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I swallowed hard, nodding.
His stare drilled into me, delivering a threat that shot into my heart. Why did he want to rush the wedding? Was he hiding something? But then his lips fell on mine, softer than goose down, and the questions vanished.
TWENTY-NINE
VIOLET
The next day, I threw myself into wedding planning.
Achille and his mom hired an event manager, but he needed my approval on florals, the seating chart, the menu. Did I want an ice sculpture of our initials? No. Where would we have the rehearsal dinner? Somewhere with Southern food. Would I like a videographer? Yes.
And to top it off, my future mother-in-law couldn’t stop piling on more work. She insisted on teaching me how to cook Achille’s favorites. I barely had time to sit. I moved my things into Achille’s bedroom and didn’t fuss when he called me Bumpkin. It sounded like pumpkin, which was cute, and I liked the way it rolled off his tongue.
When he could, he whisked me off on dates, showered me with flowers, and showed me off like I was a prize. At night, Lord, the man had ways to make a woman forget her own name. My happily-ever-after was just around the bend. But he clung to me something fierce, like I’d slip away if he blinked too long.
And when I went outside, bodyguards followed me everywhere. Two giant men who stuck to me like oatmeal on a cast-iron pan. Achille explained it was a necessary security measure.
Was it? Or was he preventing me from running?
Trust was as scarce as a cool day in August.
I stood in a small boutique, nursing a champagne flute. Achille’s sisters sat on a sleek white leather couch. His youngest sister, Elena, a sweet-tempered girl in a simple black dress, lounged beside Sabrina, all decked out in a glam outfit. Sabrina’s manicured talons tapped her glass.
I held out an A-line dress. “This one’s beautiful.”
Elena beamed. “Oh, I like it, too!”
Sabrina made an unenthusiastic sound, sending a ripple of heat through me. All day, she’d been snippy.
“I forgot to mention. I’m hosting Sunday dinner this weekend,” said Elena, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s a tradition with our family. I’m hoping you and Jack will be there.”
The thought of yet another appointment tightened the vise around my throat, but I smiled.
“I’ll have to check the calendar, but that sounds lovely.”
Sabrina glanced at me. “We take turns hosting. You good with that?”
“Sure, I did that in back home. My cousins and I would swap weekends. Everybody would come over. I’d cook fried catfish, corn, sugar snap peas, buttermilk biscuits.”
“You should learn some Italian dishes,” drawled Sabrina. “Nobody in our family will eat that.”
Warmth flared up my neck. “Your nephew does.”
Sabrina’s lip curled, but Elena jabbed her arm. “Hey, there’s no need for that tone. Violet’s cooking is wonderful. It’ll be a refreshing change.”
“Speaking of, I hope you’re prepared for the scrutiny that comes with being part of the Family. You have to be aware of how you carry yourself in our circles.” Sabrina’s gaze drilled into me, but I kept quiet. “Look, I’ve seen many girls come and go in the Family. Some believe they can waltz in and everything will adjust for them. They don’t understand the weight of our customs.”
My hackles rose. “I’m not getting rid of them. I’m just being myself within them.”
“That might not be enough,” Sabrina shot. “You think chicken and dumplings will help you fit in?”
Elena rolled her eyes. “Lighten up, Brina.”
Sabrina glowered. “Sunday dinner isn’t a casual get-together. We discuss business. It’s serious, and when have our grandparents had anything that’s not Italian?”
I didn’t know who to trust. I felt like I’d stepped into shoes too big to fill. Back home, family dinners were about who baked the best pie or which cousin caught the biggest fish.
“Respectin’ traditions goes both ways,” I growled. “I’m all for learnin’, but that don’t mean I gotta give up the food I grew up on. It’s who I am.”
