Page 16 of Dario

For a moment I stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the boardwalk, beach, and the Atlantic, completely overwhelmed by what had just happened and what was coming. My life seemed to be spinning out of my control. Then I laughed, bitterly. Control? I’d never had any. I’d just been handed from one monster to another, because I knew no matter how much Dario Banetti seemed on the surface the better choice, he definitely wasn’t the easier one, and while I had always seen the future as an unlocked door just waiting for me to push open...

It had now slammed shut.

I blinked slightly and turned as Signora Banetti pushed a cold glass into my hands, the bubbles popping slightly. I murmured my thanks then simply knocked it back. It didn’t have the same effect as brandy might have, but I needed something.

The tiny woman smiled, tutted softly, and dragged me to a chair.

“You will call me Nonna. The boys add my name but that was only because they had two other nonnas when they were little, but not now.” She chuckled, a deep throaty laugh I wasn’t expecting, and I focused on her properly. She patted my hand. “I outlive them all.” In another moment, a slim younger woman in a black skirt and lemon-yellow blouse came in with a tray of coffee and some dainty-looking sandwiches. My throat closed up at the sight of them.

Nonna pointed to the tray. “We eat. You need your strength to walk down the aisle and look at all thosechooches.”

I surprised myself with a sudden laugh of my own. Had she just called her grandson’s wedding guests donkeys? She patted my hand again and passed me a plate, launching into a story of her gardener who wascretino—brainless—because he had trimmed her roses at totally the wrong time. By the time she had finished berating him, his son, and his brother, I had eaten two sandwiches and some fruit.

Nonna smiled in approval. “Nipote, you need to be strong to love Dario. I think I may need to move in with you and make sure you eat.”

I wasn’t sure what surprised me the most. That she’d just called me her grandson, the love word, or the fact that she wanted to move in. “We must stick together with all those bad boys,” she added conspiratorially. “I will show you how to handle them.” She nodded. “Lots of wicked sex.”

I nearly spat out my second glass of champagne.

Then the door opened once again, and I gaped as four men and one woman walked in trundling cases and a large rail holding garment bags. I rose to my feet as the oldest man came right up to me and extended his hand. “Signor Banetti.” It wasn’t a question, but his piercing blue eyes seemed to take me in. I tried not to cringe at the rapid assessment, but then he smiled happilyat Nonna, who cackled in delight at something, then turned and clapped his hands.

It was—I imagined—like watching a Broadway production. The men swooped down on me and before I knew it, I was stripped, tweezed, shaved, plucked, and scrubbed. I didn’t have a moment to be embarrassed because of the whirlwind that seemed to have suddenly become my life.

In fact, as I stared in astonishment at the girl in the mirror—Imelda—adding eye liner to make my eyes “pop,” for a moment I wondered if those bullets down in the garage had actually struck me and I was dead.

Although I wouldn’t like to hazard a guess as to whether this was heaven or hell. I’d guzzled another glass of champagne but then Renaldo himself had cut me off because he said I needed to be able to walk down the aisle.

As far as I was concerned the jury was still out on that.

The tux was so utterly gorgeous I couldn’t find words. The jacket was an ivory silk with a delicate brocade pattern trailing down each shoulder and mirrored on each lapel. The jet-black pants had an almost matching ivory thread up each seam. The shirt matched the black of the pants but was a little long.

Nonna disappeared, I was sure for more champagne because my restrictions clearly didn’t extend to her. I looked up once again as I heard voices just before another woman stepped in. If I were to hazard a guess, I would say she was in her early thirties, very stylish, slim, and disgustingly tall. It soon became clear she had designed the suit.

She carried a small basket, and Imelda rushed to relieve her of it as if it were too heavy. She greeted Renaldo, air-kissing him affectionately. She didn’t look at any of the others and didn’t even acknowledge me. Her eyes flicked to the pant legs still a good four inches too long then back to me, scowling. “It will ruinthe fit, Renaldo. We may have been better off looking at a suit fora ring bearer,” she added dryly.

Renaldo squirmed a little. “Signora Banetti approved the style.”

I just got another eyebrow lift plus a sigh. “The plain Laduc would have been more flattering to his height.” I almost laughed knowing I was being insulted, and to be honest past caring after the day I’d had.

But with a theatrical sigh from the woman, I was rearranged under her supervision, then Imelda helped me to stand on a stool while she attended to the pants’ hems. She’d shut up with the sarcastic comments, though, when Nonna came back into the room.

I’d honestly be happy in a pair of my old jeans.

But as with everything else in the last two hours, the production team completely overran any objection until finally I stood completely stunned. Nonna came forward, tears glittering in her eyes and took both my hands. “Your mamma would be so proud of you.”

I had to blink back my own tears then and Imelda, who had done the minimal makeup I had allowed, scolded both Nonna and me, pronouncing that she would have to accompany me all day to make sure her creation stayed fresh. The designer I had found out was named Clarice Sancerre—allegedly. Imelda had whispered to me after she had made another cutting remark about my height when Nonna couldn’t hear that she’d heard Clarice was really called Clare Smith.

And then I was on my own.

Everyone left in a flurry of noise. Nonna promised me she would be sitting at the front of the church waiting and, ignoring the risk to makeup and hair, I clutched this woman in practically a death grip. Apart from my own mother, and that had beenyears ago, I’d never had this. I also fancied she was missing the same sort of connection.

Imelda and Ms. Sancerre both informed me they would be at the church in case any last-minute alterations were needed. I smiled at Imelda and whispered we ignore “Drusilla.”

I didn’t know who, if anyone apart from a driver, would ride with me to the church. Possibly no one. I didn’t have anyone. The door opened once again, and I turned, only to come face to face with Dario. My husband. “I don’t think you’re supposed to see me before the church.” It was the first thing that entered my head. No, that was a lie. But I had no intention of saying any of the other comments out loud.

His wicked smile curled his lips in a slow, sensuous manner. I was too fixated on it to notice him move until he was standing right in front of me. “Bello mio,” he whispered. “Do you really think I would risk you travelling alone?”

I supposed as this wasn’t even a real wedding it hardly mattered if he saw me now.

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