Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 144979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Gabi pauses to study me, and I know she senses something is off. We’ve always been more like best friends than cousins—bonding over our similar interests from a young age. She knows me well, but even she doesn’t know the truth about this engagement to Matteo.
I’m saved from further questioning when her dog alarm sounds in the form of Beppe barking at her, alerting her that it’s time for class.
“Crap.” She checks the time. “I have to go.”
“It’s all good.” I blow her a kiss. “We’ll catch up later.”
5
ABELLA
It’s been ten days since my father and Matteo sprang the news of my impending marriage on me. Between my father’s implied threats and my stalker’s, I’ve hardly slept. Late one night, in a moment of bravery or stupidity, I texted Matteo asking if we could talk—hoping I could still make him see reason. Needless to say, he’s been avoiding me ever since.
None the wiser, Valentina has been steamrolling ahead, holding me hostage in the hellscape she likes to call wedding planning.
Every waking moment I’m not at work has been consumed by discussions of menus, color swatches, timelines, flowers, music, and tablescapes. She hauls her wedding dossier around like a bible and corners me with it at every opportunity. If I didn’t already know this is how she operates under stress, I might think she was trying to convince me to join a cult.
My friends have all rallied for the occasion, offering their assistance, and Gabi’s already been by multiple times. But it still seems we’ve gotten very little accomplished, and Valentina has since temporarily banned her from the premises, citing that our planning sessions have just turned into boozy brunches.
I’m exhausted and on edge as I try to sneak out on Sunday morning.
“Abella!” Valentina yells after me, her heels clacking against the tile as she shuffles to the door and blocks my exit. She’s wearing a militant expression and the black cape dress I shopped for her, which means she’s in business mode.
“Marone,” I mutter under my breath.
“Where do you think you’re going?” She glares at me.
“I have a baptism to get to,” I remind her.
“Yes, and...” She pulls up my schedule on her phone and shows it to me. “We still have an hour before you have to leave.”
“Val,” I whine.
“Nope.” She grabs me by the arm and drags me into the sitting room, where our half-sister Francesca is parked on the recliner.
“What are you doing here?” I ask as she scoops a spoonful of cereal from the bowl balanced on her very pregnant belly.
“Gio’s out of town,” Franny mumbles as she chews. “He didn’t want me to be alone.”
A frown tugs at my lips. “He’s been out of town almost every weekend for the last two months.”
“He’s busy.” Franny shrugs.
“Busy with who?” I demand.
“I don’t know, and I don’t care either. I’m the one he comes home to. What he does with his free time is his business.”
I bite my tongue because there’s no point in telling her that’s not how it should be. Like most men in our world, Gio sees no issue with keeping six other side pieces. Franny knows the score well enough, considering her mother was one of our father’s mistresses. The Cosa Nostra likes to do things the old-fashioned way, even if it requires a mistress to get the job done. When my mother could no longer bear children, my father found someone else who could. Needless to say, he still didn’t get the son he wanted.
Though Franny and I aren’t very close, I don’t want her subjected to the same fate. But it doesn’t matter what I say. Our father told her before she married that wives are for business, and she shouldn’t go poking her nose where it doesn’t belong. I guess she took that to heart.
“You could learn a thing or two from me, you know,” Franny says. “Your marriage will be better off for it. If you think Matteo’s gonna be sitting at home with you while you moan your whole pregnancy, you have another thing coming.”
Nausea churns in my stomach, and Valentina shoots Franny a glare. “You aren’t helping.”
Francesca grunts as she sets her empty bowl aside and stands up. “Whatever. I’m gonna watch Housewives and leave you two to commiserate together.”
“Yeah, thanks for all your help,” Valentina mutters.
“I can’t fly to the wedding.” Franny points out. “Why should I help plan it?”
“Wouldn’t expect you to.” I roll my eyes at her. I can’t recall Francesca ever lifting a hand to help anyone with anything.
Valentina waits until she’s gone and directs me to the couch. “You aren’t running off until we get a few things settled first. I don’t think you understand the mountains I’ve had to move to make this wedding happen on time. Throw in all the secrecy, and it’s made my job ten times harder than it needs to be.”