The next morning
“Your groom is late,” Del announces, glancing up from my phone with a teasing smile. “Or should I say husband? Wait, does he revert back to groom for the day? This is all very confusing.”
“It is,” Cleo chimes in from her spot on the sofa in the bridal suite. “My oldest sister had a similar situation with her husband. They eloped first, then threw a big wedding later for everyone else.”
“Is that like a mob thing? Getting married twice?”
I wince as I fix a pin in my hair. “Del.”
She shoots me a sheepish grin. “Sorry, am I not supposed to say that? Still figuring out the etiquette.”
“Trust me, the etiquette has been drilled into me since birth, and I still don’t follow it,” Cleo says with a flick of her hand. “But the two-wedding thing is weird, isn’t it? I guess a surprising amount of people don’t get it quite right the first time.”
Del nods thoughtfully, her gaze drifting back to the phone. “Makes sense. Oh, Nero’s texting again... Wow, he’s really sorry. He’s promising to make it up to you tonight by— Damn, girl, he’s got a mouth on him.”
I snatch the phone out of her hand. “That’s the last time I let you keep an eye on my messages.”
Del laughs. “He was just getting to the good part.”
I shake my head and glance at myself in the mirror. My heart races as I take it all in. The dress fits like a dream, the fabric cascading down my body like it was custom-made for me.
Oh that’s right—itwas. Because apparently, when you’re getting married in front of the New York Cosa Nostra, no expense is spared.
I slide my hands over the luxurious fabric, excitement fluttering in my stomach.
My first wedding was rushed and chaotic. This time, everything is planned, perfect, and deliberate.
But it’s not the stunning reception hall, the dinner menu, or even the dress that has me smiling like a fool.
It’s the fact that I’m getting to rewrite the story of how I married the man I love.
Cleo stands. “We should get going. They’re a half hour away. I’ll go get the driver.”
“Okay, we’ll be right there,” I say back.
She tosses me a smile over her shoulder as she steps out of the room.
Over the past few months, Cleo’s become more than just a friend—she’s become a confidante, someone I can count on. We’ve even started a tradition of a weekly happy hour, which usually end with us wandering into boutiques and making questionable purchases.
At first, I hesitated to spend Nero’s money. But after he insisted—several times—that I wasn’t spending enough and even threatened to start shopping for me if I didn’t loosen up, I finally relaxed.
Of all the things I’ve bought, though, my favorite has been the little touches for the beach house. Nero and I escape there whenever we can, and with summer approaching, I can’t wait to spend even more time there with him.
Del steps up beside me, placing her empty champagne flute on the vanity. “Ready to go?”
I exhale, trying to calm the butterflies in my stomach. “I think so.”
Her eyes meet mine in the mirror, and they’re suddenly filled with tears. “I can’t believe my best friend is about to walk down the aisle.”
“Oh, don’t cry,” I say, standing up and handing her a tissue.
Del’s lips wobble as she takes it and dabs at her eyes. “After everything you two have been through, seeing you here, happy and glowing... It’s beautiful. I’m so damn happy for you.”
I wrap my arms around her, emotions thickening inside my throat. “I’m so glad you’re here with me.”
She squeezes me tightly. “If he ever stops making you deliriously happy, I’ll kill him myself.”
A sob that’s more laughter than tears escapes me. “Deal.”
