wore it on the day she married my father. Before she passed, she told me never to take it out of the vault until I found a woman who would stand in front of a gun for me—a woman whose heart was big enough to hold the weight of this city."
He lifted the necklace and draped it around Sadie’s throat.
The platinum was cool against her collarbone, but the ruby fell right into the lush hollow of her cleavage, radiating heat. It looked stunning against her fair skin, a fiery declaration of power and passion.
Sadie looked at her reflection, tears welling in her eyes. "Marcelo... I’ve never had anything this beautiful in my entire life."
Marcelo turned her around in his arms so she was facing him. His amber eyes were dark, burning with a hunger that was no longer hidden behind formal restraint.
"The necklace is just stone and metal, Sadie," he said, his voice dropping into a rough, passionate whisper. "You are the beauty in this room. You are the fire in my blood."
His hands slid down the silk of her robe, finding the dip of her waist, and pulled her hard against him. Sadie gasped as she felt the rigid evidence of his desire pressing against her lower stomach. She didn't pull away. For the first time in her life, she felt completely, shamelessly desired.
She lifted her hands to his face, her fingers exploring the rugged line of his jaw, the rough shadow of his stubble, and the soft heat of his lips.
"Make me forget him, Marcelo," she whispered, her voice trembling with raw need. "Make me yours."
Marcelo groaned, a low, guttural sound from the depths of his chest. He bent his head and captured her mouth in a kiss that was neither gentle nor polite. It was fierce, consuming, and full of raw, unvarnished possession. He lifted her effortlessly into his arms, Sadie wrapping her legs around his waist as he carried her toward the massive four-poster bed draped in black silk.
When her back touched the soft mattress, Marcelo hovered over her, his eyes locking onto hers as his hands untied the lavender silk belt of her robe. He parted the fabric, his gaze sweeping over her full breasts, the soft, lush curve of her stomach, and the wide sweep of her hips.
There was no disgust in his eyes. There was only pure, worshipping adoration.
"Perfection," Marcelo growled, leaning down to press a reverent kiss right onto the swell of her hip, where Boyd had once pinched her and called her ugly. "You are absolute perfection, *mia regina*."
May you like
Sadie tangled her hands in his thick hair, arching her back as his lips traveled upward, kissing the scars, kissing the bruises, washing away six years of pain with fire and silk, until there was nothing left in her mind, her heart, or her body except the overwhelming, magnificent presence of Marcelo Vieri.
***