“Did you open it?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
She laughed once, without humor. “Your wedding has excellent flowers and terrible people.”
Something like pain moved through his expression.
“Nico?” he asked.
Lila nodded.
Dante closed his eyes briefly.
That frightened her more than anger would have. Rage would have been easy to understand. This was grief. Quiet, contained, old grief cracking open around a new blade.
“I raised him after his father died,” Dante said. “He was sixteen. Angry at the world. I thought giving him my name would save him.”
“Maybe he thought it buried him.”
Dante looked at her sharply.
Lila regretted the words at once. “I’m sorry.”
“No,” he said. “You may be right.”
She pushed the case closer. “Cancel the wedding.”
“I will.”
Relief loosened her shoulders.
Then he said, “At the altar.”
Lila stared. “That is the worst idea I have ever heard.”
His mouth curved faintly. “You’ve heard all my ideas?”
“I’ve heard enough if that’s your best one.”
“Their plan needs an audience. So does the truth.”
“You want a public confrontation.”
“I want witnesses.”
“She’ll blame me.”
“Yes.”
“You’re very calm about that.”
“I won’t let her ruin you.”
Lila wanted to believe him. The foolish part of her did. The wiser part stood back with crossed arms and waited for proof.
“I don’t need saving,” she said.
“No,” Dante replied. “You need protection while you save me.”
The words silenced her.
No one had ever put it that way before.
For years, Lila had survived by making herself useful enough not to be dismissed and quiet enough not to be punished. She had inherited her grandmother’s flower shop, along with its debts, its cracked tile floor, its leaking cooler, and its reputation for beauty no rich decorator could fake. She had swallowed insults from brides half her age and mothers twice as cruel. She had smiled when people called her “sweet” because they meant harmless.
Now a man feared by half the city stood in a service kitchen and looked at her as if she were the only honest person left in the building.
“What do you need me to do?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“No.”
Dante’s brow lifted.
“I’m already in this,” Lila said. “I found it. I opened it. I know what it means. You don’t get to put me back in the corner like another floral arrangement.”
For the first time, Dante truly smiled.
Small. Brief. Dangerous in a different way.
“Then stand where everyone can see you,” he said. “And when they lie, don’t let them make you small.”
The wedding morning came bright, cloudless, and cruel.
The estate looked impossibly beautiful. White roses climbed the arch like frozen waves. Forget-me-nots gleamed pale blue between them, tiny and stubborn. The aisle shimmered with petals. The river beyond the garden glittered in the June light. Guests arrived in silk, linen, diamonds, and guarded expressions.
Lila stood near the back, beside the stone urn where she had found the case.
Her black dress was plain. Her curls had already started escaping their pins. A thorn scratch marked the back of her hand. Compared to the women drifting past her in designer gowns, she looked exactly like what Vivienne would call her: the florist.
Good, Lila thought.
Let them underestimate the florist.
Dante stood at the altar in a black suit, motionless beneath the roses. Nico stood beside him as best man, smiling with the confidence of a man who believed the floor belonged to him. Vivienne waited at the far end of the aisle, glowing beneath a cathedral veil.
Everyone rose.
Vivienne walked slowly, beautifully, perfectly.
Lila watched Dante.
Not once did he look away from the woman coming toward him. Not once did his face show disgust, rage, or triumph. He looked like a man attending the burial of something he had once wanted to believe in.
The officiant spoke of trust.
Lila almost laughed.
Vivienne gave her vows first. Her voice trembled at the right moments. She spoke of Dante’s strength, his loneliness, the man beneath the legend. She promised to stand beside him when the world misunderstood him. Several guests dabbed their eyes.
Dante took her hands.
For the first time, Vivienne looked truly relaxed.
She thought she had won.
Dante began quietly.
“Vivienne, when I asked you to marry me, I believed loyalty could still be chosen.”
Her smile softened for the cameras.
“I believed,” he continued, “that love meant placing your future in another person’s hands and trusting they would not sharpen it into a weapon.”
Nico’s smile faded.
Vivienne’s fingers stiffened.
Dante released her hands.
The officiant stopped speaking.
A murmur moved through the garden.
“Dante?” Vivienne whispered.
He turned toward the guests.
“I invited you here today to witness a marriage,” he said. “Instead, you will witness the reason it cannot happen.”
The garden went silent.