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A touch on my shoulder shakes me out of my reverie. "Jeanne, you okay, babe?" Penny asks.
I nod.
"There’s still time, honey." Olivia steps up and peers into my features. "I know these Mafioso men can be very persuasive. If you want to leave, we’ll handle them in there. If you don’t want to go through with this—"
"I do," I whisper, and oh, god, I mean it. My belly twists. My chest hurts. But something deep inside me tells me to proceed. "I know it seems crazy, but this feels right to me."
"Are you sure?"
I nod.
She peers into my features, then nods. "Okay then." She pushes the doors open and steps forward.
Rather than walk in front of me, I’d asked the girls to flank me on either side, mainly so I'd have moral support. We enter the room together.
I raise my gaze and see him. Luca. Clothed in a black suit, black shirt, and black tie—Luca. His hair is combed back from his face, except for that one unruly strand which flops down on his forehead. My fingers tingle. I want to reach out and push it back so I’ll have an unobstructed view of that gorgeous face. Those piercing blue eyes, those thick eyelashes, the cheekbones which seem to be carved out of granite, that square jaw which I itch to place my palm against. The beautiful neck, those wide shoulders clad in a jacket which clings to him like it was stitched over his frame. The wide chest that stretches his shirt before narrowing down into that trim waist, those powerful thighs covered with pants that cling to every ripped muscle of his legs.
I gulp. My throat feels like I’ve swallowed a frog. My heartbeat cranks up until the blood pumps in my ears with such force, every sound in the room fades away. A bead of sweat runs down the valley between my breasts, and my skin feels too tight for the rest of me. I try to take in a breath, but my chest feels like it’s being squeezed. My ribcage seems to have turned into an iron cage that compresses my lungs. My head spins and black spots speckle my vision.No, no, no.I amnotgoing to faint, not now.
His eyes spark, his features harden, and every muscle in his body seems to grow rigid. Without breaking the connection of our eyes, he holds out his hand, and everything else in the room seems to fade. My vision tunnels. His gaze is a tractor beam that draws me in, slowly. Slowly. Only when I pause in front of him, do I realize I’ve covered the distance between us. I place my hand in his, and the warmth of his touch swoops up my arm, surrounds my chest, flows through my entire body. A breath I hadn’t known I was holding rushes out of me. I guess that’s why I couldn't inhale. With it, the sounds in the room filter in—the shuffle of feet behind me, from either Olivia or Penny, the clearing of the throat from the official who’s standing on the other side of the table placed in front of us.
My knees have turned into jelly. I sway, and he tightens his grip on me. He holds my gaze until I feel steadier, then twines his fingers through mine and tugs me forward until the tips of my stilettos brush his shoes. From the corner of my eye, I notice Massimo hold up his phone to film the ceremony.
Luca jerks his chin in the direction of the official, indicating he should start. He turns to face me, and holds my gaze through the mercifully short ceremony.
I remember nodding and saying "I do," when it’s my turn. Remember him staring deep into my eyes when he does the same. Then he releases his hold on me, long enough to slide something on my finger. I glance down at the platinum band with the citrine in the center and the tiny diamonds on either side. I hate to say it but the ring is gorgeous. It's not one of those ostentatious diamond wedding rings that are all money and no class. This one is discreet yet pretty, it's fragile and tasteful. It's beautiful and it suits me completely.
He holds both of my hands in his, raises my fingers to his mouth, and kisses the ring he placed on my finger. That’s it. No ring for him. Of course not. Only the woman gets to wear a ring. So, he can stamp his brand of ownership on me for all to see, but apparently, I don't get to stamp my ownership on him. I glower at him. He ignores it, and kisses me on the forehead. A chaste kiss that could have been between friends. He pulls a pen from his pocket, leans forward, and signs on what I assume is the marriage certificate. He hands the pen to me, and when I’m done signing, he takes the pen from me, slides it back into his pocket, and wraps his arm around me.
We turn to face my friends and Massimo, whose attention is diverted. His eyebrows are drawn down and he’s staring at Olivia. Who’s glowering right back at him. Huh? What did I miss?
Penny rushes forward and throws her arms around me. "Congratulations!" She kisses me on my cheek, then hugs Luca, who seems taken aback, then pleased.
"I know you’ll make her happy. I know you love her. I see it in your eyes," she declares.
Seriously, this woman needs to take off her rose-tinted glasses and realize life is not all candy floss and white wedding gowns, and that even the most precious of rings, however beautiful they look, are not always symbolic of a love match.
The official behind us clears his throat again. "I need two witnesses to sign, as well."
"I’ll do it." Olivia seems to tear her gaze off Massimo’s with difficulty. She steps forward, then looks around for a pen.
"Here." Massimo pulls a pen from inside his coat pocket. He walks over and hands it to Olivia, who takes it with a muttered thanks. She finishes signing, then he does the same. The two of them stare at each other for a second longer, then as if by mutual agreement, they turn to face us.
"Everything okay?" I glance between them.
"Of course." Olivia pastes a big smile on her face. She steps forward and hugs me. "Congratulations. I hope you’ll be happy."
"You still don’t approve, do you?" I mutter under my breath.
"It doesn’t matter what I think." She steps back and kisses my cheek. "If this is what you want, then who am I to disagree? Just remember, if you ever need help, I’ll be there for you."
I hold her gaze. I want to stay angry with her for refusing to believe that the marriage between Luca and me won’t last—which it isn’t going to, of course, but she could, at least, feign happiness for me. I know she’s only looking out for me, but still, why can’t she just pretend to be thrilled for us? Probably because she’s wiser than me.
She takes my hand in hers and squeezes it one last time, then steps back. "We’re going to make our own way back to Palermo," she declares.
"But you won’t make it back in time for the rehearsal this evening," I protest.
"I already checked the flights. I booked two tickets on the first flight out, which leaves in..." She looks at her watch. "In two hours. We’ll be back in Palermo in plenty of time for the rehearsal."
