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“Even if it felt like it was eating away at you?”
She offers me a smile. “I’m a survivor. We all are. After losing your dad … it wasn’t easy on any of us. But we made it through, and a big part of that was because Antonio got rid of Franco before he could even more damage. It might not seem like it, but I’m sure Antonio is thinking of your best interest. You’ve barely gotten to know Salvatore. Give him a chance.”
“How can I when he might die before we even make it to the altar?”
Shaking her head, she says, “You joke. And I don’t blame you. You’re not in the wrong for not wanting to marry a man as old as Salvatore. But he might turn out to be a kind man. I have tobelieve Antonio would only marry you to a man who would treat you right.”
“Would he?” I ask in a small voice.
The expression on Mom’s face is like I hit her. “Of course, he would. He’s Antonio.” That’s the thing with Mom. She’s always had blinders for Antonio because he was always her favorite kid. I don’t think she sees the changes that have taken root in him ever since he took over as boss.
I didn’t see the changes myself at first, and now, it feels like it’s too late. Antonio has my life in his hands, and I have no control. I was raised to do my duty, but this is the last thing I ever expected. All my sisters have gorgeous husbands, and Antonio has a beautiful wife.
Why is it I’m stuck with a man old enough to be my grandfather?
The florist comes back out with another bouquet, one full of hydrangeas and petunias. “What do we think about this one?”
Mom gives me a sharp look. “Give her an answer, Cecilia.” The florist smiles awkwardly as she waits for my reply. I feel a little sorry for her. It’s not her fault I’m miserable.
I grab my cross and rub it between my fingers. I have no choice but to go through with everything, so I might as well get the wedding of my dreams.
“Do you have any orchid bouquets?” I ask.
The florist smiles, looking so relieved I almost want to apologize for my behavior. “Yes. We can do that.”
After I pick out my bouquet—white orchids—Mom and I leave the florist. I reach my hand out for the car door at the same time as Theo.
Our fingers brush. A spark of energy passes between us.
I gasp but don’t pull back. I stare down at our fingers touching, mine so small compared to his. What would it be like to have Theo touch me with his hands?
But then Theo pulls away, breaking the spell. I look up at him, but he doesn’t meet my eyes. I’m desperate to get him to tell me what’s on his mind, but Theo’s a closed book. He has been ever since he first started working for us.
I remember trying to get him to open up to me when I was around sixteen.
He was standing in the foyer, keeping a watch on things when I approached him. Sixteen was when my crush on him really started to take place. With flushed cheeks, I walked over to him. “Theo, what’s your favorite color?” I blurted out, even though that wasn’t what I wanted to ask him.
He kept his eyes trained on the far wall. “Cecilia, I’m working.”
“Come on,” I said, leaning against the wall in a posture I hoped made me look attractive. Yet he still didn’t look at me. “You can tell me your favorite color.”
He sighed. “Black. Now, I need to focus.”
“There isn’t anything more you want to talk about?”
“No.” His gruffness hurt my feelings, but I couldn’t seem to get myself to stop.
“Fine. What’s your favorite movie?”
He finally looked at me, and the expression on his face was pure stoicism. “I’m working, Cecilia.”
Sighing, I walked away. I couldn’t even get him to open up about mundane things like movies and hobbies. How was I supposed to get him to like me if he never wanted to talk to me?
Now, Theo opens the car door, still not looking at me. I know it’s futile to get him to talk, so I take my seat as Mom slides in beside me. Theo shuts the door, and I flinch at the subtle click. Theo really doesn’t want anything to do with me. He’s repulsed at the mere touch of our fingers.
And how can I blame him? I’m just a little girl in his eyes, after all.
The next thingon the wedding planning agenda is dress shopping.
