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I glance at Enzo beside me, who is looking ever the part of my confident and exuberant plus one. He hates weddings, and he’s stated that fact to me more than once. He thinks the whole thing is ridiculous.
“Dale looks like he might faint,” he whispers to me.
I feel his breath on the side of my neck and shiver. My reaction to him is so freaking heightened, I don’t know what to do about it anymore. Well, I have some ideas, but none of them are very savory.
“Tell me about it,” I whisper back.
He places his arm around my shoulders as we wait. “You think he’s worried about her not showing up?”
“I think he’s nervous he might forget his vows.”
“Ah, that figures, then.” His thumb rubs my shoulder almost absentmindedly. I wonder if he realizes he’s doing it.
The church fills up slowly and around twenty minutes later, the big moment arrives. Everyone is asked to stand, and the wedding song plays.
Enzo keeps his arm around my shoulder as we wait for Sarah to walk down the aisle. She looks gorgeous in her off the shoulder white gown with a sequined bodice. There’s a small veil covering her face and white and pink flowers in her hair. She’s so beautiful.
My throat constricts at seeing her, her father walking beside her as they slowly make their ways toward Dale. There are tears in Dale’s eyes, and he’s clearly choked up.
I feel Enzo hug me to his side a little bit tighter. Glancing up at him, I don’t know if he is being Enzo, or playing the part again. It seems genuine.
The ceremony goes without a hitch, with some teary and beautifully written vows. When the pastor pronounces them man and wife and they kiss, cheers ring out. They make their down up the aisle beaming at all the guests as they pass.
Sarah wants photos with all of us girls, even those of us not in the wedding party, before the sun goes down. So, we all proceed to the reception on Sarah’s parents’ property and meet the bridal party soon after. Enzo watches on as we have some photos taken and somehow, he becomes included in all of it. And once again, he acts like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.
When it’s time for family and bridal photos, we head to the reception pre-dinner canapes to grab a drink and some snacks at the bar. I have not really even caught a glimpse of Toby yet, only the back of his head at the church. I wonder what the chances are of running into him when there are over a hundred and fifty people here.
The odds could be in my favor.
We mingle with Maggie and Grace for the next hour or so. As it’s getting dark, the outside lanterns come on, and the dining room lights up with candles. It’s so romantic decorated in soft pink and silver.
The Emcee announces to the gathering that it’s time to be seated and we head over to the massive, ornate French doors that lead out to a marquee.
“This is stunning,” I say to Grace as we find our seats. Enzo has not let go of my hand the whole time.
“Isn’t it,” she says. “They’ve really done a wonderful job. It’s like a fairy tale.”
I’m glad we have a table with at least a few people we know. A couple of other friends sit on the other side, and Enzo falls into easy banter with Maggie and her current squeeze, Beau, who’s sitting next to him.
Sarah and Dale are introduced, as everyone cheers again, and they make their way to the bridal table. The waiters spring into action, serving drinks, and our entrees arrive shortly after.
Everything has been pre-ordered before the day, but I’ve forgotten what I even chose.
I take a sip of wine as Grace asks me about business, and the table comes into a full discussion about my brothers’ casino, The Royale. Of course, everyone from Boston has heard of it, and it is a little hard to miss. Thankfully, no one asks any awkward questions about mafia life, but maybe that’s because the drinks haven’t truly begun to flow.
By the time the main course is served,I’m all talked out about business, and Beau is asking Enzo what he does for a living. Enzo explains about Fortress Security and that he used to be a private investigator.
He takes on private jobs every now and again, but as far as following cheating husbands and wives goes, he’s been out of that game for a while.
I watch him as he talks, those beautiful lips, that clean-shaven skin where stubble usually lives permanently. And like usual, he smells like a dream. He places his hand on my thigh as he keeps talking and gives it a squeeze. He only removes it to eat his dinner, which for him consists of well-done steak, sweet potato mash, and mixed green vegetables. I went for the pan-fried chicken with asparagus. It’s delicious.
“Are you okay?” He takes a sip of red wine, then tilts his head toward me.
He has finally succumbed to one drink, and he’s taking his sweet time about it, so it really doesn’t look like I’m going to get him drunk and disorderly tonight. Maybe if I get enough liquid courage down my neck, I might just proposition him myself. I want one fucking orgasm, and by God, I am going to get one.
“I’m fine,” I say, leaning into him affectionately as he kisses the top of my head.
I close my eyes and breathe in his warmth. I just love how safe and content I feel next to him; it’s something that has totally taken me by surprise. I want to reel in that feeling, so I’m as close to him as the holy ghost is.
