Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 125962 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125962 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Which was why I was surprised neither man spoke much during Cristian’s first dinner. I was expecting Marco to ask a barrage of questions, subtly threatening him. Because he may have been a big softie, but he was also dangerous. That much I knew. I’d expected Dominic to do everything and anything he could to intimidate Cristian because he thrived off people being afraid of him.
If anyone was asking barbed, bordering on hostile questions, it was my mother... who I’d refused to speak to for days following dinner. Who had always been more critical of Cristian, of our relationship, who eventually came around but not until after multiple arguments between her and me. Those arguments were mediated and resolved by my father, who wanted peace in his household, always.
Although I adored my Mama and appreciated her strength and dedication to our family, I did not go running to her after I got home from the hotel, after I lost my virginity and was wearing a ring that promised forever. I actively avoided her, in fact. We were not close like a lot of girls in my school were with their mothers, but she still would’ve known what happened. Would’ve seen what had changed in me. I wanted to keep it mine for a while. Hold on to last night in a secret and precious place without my mother tainting it with disapproval. Luckily, she was busy arranging the party and was out running errands when I got home.
I’d been nervously staring at my closet even though Mama had already laid out a dress for the party on my bed. Light pink with long lace sleeves and a hem that brushed my mid-calf. It seemed now that I was a woman, one who was engaged to be married, I didn’t fit in that dress anymore. Didn’t fit in the large, feminine room with ruffles on the comforter and soft toys arranged on the bed. I certainly was past the point of having my mother pick out pretty, expensive dresses with full skirts that seemed to be made for dolls more than anything else.
I was a woman now. I wanted to look sexy. The problem was, I didn’t own much of anything that could be considered sexy. Sure, I had jeans and cropped tops that all the girls wore to school, that Mama clicked her teeth at, that made Cristian’s eyes go liquid and his hands roam all over my body, but those weren’t exactly suitable for the party.
“Don’t tell me you’re having a fashion crisis, luce dei mie occhi,” my father said, entering through the open door of my bedroom.
He was dressed, as always, in a black dress shirt, slacks and a tie. The tie was red. The story was my mother bought him a red tie as a gift before they were even married, and he’d vowed to wear one every day of his life. There was usually a suit jacket that went with his uniform, but it was probably slung over the back of his office chair where he worked most of the day. I wondered if he knew that today was the day. Cristian would’ve told him when he planned on proposing. My father was a smart man, he likely would’ve put two and two together as to where I was last night, on my eighteenth birthday.
I tried to stay calm, to feel the reassuring weight of the small diamond on my finger. The smile I gave my father was tight and nervous as I turned to him. His eyes flickered to the dress on my bed.
“Ah, I think you may have finally grown out of having your mother pick dresses for you, no?” he asked, voice soft and even, like always.
“I think so,” I agreed, my voice slightly shaky.
My father looked at me for a long time, something I couldn’t decipher in his gaze.
For some unknown reason, that look brought tears to my eyes. I forgot about the weight on my finger, about what this situation really was. I was drinking tea with my father all over again.
“You might have a fight on your hands, luce dei mie occhi,” he said, his voice thick. “Because I don’t think your mother will back down on helping you pick your wedding dress.”
I blinked at my father, biting back my tears. “What?”
“Your wedding dress, my sweet girl. Even I am not brave enough to go up against your mother when it comes to that. My only job is to sign the checks, walk you down the aisle and make sure my baby girl is happy and safe.”
He walked forward so he could brush a hair out of my face. His other hand reached to my hand, observing the ring on my finger. His eyes glistened.
“Are you happy, cuore mio?” he asked, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it.