I Kissed His Brother at My Own Wedding

I opened my eyes slowly, genuinely confused. "What do you mean?"

Without warning, he snatched the bouquet out of Valentina's hands and threw it onto the back seat. The fresh petals scattered everywhere, filling the car with a faint fragrance that felt strangely out of place against the leather interior and the faint residue of his cologne.

"I really don't understand what game you're playing," he said, his voice growing colder. "Who are you trying to impress with this act?"

"I've already made it clear. Valentina is just a friend. I'm marrying you. What more do you want?"

Before I could respond, Valentina chimed in, her tone soft but pointed.

"Adriana, I don't mean to offend you, but as a woman, you really should be more generous," she said with a faint smile. "Yes, I like Dante, but you're the one he's marrying. What exactly are you worried about?"

"An alliance wedding is supposed to be a happy occasion for everyone, isn't it?" she continued, tilting her head slightly. "A little teasing during the reception is completely normal. And later, during the reception games, there might be more intimate moments, like kissing. You're not going to stop us, are you?"

I raised my eyelids and looked at her, a knowing expression flickering in my eyes.

"Of course," I replied calmly. "When it's time for the reception games, I'll leave with everyone else. You can do whatever you want."

There was no hesitation in my tone, no trace of sarcasm. Just simple acceptance.

It was obvious what Valentina was trying to do. She wanted to take Dante away from me, openly and without shame. The daughter of an allied capo, raised inside the Moretti circle since childhood, she had always treated that proximity as entitlement.

That was why she kept provoking me again and again. She wanted me to lose control, to get angry, so she could play the victim afterward.

And every time, she succeeded.

Because Dante's heart had always been on her side.

Whenever I reacted, he would accuse me of being jealous, petty, unreasonable. He would defend her without question, the way a man defends someone whose family name carries weight at every sit-down.

Thinking about it now, I couldn't help but find my past self ridiculous. All those arguments, all those tears. It felt like I had been fighting in some absurd war of attrition, competing for something that was never truly mine.

Valentina clearly didn't get the reaction she wanted from me this time. Her expression stiffened for a brief moment before she let out a cold, sarcastic laugh. Her tongue pressed once against her canine before her smile returned, sweet and practiced.

"Your mind is as filthy as ever," she said lightly. "Dante and I are completely innocent. Why do you always imagine things like that?"

"It's your wedding with him," she added, her tone turning sharper. "Do you really have to humiliate him like this?"

I let out a quiet laugh, my gaze turning cold.

"Who's humiliating who?" I shot back. "Does someone who knowingly plays the third wheel even have the right to speak?"

My voice wasn't loud, but every word was clear and sharp.

It wasn't about jealousy anymore. I wasn't fighting over Dante.

I just didn't want to keep lowering myself, didn't want to keep being trampled on like before.

Dante immediately seized on my words, as if finally finding proof of what he had been waiting for.

He let out a sigh, his expression filled with exaggerated frustration.

"Adriana, how long are you going to keep acting this childish?" he said. "If I didn't love you, would I have married you?"

In the past, I would have argued back without hesitation. I would have told him that marriage didn't equal love, that Valentina was manipulative, that he was blind to it all.

But now, I didn't feel like arguing anymore.

I simply turned my gaze forward, looking out at the road ahead. The convoy rolled through streets the Moretti name owned in everything but deed, and I let his words pass over me without response.

My silence seemed to irritate him even more than any argument ever had.

Finally, he lost his temper completely.

"Adriana!" he snapped, his voice rising. "What does your silence mean? Do you think I'm the one who's wrong?"

His thumb smoothed once across the face of his watch, a quick, controlled motion. The driver's eyes stayed fixed on the road, carefully seeing nothing.

I let out a soft, cold laugh and decided to play along with him.

"How could you possibly be wrong?" I said lightly. "It's me who judged you unfairly."

The words were the same as always, the familiar response I had repeated countless times before. But this time, my tone carried something different, something loose and almost mocking, as if I were speaking from a distance rather than from within the situation.