There’s a pause from our guests before someone in the back starts to clap, and then all of them do, followed by cheers and whistles and I swear that I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life. My legs quiver, my hands shake. Dante takes my arm and loops it through his with an amused sidelong glance. He looks at me again, and he must notice the heat in my flaming cheeks, because for the first time all day he smiles.
“Ah, there’s my blushing bride.”
Livvie coos with delight behind me, clapping furiously. She still believes I agreed to this marriage willingly, and I’m glad for it. Let her enjoy the day. At least one of us can.
The unfamiliar weight on my finger prompts me to look down at the rings situated there. The wedding band is eternity style, set all around with small sparkling diamonds; the engagement ring sports a huge, flawless, emerald cut diamond surrounded by sapphires. Funny to get my engagement ring during the wedding. I wonder if Jessica chose the rings, too?
There’s a slight tug on my arm as Dante leads me out of the pavilion and down the aisle. I catch the eyes landing on me as I pass. Friends. Neighbors. Business acquaintances.
My mother.
She’s frowning beneath the brim of her egregious hat and I can’t tell if it’s from displeasure or something else. Not that it matters.
I lift my chin as I walk by, straightening my spine. I won’t falter in front of her, or anyone else. My mother might be a quitter, but I’m not.
I won’t walk away from my responsibilities. I won’t fail. I’ll make the best of my life and whatever comes next.
Delores Alvarez is two rows down. Her eyes track me as I approach. They’re sad, worried. Her smile tight. My resolve wavers, because I actually care what she thinks. But I’ll never show it. Never.
Steeling myself, I smile—no, I beam—as I glide past. It doesn’t matter what happens the rest of the day, or what anyone thinks. I have to get through this.
I’m a Bellanti now, and come hell or high water, I’m determined to finish out my wedding as the picture of a perfect bride.
8
Frankie
The reception is heldin a side courtyard created just for the occasion. The vineyard stretches out behind us in gradient shades of green that glimmer in the late afternoon sun. Everything is pure perfection. The tables are decorated with topiaries of greenery and golden edged geometric holders sporting flickering candles.
It’s beautiful, of course.
Expensive blue and gold carpets act as runners over the ground and between the tables, while cast iron poles hold lanterns with fairy lights wrapped around their length. Waitstaff move easily through the guests, offering drinks and setting out trays of hors d’oeuvres. Dante leads me to the head table, but we’re stopped every few seconds by well-wishers, most of whom I block out because my brain hasn’t yet caught up with the reality of the situation.
The reality that this has actually happened.
My lips still feel bruised from the kiss and I’m not sure the heated blush will ever fade from my cheeks. Dante guides me to my seat in the center of the table and brushes my hand off his arm as he moves away to speak to someone. Carefully arranging my skirt and train, I sink into my seat and reach for the flute of champagne waiting for me. The ring on my hand glitters as I grab the drink. I don’t look at it…much. It’s big and, well, big. Huh.
With the soft blue sapphire halo, the ring is actually really pretty, which surprises me. No sense in overthinking who chose it or why. I’m the wife of a mob boss. Of course my wedding ring is unique. It’s all part of the show.
A flutter of fabric grabs my attention as I sip from the flute. Jessica walks past the table, giving me the barest glance as she beelines for Dante. She’s dressed in a faintly yellow strapless gown, the shade so pale it almost looks white. The bodice nips in at the waist, the skirt a double layer of tulle over satin…almost reminiscent of a wedding dress.
Dante moves away before she reaches him, inadvertently leaving her in the dust right when she was about to sidle her way next to him. I smirk to myself and finish off the champagne.
“Looks like you need a refill,” a female voice says. “People watching is always more fun with a little alcohol involved, isn’t it?”
Glancing up, I’m surprised to see an old classmate from high school, Candi Gallagher, plopping into the chair next to mine. We’d never been close friends, exactly, but she’s always been a kind person and her job as a wine acquisitions specialist has brought us together over the years for business. I’m relieved to see her now. Finally, someone who won’t put on a false front. I may not know a lot about Candi personally, but she’s always been a tell-it-like-it-is person.
“That’s true,” I agree.
She doesn’t hesitate to lift the champagne bottle from the metal ice bucket beside me and refill my glass. “So, do you think she just woke up this morning and decided to wear that getup, or was there some deliberate thought behind it?”
She arches a brow in Jessica’s direction.
“Oh, she definitely put some thought into it. That dress is way too close to white to be an accident.”
“Well, just goes to show how few brain cells are at work. I hate to bash another woman, but that one’s a conniving bitch through and through. I could pass by and accidentally spill a vintage red down her front if you like? Consider it a wedding gift.”
Although I have no idea what Jessica could have done to Candi in the past, I’m enjoying this moment of mutually trashing our common enemy. It’s good to know it wasn’t just my instincts telling me the redhead was bad news. I give a tempted groan.
