Wedding day of Vitto Marchesi and Lydia Engkeranji
The morning continued to arrive with a quiet hum before bursting into a full-blown symphony of activity. Servants, decorators, and caterers moved about in a choreographed chaos, their voices blending with the clinking of glasses and the rustling of fine linens.A sharp knock echoed through Ethan's suite.
"How do you feel, boss? Can you wake up?" Luca's voice came from behind the door.
Ethan groaned, running a hand through his hair before dragging himself up. He opened the door to find Luca already dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, looking every bit the composed assistant he always was.
"We've got a few hours before the ceremony, are you sure you're up for this?" Luca asked him.
"Yeah, yeah." Ethan turned back into the room, heading for the shower.
The icy water shocked him awake, rinsing away the weight of last night's discoveries. By the time he stepped out, his mind was clear. He grabbed his aftershave, letting the familiar scent ground him, and reached for the suit his father had gifted him for the wedding. Then he froze.
The moment his fingers brushed the fabric, a small flurry of movement caught his eye. Clothes moths, dozens of them crawled over the suit, their tiny bodies burrowed into the fine material, rendering it completely ruined.
"Shit." Ethan flung the suit to the ground, his jaw tightening.
Luca stepped closer, immediately scanning the damage. "What the hell—?"
Ethan exhaled sharply. "Looks like I'm not wearing that today."
Luca frowned. "Do you think someone—"
"I don't know," Ethan muttered. He wasn't ruling anything out as he wasn't surprised, but now wasn't the time to overthink it.
"Get back to the plane. Find my other suit—the one with the same pattern. Bring it back here."
Luca hesitated but nodded. "On it."
Meanwhile, Ethan pulled on a simple black t-shirt and dark pants. As he stepped out of his room, the entire villa seemed to pause. Wedding planners, servers, and guests all turned to stare, their expressions ranging from confusion to quiet judgment. The best man unshaven, in casual clothes, looking like he just rolled out of bed was not what they expected. He ignored them.
Instead, he spent the morning helping set up the venue, lifting chairs, adjusting tables, ensuring the floral arrangements were in place. If people whispered, he didn't care. At some point, he found his foster parents, Bruno and Delilah Vescovi standing near the gardens.
He approached them, his expression softer than usual. "I need to tell you something."
Delilah's warm brown eyes locked onto his. "What is it, tesoro?"
Ethan hesitated for a moment before exhaling. "After today, I won't be able to visit as much. Not as often, not as easily."
Bruno's brows furrowed. "Because of the Marchesi?"
"Because of the danger." Ethan's voice was firm. "The more attached you are to me, the more at risk you 'll be. I can't protect you if I'm constantly looking over my shoulder."
Delilah's lips pressed together, but she nodded in understanding. "You're a good man, Ethan," Bruno said, clapping his shoulder. "We've always known that. No matter where you go, we'll always be here."
For a rare moment, Ethan let himself feel something beyond the weight of responsibility. He hugged them both, murmuring a quiet, "Thank you… for everything."
Afterward, Delilah excused herself to check on Lydia, his birth mother, while Bruno went to assist Vitto. Ethan wandered through the venue, making sure everything was coming together.
The setup was breathtaking, classic Italian elegance, a sea of white flowers lining the grand hall, soft candlelight creating a dreamlike glow.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered Ava once telling him to be kind to those often overlooked. With that thought, he made his way to the kitchen, offering to help however he could.
The chefs and servers were stiff at first, unsure of how to interact with someone of his status, but after a few minutes, the tension eased. Laughter replaced awkwardness, and by the time Luca returned, Ethan was leaning against the counter, casually listening to a story about one of the server's disastrous dates.
Luca's confusion was evident. "What the hell is going on here?"
Ethan smirked. "I'm making friends."
Luca gave him a skeptical look but handed him the suit. "Here. Almost identical to the one you lost, but… better."
Ethan examined the bespoke black ensemble. It was flawless. A perfect fit. "Good work."
With the ceremony fast approaching, Ethan changed into his suit before heading toward the groom's suite. Inside, Vitto Marchesi was adjusting his cufflinks, his face unreadable.
Vitto glanced at Ethan's suit and smirked. "I think your suit looks better than mine."
Ethan shrugged. "Want to switch?"
Vitto chuckled. "Relax, ragazzo. I'm just joking." Then, without warning, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box, flipping it open to reveal two wedding bands. "These are important," Vitto said, handing them to Ethan. "Keep them safe." Ethan pocketed them without hesitation.
The hall was already packed, every seat filled with high-profile guests from all corners of Italy. As the organ began to play, Ethan and Vitto walked side by side down the aisle toward the altar, where the priest awaited.
Ethan glanced at his father. For the first time, he noticed the tension in his usually unshakable frame. At the last second, Ethan patted his shoulder and smirked. "You know, if you want to bail, you're about 33 years too late."
Vitto let out a rare, genuine laugh, some of the tension melting from his shoulders. And with that, the ceremony began. The grand hall filled rapidly, the murmurs of guests blending with the elegant symphony playing in the background. Ethan adjusted the cuff of his tailored suit, his gaze sweeping over the ever-growing crowd. Tonight was not just another social gathering, it was a moment of legacy, a public affirmation of his place within the Marchesi family.
Just as he prepared to take his position beside his father as the best man, a soft yet urgent voice cut through the noise.
"Ethan."The soft voice of Delilah called out his name.
He turned to find her standing at the entrance of the hall. Her eyes, warm yet laced with concern, searched his. "Come quickly. It's your mother," she whispered. Without hesitation, Ethan followed.
When he entered the bridal suite, Lydia Engkeranji stood before the mirror in an elegant eggshell-colored gown, her veil draped over one arm. Her reflection revealed the glimmer of tears threatening to spill. She turned at the sound of his footsteps, offering a trembling smile.
"Did you get cold feet?" he asked lightly, trying to ease the tension.
She shook her head. "No. But I need to ask you something."
Ethan stepped closer, waiting.
"You are your father's best man," she began, her voice soft, "but would you also do me the honor of walking me down the aisle?"
For a moment, he said nothing. The weight of her words settled between them, mingled with the emotions he had yet to fully process. Then, a slow smile crossed his lips, and he nodded. "It would be my honor, Mother."
Lydia exhaled, relief washing over her. Delilah, who had been fussing over her makeup moments ago, sighed dramatically. "Now, don't ruin your mascara," she teased. Lydia laughed, linking her arm with Ethan's. Together, they stepped into the hall.
As they walked down the aisle, the guests stood in unison. The soft strains of the wedding march filled the air, the delicate notes weaving through the grand chandeliers and floral arrangements.
At the end of the aisle, Vitto Marchesi stood tall, waiting. His dark eyes, sharp with authority in most situations, softened as he watched his bride approach. The love in his gaze was undeniable.
Ethan led Lydia forward, their steps slow and deliberate. He could feel the weight of a hundred eyes on him, their whispers barely contained. The Marchesi heir, the long-lost son, now standing in the center of his birthright.
When they reached the altar, Ethan carefully lifted his mother's veil, revealing her teary but radiant face. He stepped aside, taking his place as best man, as his father took Lydia's hands into his own.
The priest's words rang through the hall, but Ethan barely registered them. He could sense the tension beneath the surface—some guests watching with approval, others with suspicion. The Marchesi empire was powerful, and not everyone was pleased about his return. But for now, the moment was pure.
"You may kiss the bride," the priest announced. As his parents sealed their vows with a kiss, applause erupted. Ethan clapped along, knowing this ceremony had sealed more than just a marriage. It had cemented his position as the first in line for the Marchesi legacy. And not everyone was happy about it.
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