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"Well, there's a big, big difference between safe and happy."
I laugh. "Oh, honey. Happiness is so overrated. I'm not trying to be happy."
I avoid her eyes, because I don't know how to respond to the look she’s giving me.
“Now!”
“Oh for the love of God.” Iyank open thedoor. “Getfucked!”
Eden stares. “Oh boy.”
“What?"
"While I don’t think he’llhurtyou, I also don’t think he’s going to take too kindly to a display like that."
“Well maybeIdon’t take too kindly to macho men telling me what to do. Listen, babe, I'm not going to have a personality change just to keep the peace. You knowI won’t."
"I know, I know." Her face looks pinched.
Expensive dresses,itturns out, arepretty damnitchy."Let's get this over with, honey, please."
I don’t expect the little crowd downstairs. Eden’s sister Starla, Sergio’s brother Timeo, and his cousin Mario and his wife are here.
"Couple more witnesses?" I ask.
"Well," Mario says sheepishly, "I heard thatNonna was making ravioli. Sorry."
Adriano looks, as always, perpetuallypissed off. There's a crease between his brows I'mgrowing all toofamiliar with when he scowls, and his eyes are narrowed. He doesn't partake in any of the banter or discussion but stands in front of a makeshift altar with his hands in his pockets, casuallylooking like he couldn't give anotherfuck.
He's hot though, I'll give him that. "Youshineup nice,"I mutter. I do give compliments where they’re due.
“I’ll treasure your compliment for the rest of my life,” he says, half-sarcastically. “You don’t look bad either. I guess that ten grand was worth it.”
“Oh yeah? Put somehomely chickin this thing andsee what she looks like. You need T & A for this beauty.”
He blinks in surprise.
That's what I thought.
Tosca hands me someflowers, hereyes dancing for some unfathomable reason.Nonnastands in the corner wearing her signature black dress, her hands folded behind her back. She’s also smiling, like there's some inside joke and I don't know the punchline.
I turn to Adriano. "Don't forget, dear, we have to send our pictures all over the country. We might as well lookhotwhilewe do it."
A womanina blush-colored pantsuit stands in front of the two of us. I feel a little dizzy and hot, only vaguely aware of large vases of flowers and white chairs, the scent of coffee brewing and something savory cooking. I try to blur out the details. I don’t want to remember any of this.
To my shock and dismay, my handtrembles a little until Adrianoreaches out and without a wordputs hisover mineto slow the trembling.It's almost a gentle gesture. Hislarger, warmer,much rougher hand meets mine as he laces our fingers together.I tense at the sudden intimacy of it, the sudden reminder of his strength and masculinity.
The next few minutes pass inablur withvowsand promises neither of us mean.
When I look at his handon mine, I remember him wielding a gun. I remind myself that these strong, powerful hands belong to a killer.
No matter what, I can't ever forget that.
I remind myself I’m only acting in a play, except I don’t know how this one ends.
And then it’s over. People are congratulating us, pressing cards and gifts into our hands. Eden seems too far away for me to reach.
"Our ride iswaiting,” mynow—husband,oh my God—says. "Let's go."
