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“This is bad luck,” she whispers. “We don’t need bad luck, Tavi.”
“Fuck bad luck. I don’t believe in good luck or bad luck, baby. I believe we dig our own graves or make our own fortunes.”
I hold her to me.
“Do you?” she whispers.
“Yeah, Elise.” I kiss her soft pink cheek. “So let’s make ours. Me and you. It doesn’t matter who we were. It doesn’t matter where we’ve been. It’s just the two of us, together now.”
She closes her eyes and I kiss each eyelid. Her lashes flutter on my lips. I slide my hand down the small of her back and hold her to me.
“Now what the fuck are you wearing?”
“What, this thing?” she says with a fetching giggle. When she sticks her tongue out at me, I give her a playful smack.
“Yeah, this thing.” My voice is a low growl. The dress looks like it’s fashioned with gauze, all filmy and lacy and feminine. The soft pink neckline dances low across her breasts, and the high waist’s cinched tight with small, white daisies. The back’s cut so low I can see the little dimple above her ass, and the hem hits high mid-thigh.
“Ottavio Rossi,” she says warningly as I nibble her earlobe.
“What?” My hand ghosts across her back, and she shivers adorably.
“You should wait until the wedding.” She doesn’t put much emphasis behind her words. I’m not convinced she really wants me to stop.
I lay her back on my arm and kiss my way along her neck. “Now why would I do that?”
Her heart’s beating faster. I can see it when she swallows, the delicate skin on her neck fluctuating with emotion.
“Because it’s… it’s more special that way.”
I exhale a belabored sigh. “Fine,” I tell her with a sigh. “Fine.”
Laughter rings out downstairs.
“Those your girls?”
She nods and reaches for my hand, as she nestles in the crook of my arm. I look curiously at her, but she doesn’t meet my eyes. “I don’t want to go with them. I told them to go without me.”
My own heart quickens. My voice is a little dry and husky when I respond, “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she breathes.
I don’t know if it’s the actual wedding she’s afraid of, or if she fears what she’s already voiced, a deeper, more abiding loss, fear about what comes next.
Will we exorcise each other’s demons that we wrestle or will they destroy us?
“No sex until we take our vows, Tavi?” I can tell she wants to phrase it as a command, but she knows better than to do that.
I nod reluctantly and shift her on my lap. “Fine. No sex until we take our vows.” I lift her to her feet. “No more putting your ass in my crotch then.”
I love the way she smiles.
“I told Romeo, too,” I say, shoving my hands in my pockets. I have no regrets.
“Told him what?”
“To go on without me.”
Her eyes go soft and she hooks one little pinkie finger in mine. “Ah. Thank you. Did he give you shit about it?”
“Nah.”
The door downstairs opens and closes, and for one moment, the laughter’s even louder and voices rise. Our cousins have come to join us. Then all voices hush, and Romeo’s deep, low register commands everyone’s attention. He says something that makes everyone laugh, then the door opens again and the voices recede.
“Romeo’s a good guy, isn’t he?”
“Eh,” I say with a grimace. “He’s good to The Family, no doubt. Anyone in The Family knows he’ll stop at nothing to protect them. He’s loyal.”
She nods. “Yes, of course. And I’ve seen the way he looks at Vittoria.” Her eyes have grown a little wistful. I watch as she bites her lip and twirls a delicate thread of gold at her neck, as if she’s polishing silver.
I nod. He adores her. He wants a baby, I know it, but until then, their nuclear family of two delights in each other.
“But I wouldn’t call any of us good, Elise. I’m surprised lightning doesn’t strike the goddamn church when we’re in it.”
When she waves her hand, her engagement ring glitters along with her eyes. “Well, don’t flatter yourself, sir. I’m not so sure your sins are any worse than any of the others that darken the doors of that church.”
I feel my lips turn upward in a smile. I love how she takes everything in stride.
I thread my hand along her back and open the door. Doors slam, wheels crunch on gravel, and voices fade. I hear her breathe in relief.
“You okay?” I ask. A little wisp of hair curls on her forehead. I bend and kiss it. “You remind me of an old movie star.”
“Old?” she asks, her head tipped to the side. “Whatever do you mean?”
“That,” I say, kissing the opposite side of her forehead. I tap the little freckles on her nose with my index finger. “The way you talk. The way you hold yourself, all graceful and coquettish. It’s charming. You’d grace a pin-up with perfection.”
