Page 78 of The Temptation

This woman is taking a loss being with me, even if it’s temporary. A huge one. She deserves the kind of love that lights up rooms and grows roots, not the broken pieces of someone still trying to learn how to breathe without his armour in place.

Yet, I can’t help but feel like she saved me somehow, by giving my life meaning and breathing life back into it.

She’s the real deal. Flesh and blood … fire and grace. And I’ll never be able to make sense of how someone like her ended up here, standing across from someone like me.

I’ve never known love. Not real love. Not the kind that stays.

So, when it’s my turn to speak, I try to give the words the weight they deserve. I let the walls down and speak from the heart. Allowing myself just this once to be vulnerable and exposed before taking the simple gold band and sliding it onto her finger.

Unlike her dress and shoes, I had to guess her ring size. It’s a little loose. Just enough to notice, but that’s an easy fix. I’ll take care of it.

When I went ring shopping, I looked at the flashier ones. The kind that were weighed down with huge diamonds. The rings that scream forever. I even brought one, letting myself pretend this was more than what it is. But in the end, I decided not to give it to her. It’s still tucked away in the bottom drawer in my bedroom, where it will more than likely stay.

Because the cold, hard truth is, none of this is real. Not really. And despite dropping a few hundred grand on a ring, I knew the day would come when she’d take it off and toss it in a drawer, and that would’ve made me feel like a tryhard. A man in way deeper than he has any right to be.

So, I decided to go with the simple. The classic.

I’ll leave the diamonds to the next guy.

That thought punches through me like a bullet to the gut.The next guy. The one who’ll get to do the real proposal. The real forever.

And just like that, the idea of anyone else slipping a ring on her finger makes my stomach turn.

Makes me want to hurl.

Makes me want to commit murder. Slow and painful murder.

Because no matter how temporary this is supposed to be, she’s mine … at least for now.

And God help me, I don’t want to give her up.

Once the vows are exchanged, Father Flannery says, “By the power vested in me by the Church, and with the grace of God, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” He pauses, glancing over to me when I don’t move. “Romeo. I think now would be an appropriate time to kiss your beautiful bride.”

I falter for a split second. I’d forgotten about this part. But if this is the only free pass I’m getting to kiss her again, there’s no way I’m not taking it.

Lucia’s breath hitches in her throat as I take a step forward, closing the small distance between us. I thread my fingers through her hair, tilt her head back gently, and lean in and press my mouth to hers. She parts her lips just enough, and that’s all the invitation I need.

I kiss the ever-loving shit out of her.

Not careful. Not sweet.

Real.

Raw.

Like I’ve been waiting my whole damn life for this very moment.

And maybe I have.

The three of us are gathered around the dinner table, feasting on the elaborate spread laid out before us. Nothing Lucia makes ever disappoints, but tonight she outdid herself. Every dish is bursting with flavour and colour, the kind of effort you can taste.

Father Flannery looks like he’s in his absolute glory. I’m not sure what kind of food he eats at the rectory, but judging by the way he’s gone back for thirds, I’m guessing it doesn’t come close to anything like this.

He dabs at his mouth with a napkin and sighs contentedly. “My dear girl,” he says to Lucia, “if I’d known you could cook like this, I would’ve married you myself.”

Lucia and I both laugh, but deep inside, that possessiveness I have when it comes to her rears its ugly head. I know his comment was said in jest, he’s married to the Church after all, but fuck me if it doesn’t spark something sharp and territorial inside me.

“Sucks to be you then,” Lucia counters, and I nearly choke on the bite of food in my mouth. Her voice may be light and teasing, but her eyes are dead serious. She reaches across the table as she speaks, placing her hand over mine. Her fingers are warm and grounding. “I feel like I won the lottery with this one, and nothing or no one will ever make me give him up.”