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Red rose petals blanketed the floor. A bucket of chilled champagne sat on the nightstand next to two crystal flutes while a box of chocolates, condoms, and towels folded into the shape of swans rested at the base of the canopy bed. A fuckingcouple portraitof me and Vivian hung on the wall opposite the bed beneath a glittery banner that read,Congratulations on your engagement!
It looked like a goddamn honeymoon suite, except it was infinitely more horrifying because my own mother set it up.
“How the hell did you get the portrait?” I demanded.
“I used a photo from your engagement party as inspiration.” Pride gleamed in my mother’s eyes. “How do you like it? It’s not mybestwork, but I’m in a bit of a creative rut.”
I was going to murder someone before the end of the trip. There was no way around it.
Whether it was my mother, father, or brother, it was going to happen.
“It’s lovely,” Vivian said with a gracious smile. “You captured the moment perfectly.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose while my mother blushed. “Oh, you’re too sweet. IknewI liked you.” She patted Vivian’s arm. “Anyway, I’ll leave you two to get settled in. If you need more condoms, let me know.” She winked at us before darting out the door. My father followed, too busy on his phone to pay attention to what was happening.
Silence descended, thick and heavy.
Vivian’s smile disappeared after my mother left.
We stared at the portrait, then at each other, then at the bed.
It suddenly hit me that this would be our first time sharing a room. Sharing abed.
Six days and five nights of sleeping next to her. Of seeing her in those ridiculously tiny outfits she called pajamas and listening to the water run while she bathed.
Six days and five nights of fucking torture.
I rubbed a hand over my face.
It was going to be a long week.
VIVIAN
Dante’s parents were the opposite of their son—free-spirited, effervescent, and gregarious, with quick smiles and somewhat inappropriate senses of humor.
After Dante and I settled in, they insisted on taking us to lunch at their favorite restaurant, where they peppered us with more questions.
“I want to know everything. How you met, how he proposed.” Janis rested her chin in her hands. Despite her bohemian clothing and attitude, she possessed the sheen of a New England socialite—high cheekbones, perfect skin, and the type of rich, glossy hair that took copious amounts of time and money to maintain. “Don’t skimp on any details.”
“I know her father,” Dante said before I could answer. “We met at a dinner party at her parents’ house in Boston and hit it off. We dated, and I proposed a few months later.”
Technically true.
“Ah.” Janis frowned, looking disappointed by Dante’s unromantic summary of our courtship before she brightened again. “And the proposal?”
I was tempted to tell her he left the ring on my bedside table just to see how she’d react, but I didn’t have the heart to crush her hopes.
Time to brush off my acting skills.I hadn’t played Eliza Doolittle in my high school’s production of Pygmalion for nothing.
“It happened in Central Park,” I said smoothly. “It was a gorgeous morning, and I thought we were simply going for a walk…”
Janis and Gianni listened, their expressions enraptured, as I spun a dramatic story featuring flowers, tears, and swans.
Dante appeared less charmed. His frown deepened with each word out of my mouth, and when I reached the part about him wrestling the swan who’d tried to run off with my brand-new engagement ring, he gave me a look so dark it could’ve snuffed out the sun.
“Swan wrestling, eh?” Gianni, as he insisted on being called, laughed. “Dante,non manchi mai di sorprendermi.”
“Anche io non finisco mai di sorprendermi,” Dante muttered.
