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“You better stop, unless you want to spoil the honeymoon.”
“You know,” I begin, sliding back a little more to take his cock in my hand and stroke it, “we had a wedding rehearsal. Why does nobody ever talk about the honeymoon rehearsal?”
“Finally,” Salvatore breathes, head falling back into the pillows, “a tradition I can get behind.”
I was once too scared to be on top of him, but once he showed me how to move, how to not hurt him, I marvel at being in control of this huge, powerful man. I pin him down the way he sometimes pins me, my hands around his thick wrists, my legs spread around his cock, hips rolling.
I ride him to exhaustion, until I can physically no longer manage it, and Salvatore flips me under him. I expect him to take charge, to finish us off in a hungering blitz, a crash of pleasure. We move together, fucking deep and slow in a way that blows my mind. I cling to him, gasping and aching, as he whispers sweet, soft confessions against my ear.
“I love you. I love you. I love you.”
With slow, relentless lovemaking, Salvatore rolls my orgasm one into the other, in a way he has never done before, until I am a sobbing mess of pleasure, pushed to the brink, soaked and collapsing into his arms.
I wake with the sunrise, exhausted and sweetly sore.
Salvatore is already gone.
The next time I see him will be at the altar.
Within five hours, I am squeezed into my wedding dress. It is the closest to the real princess treatment I have ever come, being tended to by a handful of women, most of them older than myself, when a familiar face appears in the mirror behind me. I think, for a second, that I’m hallucinating. I turn around and find Kaydence on the verge of tears, looking me up and down in my dress. She’s in a glossy pastel bridesmaid dress, perfectly matched to the color scheme of the wedding. Our hug is so enthusiastic, some of the women fret over the dress and veil, worried we might rip the intricate lace.
“How did you get here? Kay, how did you get here?” I ask, over and over, so bewildered and overwhelmed, clutching her face as if she isn’t real. There’s no way Salvatore would do this twice—is there?
“Same way you did,” she sighs, throwing up her hands. “Kidnapped.”
“What?”
“Mafia finally kicked my damn door down in the middle of the night.”
I hadn’t heard anything about this.
“Marcel let himself into my place last night. I was almost asleep. I may have tried to beat his ass with a tennis racket before I knew what was going on, but it didn’t do much. Once I stopped trying to murder him, he told me it was your wedding today, and that you wanted me here as a Maid of Honor.”
She shows me a little scrap of paper with my own handwriting. I recognize it, a piece torn off from that silly list of demands I gave Salvatore so long ago. I’m mystified. I didn’t know anyone still had this.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, Kay. That must have been terrifying. I had no idea they were going to—”
She gestures to herself up and down.
“Girl, I got late night takeout, a designer dress, and, more importantly, I got to see you on the most important day of your life. As far as I’m concerned, hot dudes from the mob can have an open-door policy to my apartment if they want it.”
“Oh, great—”
“I’m telling you, this man had me in hair salons and clothing boutiques in the dead of night. He would just call around places, and they would open for him. It was insane.”
“…Do you really want to be here, though? You were trying to convince me I was crazy the last time we spoke.”
“I know.” Her expression dims slightly, as she works up something to say. “About that day…”
I cut her off with a soft clearing of my throat. There are too many people around, too many unsympathetic ears. I shake my head. As far as I’m concerned, Kay should never mention that day again. For her own sake. She takes the hint.
“I was under constant supervision until about five minutes ago. Marcel had a lot of time to convince me that you really did choose this. I don’t know if I approve, but…” she shrugs, “hell, I have impossible standards anyway. I was always doomed to hate anybody who thought they were good enough for you. As long as you want it, that’s what matters to me.”
Kay being here is the final touch on the day that makes it perfect. We get dangerously close to ruining my make up with tears of happiness, and emergency tissues are deployed to be dabbed at the corners of my eyes, until I am laughing again.
The ceremony arrives, music filling the chamber. There is only one thing left to do. I fix a glittering tiara upon my head, as is the tradition, and face myself in the mirror one last time as a mafia princess. After this, the title won’t be mine anymore. I will be the wife of a don. I latch the Mori family necklace around my neck.
So many eyes fall upon me as I make the long walk, camera shutters clicking and music rising. I stare past the crowd, meeting Salvatore’s gaze as he waits at the altar.
