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My father throws a wink over his shoulder as he all but drags Eric away from the party and I turn to face the beautiful young woman.
Chapter Three- Emma
“Lorenzo, but everyone calls me Enzo.” The dark-headed man introduces himself, a charming smile on his face.
“Emma,” I say. Enzo and I are the only two people left sitting at our table, the others are dispersed among the crowd. Even the old man has gotten up to mingle. The bride and groom have forgone most of the traditional pieces of a reception so the dance floor opens without a first dance and no one is making any speeches. Sitting at the head table, the two of them are uncomfortable in one another’s presence. They sit with stoic faces, neither one reaching out for the other. “Are you related to the groom?”
His smile falters, and his eyebrows pull together. I guess it is an odd question. Most of the people attending this wedding know each other well enough that they would know who is related to whom. I know Sal is the uncle of the groom, and I can only assume Enzo is Sal’s son since they look so much alike. I don’t want to make any assumptions.
“Yes, he’s my cousin.”
“Andrea, right?”
When I first read the invitation that had come in the mail, I had assumed the wedding was going to be between two women. My father had to explain to me his client came from an old-school Italian family and Andrea is a boy’s name in Italy.
“Yes, an unfortunate first name for an Italian-American man. My uncle insisted on it even when my father reminded him Andrea is a girl’s name in the States. He prefers to go by Andy,” Enzo tells me. He shakes his head and chuckles in amusement, an inside joke I’m not privy to.
“I can understand cultural differences,” I say, though I think I have to agree that it would have been better to consider the culture he's growing up in. I can only imagine what he went through in school.
“When I have a son, I’m going to name him Matteo. It’s a powerful name that pays tribute to our heritage, but it’s still masculine in the American sense. And, if for some reason, he wanted to blend in more with peers, he could always go by Matt."
I’ve never put much thought into what I’ll name my children. Any potential child for me is a long way off. I have several years of school I need to get through, and then find a man I can bring home without my father having a hernia. He'll probably only approve of someone who is so much like himself that I can't stand to be in the same room as them.
The amount of thought Enzo has put into naming his kids is sweet. Though my interactions with men are limited, none of the boys who I met that are my age have even considered children yet. It makes my heart flutter in my chest, beating harder than I’m used to. I pull my glass of water up to my lips to save myself from having to respond and ultimately make a fool of myself.
I’m going to have to learn how to talk to men if I have any chance of dating once I get into university. Enzo has said nothing flirty, and he has me flustered. It isn’t a good look for me.
The sun sets over the garden, and as beautiful as it is in the light, it transforms in the darkness. Twinkling fairy lights and low-lit lanterns illuminate the night, but it is the full moon providing most of the light. With the sun disappearing, the warm summer night becomes more bearable in my long-sleeved dress.
“I’d normally consider it rude to upstage the bride, but I don’t think you were trying to.”
It’s an empty compliment. The bride is easily one of the most stunning women I have ever seen in my life. Still, I preen under his attention. It’s a rush I wasn’t expecting. At a party full of beautiful women, he has turned his full attention onto me. He didn’t have to promise my father he would stay by my side until he returned from completing paperwork with Sal, but he chose to.
My tongue darts out to wet my suddenly parched lips. Enzo tracks the movements of my tongue and lips, his eyes dark with interest. I struggle to suppress the smile that threatens to overtake my face. With every moment, my father’s rules become a distant memory.
He must be sweating bullets trying to get through whatever task his client has for him. Who has a business deal that needs to be completed at a wedding?
“If I look half as beautiful as she does on my wedding day, I’ll be an incredibly lucky woman.” I hope my comment is neutral enough to discourage his flirting. The heat in his eyes doesn’t dissipate. His eyes devour me hungrily, his gaze penetrating the flimsily constructed walls I’ve tried to place between us. I feel naked before him. The hours I spent arguing with my father over this dress turned out to be pointless after all because Enzo makes me feel like I’m in nothing but lingerie.
“Dance with me,” he says. His eyes make a final perusal of my body before settling on my face. I recognize his words as a command, not a request. When my eyes seek the path our father’s left down, Enzo uses two fingers to tilt my chin back towards him. “They’ll be busy for a while.”
He stands up and offers me his hand. After a moment of hesitation, I slip mine into his. Without giving me time to second-guess my decision, Enzo is whisking me out onto the dance floor. I don’t have time to protest. My father’s rules are a distant memory as I find myself in the arms of a handsome stranger.
It’s almost laughable how easily I give in to Enzo after years of always listening to my father. I have never been one to challenge authority. It simply isn’t in my nature. The biggest complaint my teachers had about me in class was that I was too quiet. I didn’t take part in discussions, not wanting to voice my opinion in case it was wrong. I never tried to roll my skirts up to show off more leg, and I always did my homework on time. The ultimate goody-two-shoes. Yet when temptation takes such a handsome form, I can’t bring myself to say no.
I thought I was strong enough to withstand enticement, but I have never faced it quite like this.
I’m not a dancer. My school would occasionally host a coed dance with our local all-boys counterpart a town over. I would bounce along to the pop songs with my friends, retreating to the refreshments table whenever a slow song would come on. Occasionally, one of my friends would insist I dance with them. It would be an overdramatic farce of a slow dance, filled with giggling and exaggerated dips. Nothing like the way Enzo dances with me. He holds me close and we move in slow, sensual movements. My lack of coordination does nothing to deter him. He has enough grace for the both of us as he leads me.
“They can’t keep their eyes off you, tesorino,” he whispers into my ear. I’m so distracted by the feel of his hand on my lower back that I almost forget to respond.
“I don’t think I’m the one they’re staring at.”
“You will always be the center of attention.”
We’re surrounded by whispers. I can’t make most of them out, but the ones I can are speculating about me. I’m the outsider here. And he’s not. He’s someone important among these people, and he has chosen to dance with me among all the stunning women here tonight hasn’t slipped their attention. I’m sure this is the exact opposite of what my father would have wanted.
Guilt threatens to creep in, but I do my best to push it far from my mind. Despite knowing my father will be disappointed in me if he can see what’s happening, there’s something magical about the moment. I don’t want to regret the first time I danced with a man, especially not on a night like this.
