Page 18 of Modern Romance December 2025 5-8

Mimi hated to admit it, even to herself, but Renzo had been right again.

No one, not even the couture-dressed guests with their brilliant diamond chokers and beautifully cut features, could question his commitment to this union, this baby, to her.

Inside the basilica was even more overwhelming than its exterior.

Gilded domes soared high above, adorned with intricate mosaics that seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly light. Marble columns lined the nave, their veins catching the flicker of countless candles.

Rows of chairs filled with impeccably dressed guests fanned out before the altar. The space hummed with a different kind of energy now, the chatter quieter but no less intense.

The air was heavy with the scent of incense and beautiful white roses alluringly draped over every possible surface and the whispers of the gathered elite of Venice.

At her appearance, no doubt.

Mimi took a deep breath and straightened her spine, clutching John’s arm as they began their slow walk down the aisle. Each step seemed to amplify that pulsing twinge in her lower back, but she decided to ignore it for now. No wonder her body was making up new cues in concert with her agitated, anxious mind.

But the ache, along with the weight of her seven-month pregnancy pressing down on her body, was a constant reminder that this wasn’t a fairy tale. As much as Renzi DiCarlo had fabricated it just so.

And then, like a fish taking bait, she caught his gaze.

Renzo, so impossibly handsome that she still thought she might be dreaming, stood with a confidence that seemed to anchor the opulent surroundings, that seemed to mock her own misgivings about this wedding.

He had more to lose than she did by tying himself like this, didn’t he? His freedom as a bachelor, his fast life. He hadn’t even sent her the prenup agreement she’d insisted on.

Did he trust her that much? Or was his wealth so vast that whatever cunning scheme Mimi might run later didn’t worry him?

The grandeur of the basilica dimmed in comparison to the sheer intensity of his gaze. He wasn’t looking at the gilded arches or the sea of society’s finest but at her. The echoes of the kiss they had shared glimmered in his eyes.

Her chest tightened and she forced herself to focus on each step she was taking toward him. The marble beneath her feet gleamed under the soft light, the polished surface cool through her thin shoes.

Soon, she was there and suddenly, she felt trapped. Her breath felt equally so in her chest, making her dizzy.

Renzo’s expression softened immediately, his hand reaching out to clasp hers with a tenderness that made her breath come easy. It was maddening how quickly that look calmed her.

John pressed a soft kiss to her temple and, with one glance at Renzo that made him nod, released her into his care.

“You’re almost there,cara,” Renzo whispered as she moved to his side. Immediately, the already familiar scent and heat of his body enfolded her as if in a gentle embrace.

And for a fleeting moment, the grand trappings of her surroundings fell away. There was no high society, no fairy-tale wedding. Maybe not even her large bump.

There was only Renzo, and the remembered heat of their kiss, and the terrifyingly audacious hope that maybe there could be more than just the baby to bind them.

The water taxi pulled to a stop in front of the Grand Rialto DiCarlo, the pride of Renzo’s empire. Renzo stepped out first, nodding at the concierge who scrambled to open the door for Mimi.

His gaze swept the crowd that had gathered along the cordoned-off street, their cameras flashing like strobe lights.

The spectacle grated on his nerves. More on Mimi’s behalf than his own. He’d grown up surrounded by luxury and paparazzi. Every inch of his life had been under their greedy scrutiny.

He knew personally what it was to be judged as a DiCarlo first, and barely as himself. Whereas his new wife…hated that kind of spectacle and had been protected from her mother’s fame at the boarding school.

His wife…Renzo frowned at the stirring of excitement at the phrase.

Dio mio, it was one thing to accept fate and adapt accordingly, and a whole other to pant after his wife, who showed no such inclination toward him.

He extended a hand to Mimi, helping her out of the boat. Her face was pale, her posture stiff. The exhaustion of the day and the strain of carrying their child were etched into every line of her body.

Guilt pressed down on him like a heavy anvil hanging around his chest. He could have made this day easier for her, but his vanity about people’s perception of him had gotten the better of him. Was he any better than his father then, if his self-worth needed validating?

“I can show my face at the reception for a half hour. Is that good enough?” she said, his little trooper.