Page 67 of Wicked Sinner

brIDGET

The morning light streaming through the windows of Caesar's penthouse feels different this morning.

Softer, somehow. More golden. I'm standing in front of the full-length mirror in what used to be the guest bedroom and is now officially once again that and nothing more, smoothing my hands down the silk of my wedding dress for what feels like the hundredth time in the last hour.

It's not the dress I would have picked six months ago.

Hell, six months ago I never would have imagined I'd be getting married at all, let alone to a man like Caesar Genovese.

But here I am, wearing a gown that probably costs more than I used to make in three months at the shop, preparing to walk down the aisle in front of Miami's most powerful families to marry the man who kidnapped me, held me prisoner, and somehow managed to make me fall completely, irrevocably in love with him.

The dress is beautiful. Ivory silk that flows like water over my curves, with thin straps and a modest neckline that still manages to flatter my figure perfectly. I know Caesar is going to love it.

Jenny finishes sliding the last pin into my hair. “You look stunning,” she promises me, smiling over my shoulder. “And you better not ever disappear on me again.”

The first thing I did, after Caesar proposed to me again, was call my best friend and ask her to come over. Once she got over her initial shock at seeing the penthouse, Caesar made himself scarce while she and I talked for hours, and I filled her in on everything that happened.

It was a wild story, hearing myself tell it back. And I worried that she might not understand why I chose Caesar after everything. But Jenny, always the one to be wilder than me, decided he was perfect for me despite our rocky start. In fact, she was probably more forgiving of him than I was.

“You look stunning, bellissima.”

I turn to find Caesar standing in the doorway, already dressed in his black wedding suit.

My breath catches in my throat the way it always does when I see him.

Even now, even after everything we've been through, he still has the power to make my heart skip a beat.

His dark hair is perfectly styled, his blue eyes warm as they take me in, and that smile—the one that used to infuriate me and now makes me melt—spreads across his face.

"You're not supposed to see me before the ceremony," I tell him, but I'm smiling too. "Bad luck.”

He steps into the room, closing the distance between us with that swaggering confidence that first caught my attention in the garage all those months ago. "I don't believe in luck," he murmurs, his hands settling on my waist. "I believe in taking what I want and holding onto it."

“Oh.” Jenny takes a step back. “I’ll just… meet you two downstairs.”

"Is that what you're doing with me?" I murmur, tilting my head up to look at him as she closes the door behind her. "Taking what you want?"

His expression grows serious, one hand coming up to cup my cheek. "No, bellissima. You gave yourself to me. That's something entirely different."

He's right, and we both know it. The first time we got married, in that quick ceremony after I was attacked, I was doing it out of necessity.

For protection. For our baby. But this time—this time I'm choosing him.

Choosing us. Choosing the life we're building together, complicated and dangerous as it might be.

"Are you ready for this?" he asks softly. "Once we walk down that aisle, there's no going back. You'll be Mrs. Caesar Genovese in front of everyone who matters in this city. My wife. My partner. The mother of my heir."

I reach up and straighten his tie, even though it doesn't need it. "I've been ready since the night we stayed at my house,” I say softly. “I just couldn’t let myself believe it yet.”

He smiles, his gaze softening. "My stubborn, beautiful wife." He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to my lips, careful not to mess up my lipstick. "I love you, Bridget."

"I love you too," I whisper back, kissing him gently again.

Jenny’s voice comes through the door. “Bridget? One of those big, hot guys outside says that the car is here.”

I snort a laugh as Caesar smothers a chuckle, looking at me. "Ready, Mrs. Lewis-Genovese?"

I take a deep breath, my hand touching my stomach as I look up at him. "Ready."

The ceremony is being held in the ballroom of one of Miami's most exclusive hotels, one owned by Konstantin.

It's been transformed into something out of a fairy tale, with white roses and baby's breath everywhere, candles flickering in crystal holders, and enough security to protect a small country.

I can see Konstantin Abramov in the front row with Valentina next to him, looking pleased at last, and Tristan O'Malley beside him with his wife Simone.

Isabella is notably absent, which I'm grateful for.

But as I walk down the aisle toward Caesar, who split off from me for the ride over so we could do this all properly, he’s all I can see.

He's waiting for me at the arch, his hands clasped behind his back, his expression intense and focused entirely on me.

The way he's looking at me makes me feel like I'm the only person in the room, like I'm the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.

Like he sees me as perfect, even knowing all my flaws.

The ceremony itself passes in a blur. I hear myself saying the vows we wrote together, promising to love and honor and stand by each other through whatever comes.

I hear Caesar's voice, strong and sure, as he promises to protect me and our children, to never try to change who I am, to love me exactly as I am for the rest of our lives.

I feel him slide a new wedding band onto my finger—a stunning circle of diamonds that catches the light and throws rainbows across the white silk of my dress, along with my engagement ring.

And then Caesar is kissing me, and the room erupts in applause. But all I can focus on is the feel of his lips on mine, the way his hands frame my face, the way he whispers "mine" against my mouth so quietly that only I can hear it.

"Yours," I whisper back, and I mean it with every fiber of my being.

The reception is elegant and overwhelming, much like the gala we went to, and I try to enjoy it as best as I can despite how out of place I feel.

I smile and make small talk and accept congratulations, but part of me is counting down the minutes until we can be alone.

Until it's just us again, which is when I feel the happiest.

Caesar seems to sense my restlessness, because halfway through dinner he leans over and murmurs in my ear, "How would you feel about getting out of here?"

"What about your guests?" I glance around at the crowded ballroom.

"They'll survive without us," he says, his hand finding mine under the table. "Besides, I have something I want to show you."

There's something in his voice that makes me curious, a note of excitement that I don't often hear from him. "What kind of something?"

"You'll see." He stands and offers me his hand. "Trust me?"

I don't even hesitate. "Always."

We make our excuses to Konstantin and the other important guests, Caesar explaining that his pregnant wife needs rest. It's not entirely untrue—I am tired, and my feet are starting to ache despite my insistence on flat shoes—but I can tell there's more to it than that.

He's practically vibrating with anticipation as we make our way out of the hotel and into the waiting car.

"Where are we going?" I ask as the driver pulls away from the curb.

"Somewhere special," is all he says, but he's holding my hand tightly, his thumb tracing circles over my knuckles.

It's not until we turn onto the familiar road leading away from the city that I start to suspect where we're headed. And when the car pulls up in front of the garage, I feel tears prick at the corners of my eyes.

"Caesar," I breathe, staring out the window at my house, my shop, the place that will always be home to me.

"Come on," he says softly, helping me out of the car. "I want to show you something."

The first thing I notice is that the parking lot has been repaved.

The rough gravel has been replaced with smooth blacktop.

The exterior of the building has been painted, the faded blue siding now a crisp, clean white with navy blue trim.

New windows gleam in the afternoon sun, and there's a sign by the door that makes my heart skip a beat.

Lewis Automotive. Established in 1972.

“You kept my name,” I whisper, my voice thick with emotion. “My father’s name.”

“Your legacy is as important as mine,” Caesar says simply. “It’s your legacy and his. I wouldn’t take that away from you.”

He produces a key from his pocket and unlocks the office door, gesturing for me to go first. I step inside and gasp.

The office has been completely renovated, with new flooring, fresh paint, and a new computer and card reader system.

But it still feels like the same place where my father taught me to balance the books and deal with difficult customers.

There are pictures on the walls—some of the old ones of my father and me working on cars together, and some new ones of Caesar and me.

"How long have you been working on this?" I ask, running my fingers along the edge of the new desk.

"Since the day after we stayed here together," he admits. "I wanted you to have it no matter what. Even if you decided not to stay.”

I turn to face him fully, this man who kidnapped me and held me prisoner… and who has proved himself to be a better man than I could have ever imagined back then, despite all of that. "Caesar…"