“I know, I know. I’m just so excited and happy for you!” She bounces a little, her heels clicking on the marble floor, and I can’t help smiling at her youthful enthusiasm.
I turn and look at my sisters, both of them startlingly gorgeous in pale blue, halter-style bridesmaid dresses. It’s a hue that equally complements Liv’s cornsilk blonde hair and Charlie’s deep golden shade, playing up their blue eyes, too.
“You two look like literal angels,” I say.
“Of course we do! It’s your fairy-tale wedding, Frankie.” Livvie clasps her hands together. “Just wait until you see what they’ve done outside.”
Charlie nods, her mood more subdued than Liv’s. “The decor is stunning. So classy.”
“I’m sure it is.” I take Livvie’s hand and give it a squeeze. “I can’t wait to see it.”
The lie is sour on my tongue. I’d prefer to never see it; to run as far and fast from this nightmare as I can. Livvie starts primping my dress, nitpicking over this and that.
“It’s just so dreamy. Your groom looks like a model, I swear! You could have done worse, Frankie, that’s for sure. He’s left no detail out. Just wait, you’ll see. This dress is fantastic. Italian lace and French silk.”
Normally I enjoy my youngest sister’s banter, but right now, every word is rubbing me wrong. I don’t care how good Dante looks, or about the details. Each second that ticks by brings me closer to becoming someone I don’t want to be.
I don’t want to be a Bellanti and I sure as hell don’t want to be Dante Bellanti’s wife.
My chest swells with a stifling breath. Suddenly my dress is too tight and my lungs can’t fill. I’m trapped inside lace and silk. I feel like I’m going to pass out. Oh, God.
The swish of Charlie’s dress is loud in my ears as she hurries over to me and puts her hands on my shoulders, steadying me.
“All right, Livvie,” she says over her shoulder. “Time for you to scoot. I need to have a quick chat with Frankie…alone.”
Livvie steps back and looks between us, a sly smile pulling her lips. “Okay, okay, I get it.” She nods knowingly, then gives me an amused look. “I figured you’d know all about sexing up a man by now, sis, but you do you.”
She winks and saunters out the door.
Charlie bursts out laughing as soon as the door closes. “She thinks I’m going to have the sex talk with you.”
“You’re not, though, right? Because I’m good.”
Charlie takes my hand and threads her fingers through mine. The touch grounds me as little flames of panic dance inside me.
“Just take a breath, Frankie. In and out. There you go…in and out.”
Tears sting my eyes. “He’s awful. How am I supposed to actually go through with this?” My voice cracks and I turn away with a wave of my hand.
“No, no, no. You’ll ruin your makeup. Frankie, justbreeeeathe.”
Charlie grabs a box of tissues and puts one in my hand before pulling me to the sofa and guiding me to sit. Somehow, I manage to force down my tears, but the panic is slower to give up. Sinking down beside me, Charlie takes my hand again.
“Listen. I’m going to explain the rules of being a wife to a man with mafia ties.”
Mafia wife. Me. Oh my God.
Swallowing hard, I look at our hands and nod. Attempting to speak will just force the sobs out, and once I break down, I know I won’t be able to pull myself back together.
“The main thing to remember is that all Dante expects from you is to look pretty on his arm and warm his bed. Aside from those two things, your interactions with him will be limited. Trust me when I say he won’t want you involved in any other aspects of his life. I know that sounds harsh, and it is, a little bit. But that’s the reality of what you’re getting into. Sex. Look pretty. Keep quiet. Raise the kids, if and when. That’s it.”
She’s doing a shit job of making me feel better. “How is that any kind of life?” I ask.
“Your life is still your own. Even if he has rules and demands, it’s not like he’s going to be home breathing down your neck all the time. You still get to do you, you just have to be clever about it. Keep it low key. Okay?”
I nod. Maybe she has a point. What Dante doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
Charlie goes on, “Never ask about his business, what he’s doing, or where he’s been. Don’t stick your nose into anything. Let him take care of shit. And if he says he’s going to handle a problem, just trust that he will and don’t ask how. Never, ever ask how.”
