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“Nothing happened.”
Francesca raised her brow. “Nothing?”
Nothing that I was going to acknowledge. I was drunk, half asleep, and my father had just been murdered. “Whatever happened between us was a mistake.”
“You fucked my mouth the way you have every time I’m in your bed.”
I growled, took a step back from her, and raked my fingers through my hair. “Forget what happened. Forget any ideas you have about our future. Francesca, there is no more us.”
“I won’t. I’ve always known you’d marry for your family. She can have your name, but she can’t take you from me. I won’t let her come between us.”
“I don’t belong to anyone.” A hot spike of adrenaline seared through me. I closed the space between us. Allegra was mine, mine to marry, mine to fuck, mine to punish. “If you think of telling her about what happened between us, understand she is like me in every way. Don’t provoke her.”
My wife was jealous, territorial, and deadly with a knife. If Allegra didn’t kill her for attempting a coup, I would.
Chapter Twelve
Allegra
I sat at the vanity off the master bathroom.
“You should be grateful there is still a marriage,” my mother said as she unzipped the bag containing my dress.
“Mom, I’ve dreamed of marrying Marco since I was fifteen. Excuse me if I’m less than enthusiastic about walking down a hallway to a dining room table to sign a license.” I slid off the seat and took the veil from the bag.
“I can’t believe this is your dress. You know you’d never have been allowed to wear this in the church.”
“Father Josue is going to do whatever Marco wants. He’s just as mafia as the rest of them.” Another branch on the Jilani family tree.
“My mom rested her hand on her hip. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but I’d hoped you’d change your mind, so I brought your dress. The beautiful one.”
“This is barely a wedding, so it doesn’t really matter.” I trailed my fingers along the beads of the plunging neckline. Sheer, white lace would cover my arms. The backless dress covered just enough not to be scandalous but clung to the curves of my hips. I’d promised Marco there wouldn’t be tulle, but the simple mermaid bottom of the dress flared, with a slit beginning at my thigh.
“Mom, can you find Dee and ask her to help me?” I’d had a lethal dose of my mother already, and the day was just beginning.
“I would love to, but your sister isn’t speaking to me.”
I groaned. As desperate as I was to talk to Dee, there would be time. I didn’t want a fight before the wedding ceremony. I’d catch her while everyone was drinking and find a quiet corner. I couldn’t risk being overheard when I spoke about Knox.
“Maybe you should go downstairs and greet the guests.”
My mom huffed. “It’s not my house.”
“No, but everyone downstairs is our family. It would be nice if you made introductions to Marco’s family.”
“I don’t know them. Let your brother and father handle it. My daughter is getting married.”
Oh God, save me from my mother. Not that I was superstitious. If there were wedding taboos, I was pretty sure having my husband’s mistress in the wedding party would be at the top of the list closely followed by killing the mother of the bride.
Would my husband’s affection for the day count as something borrowed? Or perhaps I could borrow his brother, Stefano, to stand with me at the altar. I’d rather not have to stare into the eyes of the man who hated me as I listened to him promise lies masquerading as vows.
A hand to my abdomen did little to quell the flurry of suicidal butterflies swarming in my stomach.
I walked into the wardrobe and opened the top drawer to my jewelry armoire. For something old, I could wear my grandma’s diamond earrings. For something new, I had my dress and veil, and for something blue, I had the hole in my heart.
I paused, staring into the drawer. I snapped my gaze over my shoulder. My fingers trembled as I lifted the piece of paper.
Crying is good luck for the bride, unless she’s marrying a Bruno. Then it’s fucking shit luck. But you have a thing for the asshole.
