The Wedding I Designed to Die For

I was with Marco, the New York Mafia heir, for seven years.

He never told his family about me.

But when I walked in on a wedding rehearsal and saw the groom embracing the bride-to-be. It was Marco!

"Her fiancé's held up in Italy. I'm just a stand-in," he told me, but his eyes never left her. "You're the best wedding planner in New York. This wedding has to be flawless."

But I saw something in his eyes I'd never seen before.

A possessiveness that bordered on resentment.

Isabella, the bride, hated every idea I had for her.

In the end, Marco told me to give her the wedding I'd spent five years designing for myself.

"Our wedding can wait. I'll give you something bigger, I promise. It's just a plan, Sophia. It's what you do. Giving it to a client should be easy, right?"

He didn't know. It wasn't just a plan. It was my dying wish.

In the end, I gave him what he wanted, quietly preparing to die.

Later, he went mad, kidnapping the world’s best doctors—risking a global manhunt—all to save me.

I was with Marco, the New York Mafia heir, for seven years.

He never told his family about me.

But when I walked in on a wedding rehearsal and saw the groom embracing the bride-to-be. It was Marco!

"Her fiancé's held up in Italy. I'm just a stand-in," he told me, but his eyes never left her. "You're the best wedding planner in New York. This wedding has to be flawless."

But I saw something in his eyes I'd never seen before.

A possessiveness that bordered on resentment.

Isabella, the bride, hated every idea I had for her.

In the end, Marco told me to give her the wedding I'd spent five years designing for myself.

"Our wedding can wait. I'll give you something bigger, I promise. It's just a plan, Sophia. It's what you do. Giving it to a client should be easy, right?"

He didn't know. It wasn't just a plan. It was my dying wish.

In the end, I gave him what he wanted, quietly preparing to die.

Later, he went mad, kidnapping the world’s best doctors—risking a global manhunt—all to save me.

...

“God, Sophia, this client is so picky,” my assistant Cathy grumbled next to me. “This is the tenth version! I hope we’re done today.”

“Easy, Cathy. The client’s satisfaction is our job. They’re here, let’s go.”

I walked towards the altar, folder in hand.

And I froze when I saw the couple.

"Is that...?"

Cathy cupped a hand over her mouth, whispering behind me.

"God, they're a gorgeous couple. No wonder she wants everything to be perfect. If I were marrying him, I'd want the wedding of the century."

They heard us.

"Sophia?"

The easy confidence on Marco's handsome face shattered.

A flash of panic crossed his eyes.

"What are you doing here? I thought you were busy today."

The accusation in his voice made my chest tighten.

I fought to stay professional.

But it felt like a fist was squeezing my heart, so tight I couldn’t breathe.

The woman beside him, the Mafia princess Isabella, dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief, her eyes already red-rimmed.

“I’m sorry,” she said to Marco. “I shouldn’t have asked you to pretend to be my groom. I should go. I’ve been too much trouble.”

Marco grabbed her wrist.

“Don’t worry about it. You deserve the best, and it’s my duty to be here with you.”

Then came the killing blow. “Sophia won’t mind.”

Only then did he turn to me.

"I knew you'd get the wrong idea. That's why I didn't tell you."

"This is Isabella. Her family and mine go way back. Her fiancé is stuck in Italy, but the deal between our families can't wait. I'm about his build, so I'm helping out."

My face was a stone mask as I stared at them.

Isabella stepped forward from behind him.

She was in a couture gown, like a white rose with thorns.

A single tear hung on her eyelash, as if she were drowning in guilt.

"I'm so sorry, Miss Sophia. I didn't know you two were together. Marco told me you were a very independent and understanding woman, otherwise I never would have asked…"

She dipped her head, her body trembling slightly.

I bit down on my lip, hard, until the metallic tang of blood filled my mouth.

Understanding. Right.

What kind of woman is "understanding" enough to loan out her boyfriend for a wedding rehearsal?

As I stood there in silence, Marco actually put a hand on Isabella's arm to steady her, his voice sharp with blame.

"What are you staring at her for? If you're going to blame someone, blame her irresponsible fiancé. An alliance this important and he doesn't even show. He leaves her waiting all alone. The guy's a real bastard."

That wasn't Marco.

The Marco I knew was always smooth, always classy.

He never lost his cool in front of people, especially not over someone else's business.

What bothered me more was the fleeting look of disappointment on his face.

And resentment.

As the top wedding planner in New York, I had to keep business and personal separate.

I watched them walk the aisle.

Again and again.

The rehearsal didn't end until Isabella finally had a satisfied smile on her face.

The stabbing pain in my chest grew sharper, and I had to lean against a pew, pressing hard against it.

Before he left, Marco was still barking orders.

"Isabella's family came to you because they trust you. You're the best planner in New York. This wedding has to be flawless."

His eyes never left Isabella in that wedding dress.

Of course, he didn't see how pale I'd become.