The morning of the wedding arrived with unseasonable rain and Lucia's complete inability to eat breakfast.
"You need sustenance," Teodora insisted, wielding a piece of toast like a weapon. "You'll faint during the ceremony."
"I've never fainted in my life. I'm not about to start because of some symbolic vows." But Lucia accepted the toast anyway, managing a few bites before her stomach protested.
The dress was beautiful—she could admit that much. Ivory silk with delicate embroidery at the hem and sleeves, elegant without being ostentatious. The modiste had outdone herself, creating something that looked expensive without screaming desperation.
"Hair?" Teodora prompted.
Lucia sat while her sister recreated the Parisian hairdresser's work—the soft coil with braided sections, the deliberately loosened strands. It had taken Teodora three practice attempts over the past two days to master the technique, accompanied by detailed note-taking that Lucia found both touching and absurd.
"There." Teodora stepped back, surveying her work with satisfaction. "Perfect. Now the dress."
Getting into the dress required assistance, strategic breathing, and several moments of panic when Lucia's elbow caught in a sleeve. But finally, she stood fully dressed, regarding herself in the mirror with a combination of surprise and resignation.
She looked... bridal. Actually, genuinely bridal.
"I barely recognize myself," she murmured.
"That's not a bad thing." Teodora handed her the pearl necklace—the same one she'd forced on Lucia during that first meeting with the Ferrettis. "You're allowed to look beautiful on your wedding day. Even in a business arrangement."
"It feels dishonest. As though I'm advertising something I'm not."
"You're not advertising anything. You're simply allowing yourself to be seen." Teodora squeezed her hand. "Alessandro already knows who you are—the competent, occasionally terrifying estate manager who identified his embezzling steward. This is just... the same person, slightly better presented."
Lucia took a breath, then another. "What if I'm making a terrible mistake?"
"Then you'll manage it competently, just like everything else you do." But Teodora's expression softened. "Though I don't think you are. I've seen how he looks at you."
"With respect for my accounting skills?"
"With something considerably more interesting than respect for your accounting skills." Teodora smiled. "Now come. Your business arrangement awaits."
***
The ceremony was held at the Ferretti family chapel. A small, elegant space that smelled of incense and old stone. Lucia had argued for something even simpler, but Alessandro's stepmother had threatened apoplexy, and they'd compromised on modest elegance.
A handful of guests filled the pews: Giorgio and Bianca, the Dowager Countess looking perpetually dissatisfied, Teodora and her husband, a few business associates of Alessandro's, and Signora Benedetti, who'd been invited on Lucia's insistence despite the Dowager Countess's objections.
"She'll be part of our household," Lucia had argued. "She should witness the beginning of it."
Alessandro had agreed immediately, which had earned them both a lecture on propriety that they'd endured with matching expressions of polite disinterest.
Now, standing at the back of the chapel while the priest droned through preliminaries, Lucia felt her heart attempting to escape her chest through sheer velocity.
"Breathe," Teodora whispered. "You've negotiated contracts worth thousands of lire. This is just another contract."
"One that lasts until death."
"Details."
Then the music shifted, and Teodora was gently pushing her forward, and Lucia found herself walking down the aisle with measured steps, her eyes fixed on the altar.
Where Alessandro stood waiting.
He wore dark blue rather than black, a choice that complemented his light brown hair and made his eyes seem more amber than brown in the chapel's candlelight. His expression was serious, but when he saw her, something shifted. His eyes widened fractionally, and his mouth curved into a smile that seemed involuntary.
Lucia felt answering warmth bloom in her chest and firmly suppressed it.
Business arrangement. Clear terms. No expectations beyond mutual respect and estate management.
She repeated it like a prayer as she reached the altar.
"You look..." Alessandro began quietly, then stopped. "I should have prepared something eloquent to say."
"You look adequately presentable yourself," Lucia whispered back.
His smile widened. "Adequately presentable. That's the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me."
"I wasn't attempting romance."
"I know. That's what makes it perfect."
The priest cleared his throat pointedly, and they both turned to face him, but Lucia caught the slight tremor in Alessandro's hand as he took hers.
Nerves? Or something else?
The ceremony proceeded with traditional solemnity. Lucia made her vows clearly, her voice steady despite her racing pulse. Alessandro's responses were equally composed, though she noticed his thumb brushing against her hand—a small, possibly unconscious gesture that sent warmth up her arm.
When the priest pronounced them married, Alessandro leaned in to kiss her—a brief, chaste press of lips that was entirely appropriate for a business arrangement.
Except his hand came up to cup her jaw, gentle and intentional, and the kiss lasted just slightly longer than necessary.
When he pulled back, his eyes held something that definitely wasn't business-like.
"Countess Ferretti," he murmured.
"Count Ferretti," she managed, proud that her voice didn't waver.
The chapel erupted in polite applause, mostly from Bianca, who seemed inordinately pleased by the proceedings. Then they were being ushered outside into rain that had mercifully stopped, leaving everything smelling of wet stone and possibility.
***
The wedding breakfast was held at the Ferretti townhouse, with approximately thirty guests that Lucia didn't remember agreeing to invite.
"My stepmother's doing," Alessandro murmured as they entered the crowded dining room. "She decided that even a modest wedding required 'appropriate society representation.'"
"Meaning people who can gossip about us effectively?"
"Precisely." He offered his arm. "Shall we be gossiped about together?"
They made their way through the crowd, accepting congratulations with matching polite smiles. Lucia found the attention exhausting. Everyone wanted to comment on her dress, her hair, her transformation from wallflower to countess.
"You must be so happy," one elderly woman gushed. "Such a love match!"
"Actually," Lucia began, "it's more of a—"
"Partnership," Alessandro interrupted smoothly. "Based on mutual respect and shared goals. Which is far more durable than mere infatuation, wouldn't you say?"
The woman looked confused but nodded uncertainly.
After she departed, Lucia glanced at Alessandro. "Thank you. Though I could have handled that."
"I know. But we should probably maintain some pretense of conventional romance. For their comfort, if not ours." He lowered his voice. "Though between us, I prefer your honesty."
"Careful. Compliments weren't in the contract."
"Consider them a bonus clause." His eyes held amusement. "Besides, I'm simply being truthful. You do realize you've been the topic of conversation all morning?"
"Because I married above my station?"
"Because you married looking like that and everyone's recalibrating their previous assessment of you." Alessandro's gaze traveled over her face with unsettling intensity. "The severe spinster has been replaced by someone who looks rather... striking."
Lucia felt heat creep up her neck. "It's just better presentation. Nothing's actually changed."
"I know." His voice dropped lower. "That's what I find most compelling."
Before she could formulate a response that didn't reveal entirely too much, Bianca appeared with champagne and mischief.
"Stop hiding in the corner like you're planning a hostile takeover," she announced. "You're supposed to mingle. Dance. Pretend you didn't marry for estate management purposes."
"We're not hiding," Alessandro protested. "We're strategically observing."
"You're being antisocial at your own wedding." Bianca pressed champagne glasses into their hands. "At least make an effort to look besotted. For the gossips."
"I don't do besotted," Lucia said.
"Neither does Alessandro. Which is why you're perfect for each other." Bianca grinned. "Though I notice you keep looking at each other when you think the other isn't watching. That's rather besotted adjacent."
"That's strategic awareness," Alessandro corrected. "We're business partners. We need to maintain situational consciousness."
"Is that what you're calling it?" Bianca's expression suggested she believed nothing of the sort. "Well, your 'situational consciousness' is about to be tested. Mother's headed this way, and she has opinions about your first dance."
"First dance?" Lucia felt alarm spike. "We never discussed dancing."
"It's traditional," Alessandro said apologetically. "Though if you'd rather not—"
"Don't be ridiculous. You'll dance." The Dowager Countess materialized beside them with the inevitability of taxes. "People are expecting it. The musicians are prepared. You simply need to not embarrass the family."
"What an inspiring mandate," Lucia murmured.
Alessandro's mouth twitched. "Shall we not embarrass the family together, wife?"
The word—wife—sent an unexpected jolt through her. "I suppose we must, husband."
He led her to the cleared space that had apparently been designated for dancing, and the musicians began something appropriately elegant and romantic. Alessandro's hand settled at her waist, and she placed hers on his shoulder, hyperaware of the warmth of him even through layers of fabric.
"I should warn you," she said quietly as they began moving, "I'm a mediocre dancer at best. Adequate for avoiding disgrace, insufficient for inspiring admiration."
"Then we're well-matched. I spent most of my youth avoiding dancing instruction to study shipping manifests." He guided her through a turn with surprising competence. "Though I seem to remember the basics."
"More than basics. You're actually quite good."
"Don't sound so surprised. I contain multitudes." His eyes held amusement. "Though I'll confess—this is considerably more pleasant than I anticipated."
"Dancing?"
"Dancing with you." His hand tightened fractionally at her waist. "You fit rather well against me."
Lucia's breath caught. "That's... an observation."
"An accurate one." He pulled her marginally closer, still appropriate, but just barely. "You know what else I've observed?"
"I'm certain you're about to tell me."
"You've been avoiding looking directly at me all morning. Why?"
Because looking at him, really looking, made her chest feel tight and her carefully constructed boundaries seem increasingly inadequate. "I'm not avoiding anything. I'm simply focused on not stepping on your feet."
"Liar." But his tone was fond. "You're the most direct person I've ever met. Yet you won't meet my eyes."
"Perhaps I'm overwhelmed by the occasion."
"You negotiated our marriage contract without flinching. You interviewed our new steward with complete composure. You dismissed candidates twice your age without hesitation." Alessandro's voice was soft, private despite the crowd around them. "But you can't look at me on our wedding day. That's interesting."
"It's not interesting. It's merely—" She made the mistake of glancing up, meeting his gaze directly.
His eyes were warm, intent, and entirely too perceptive.
"Merely what?" he prompted.
"Complicated," she admitted quietly.
"Good." His smile was slow, genuine. "I'd hate for this to be simple. Simple is boring."
"We agreed on a business arrangement."
"We did. But we never specified that the business couldn't be enjoyable." He guided her through another turn. "I'm finding it quite enjoyable so far. Aren't you?"
Lucia wanted to deflect, to retreat behind competence and practicality. Instead, she heard herself say, "Alarmingly so."
Alessandro's expression went warm, pleased and slightly surprised. "Then perhaps we're both in trouble."
"Probably."
"Definitely." But he was smiling. "Though if we're going to be in trouble, at least we're in it together."
The music swelled toward its conclusion, and Alessandro pulled her into a final turn that brought them close enough that she could see the lighter flecks in his amber eyes, the precise place where silver threaded through his light brown hair.
"Thank you," he said quietly as the music ended and polite applause began.
"For what?"
"For agreeing to this. You didn't run when you confronted my family. For being exactly who you are." He hesitated. "And for looking beautiful on our wedding day, even though you didn't have to."
"I didn't do it for you," Lucia said automatically.
"I know. That's what makes it meaningful." He released her reluctantly as other guests moved to claim the dance floor. "Though between us, I'm grateful anyway."
Before Lucia could respond, Giorgio appeared to claim Alessandro for introductions to business associates, and Teodora materialized to pull Lucia aside.
"That looked rather intense for a business arrangement," her sister observed.
"We were simply dancing."
"You were gazing at each other like you were solving differential equations together and finding it arousing."
"Teodora!"
"What? I'm not judging. If you want to find estate management arousing, that's your business." But Teodora was grinning. "But I will say—that man looks at you like you're the most fascinating person he's ever met. Which, for Alessandro Ferretti, is probably more romantic than poetry."
Lucia glanced across the room to where Alessandro stood listening to a merchant explain something with elaborate hand gestures. As though sensing her attention, he looked up, caught her eye, and smiled, small and private, meant only for her.
Her heart did something acrobatic.
"This is becoming complicated," she murmured.
"Good," Teodora said firmly. "You deserve complicated. Simple would bore you to death within a month."
***
The rest of the breakfast passed in a haze of conversations Lucia only half-heard and food she barely tasted. She was hyperaware of Alessandro across the room; the way he moved, the cadence of his laugh, the exact moment when his attention would shift back to her.
Finally, mercifully, the guests began departing. The Dowager Countess left with pointed comments about propriety and appropriate behavior. Giorgio departed with genuine warmth and whispered advice to Alessandro that made him laugh and shake his head. Bianca hugged Lucia with surprising fierceness.
"Take care of him," she whispered. "He's been alone too long."
"We're business partners," Lucia protested weakly.
"If you say so." But Bianca's expression suggested she saw right through that particular fiction. "I'll mention that I've never seen him this happy. Whatever you're doing, keep doing it."
After everyone left, Lucia found herself alone with Alessandro in the suddenly quiet townhouse. Their things had already been sent ahead to Verona. They'd leave tomorrow morning, beginning their new life as Count and Countess Ferretti.
"Well," Alessandro said, loosening his cravat with visible relief. "We survived."
"Did you doubt we would?"
"I doubted my ability to refrain from saying something inappropriate to my stepmother." He moved closer, studying her with that unsettling intensity again. "You were remarkable today."
"I stood beside you and made vows. That's hardly remarkable."
"You charmed guests who came prepared to judge you. You made my uncle laugh. You even won over Signora Benedetti, which is no small feat—she's notoriously difficult to impress." Alessandro reached up, tucked one of the loosened strands of her hair behind her ear. "And you looked beautiful doing it."
His fingers lingered against her jaw, and Lucia's breath caught.
"Alessandro—"
"I know. Business arrangement. Clear boundaries." But he didn't move away. "Though I think we should discuss those boundaries. Clarify what we agreed to."
"We agreed to separate bedrooms, separate finances, mutual respect—"
"And we never specified whether affection was prohibited." His thumb brushed her cheek. "Did we?"
Lucia's heart was attempting escape again. "We... didn't explicitly forbid it."
"Then perhaps we should consider an amendment." His voice was soft. "One that allows for the possibility that this arrangement might evolve into something more complicated than we initially planned."
"That wasn't the agreement."
"I know." He smiled slightly. "But agreements can be renegotiated. If both parties are amenable."
Lucia knew she should step back, maintain the careful distance they'd established. Instead, she found herself asking, "And are you? Amenable?"
"Extremely." His hand moved to cup her face properly. "Though I won't pressure you. If you want strictly business, I'll respect that. But if you're open to the possibility of something more..."
He left the sentence unfinished, a question hanging between them.
Lucia looked at him, and saw uncertainty beneath the confidence. He was offering her something, but carefully, prepared for rejection.
"I'm open," she heard herself say. "To possibilities. Evolution. Complications."
His smile was brilliant, transforming his entire face. "Thank God. Because I've been trying to maintain appropriate professional distance all day, and it's been remarkably difficult."
"Has it?"
"You have no idea." He leaned closer, his breath warm against her cheek. "May I kiss you properly? Not as performance for guests, but because I've been wanting to since you walked into my study three weeks ago and analyzed my expense reports."
"That's a very specific point of attraction."
"I'm a very specific person." His eyes searched hers. "So? May I?"
Lucia answered by closing the remaining distance between them.
This kiss was nothing like the chaste press of lips at the altar. This was intentional, exploratory, his mouth moving against hers with careful intensity. His hands framed her face while hers found his shoulders, and when he deepened the kiss, she made a sound that was definitely not professional.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing harder, Alessandro rested his forehead against hers.
"Well," he said unevenly. "That was considerably more than adequate."
Lucia laughed, surprised and breathless. "High praise."
"I'm not usually rendered incoherent by kissing. You're having a disturbing effect on my vocabulary." He pulled back enough to meet her eyes. "Though I should clarify, I'm not expecting... That is, separate bedrooms was part of our agreement. I'm not assuming—"
"Alessandro. Breathe." She touched his face, feeling stubble beneath her palm. "I appreciate the clarification. But I think... perhaps we could take this as it comes? No expectations beyond seeing where this leads?"
"Where this leads," he repeated, like he was testing the words. "I can work with that."
"Good." She smiled. "Though I maintain that the primary purpose of this marriage is still estate management."
"Obviously. I wouldn't dream of suggesting otherwise." But his eyes were warm with amusement. "But perhaps estate management could occasionally include... intermissions?"
"Intermissions?"
"Breaks for activities not directly related to olive cultivation or tenant relations." He kissed her again, brief and sweet. "Such as this."
"That seems... reasonable." Lucia felt herself smiling. "In the interest of maintaining partnership morale."
"Exactly. Partnership morale is crucial." He grinned. "I knew you'd approach this logically."
"Someone has to. You're clearly too overcome with emotion to think straight."
"I'm overcome with you. There's a difference." He caught her hand, threading their fingers together. "Come on. I'll show you to your room. We should rest before tomorrow's journey."
"My room?" Lucia raised an eyebrow. "Not our room?"
"I meant what I said—no expectations. You get your own space, your own sanctuary." Alessandro led her toward the stairs. "But I confess I'm hoping you'll occasionally knock on the connecting door."
"There's a connecting door?"
"Between our bedrooms. Uncle Giorgio insisted, said it was traditional." Alessandro glanced back at her, his expression both hopeful and uncertain. "But you're under no obligation to use it."
Lucia squeezed his hand. "We'll see how the partnership morale develops."
His answering smile was bright enough to rival the afternoon sun streaming through the windows.
As they climbed the stairs together—husband and wife, business partners, and possibly something more complicated than either had planned—Lucia found herself thinking that perhaps Teodora had been right.
Simple would have bored her to death.
Complicated, on the other hand, might be exactly what she needed.