Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
I sighed heavily, even though his comment pleased me. “Less pervy, please.”
“It makes me laugh when you’re too short to reach your high kitchen cabinets?”
“Oh, forget it.” I unbuckled my seatbelt.
“No, wait! I can think of one.” He snapped his fingers. “You’ve got what my dad calls moxie.”
“Moxie?”
“Yeah. It means courage. Determination. You can handle what comes at you and land on your feet.”
That was actually a nice compliment. “Thank you, I’ll take it. Let’s go in.”
“I’ll get the door for you. Stay there.” He jumped out the driver’s side then stuck his head back in. “Sweet pea.”
I made a face. “Sweet pea? I don’t know about that.”
He came around and helped me down from his SUV. “Sugar pie?” he asked as he took my arm and escorted me toward the entrance.
“Ew. No.”
“Dollface?”
“What is this, nineteen-twenty?”
“Come on, I need to call you something cute.” He pulled open the restaurant door and grinned. “I’ve got it.”
“What?”
“I’ll call you mia polpetta.”
My heart fluttered. “Italian! That’s good, I like it. What does it mean?” I asked as I led the way toward the room at the back we’d booked to accommodate our large group.
Behind me, Enzo put his hand on the small of my back and began to laugh. “My little meatball. Now smile, polpetta, we’re on.”
I managed to give him an icy glare over my shoulder before turning my gaze forward again and plastering on my best I’m-the-luckiest-girl-in-the-world expression.
I’d murder him later.
The plan was simple.
After we walked in and said hello to everyone, with all the requisite hugs and cheek kisses an Italian greeting required, Ellie would “notice” my ring. Then Enzo and I would look at each other, I’d blush becomingly, and he’d announce that he’d popped the question on my actual birthday. We’d been bursting to tell them for four days. And we were even more excited to actually tie the knot, so we were just going to have a simple ceremony at City Hall within the next couple weeks. We’d already applied for our marriage license, and we were just waiting to hear back from the judge. The ceremony would be very small, but we were planning a party afterward, at which all would be welcome.
Easy peasy.
We hoped.
“Oh my God—Bianca, what is that on your finger?” Ellie said loudly, once we were all seated and sipping our drinks. I’d ordered a Prosecco and even though I’m right-handed, made sure to pick up the glass with my left, putting the ring on full display.
Enzo and I exchanged an “adoring” look we’d rehearsed. (After a lot of laughter and failed attempts—“You look like you have a trapped fart, can you try a little harder please?”—we thought we had it down.)
“That,” I said, setting my glass on the table and folding my wrist down to show off my diamond, “is my engagement ring.”
A chorus of gasps, shouts, and a couple Grazie Dio’s went up. Mrs. Moretti crossed herself. My mother grabbed my father’s arm. Enzo’s sisters squealed. Inside, I said a quick prayer no one would ask me to take it off so they could look closer—the damn thing still said Love Always, Ricky inside.
“Seriously?” my brother said, as if he couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to marry me.
“Congratulations,” offered Sierra.
“Wait. You’re getting married?” Pietro asked.
“Yes,” Enzo said, putting his arm around me, which was approved choreography.
“When?” Ellie asked, right on cue.
“Soon, actually.” I patted Enzo’s hand, which felt big and heavy on my shoulder. We’d practiced the move last night too—“What do you think? Chair or actual shoulder?”—and decided we’d better go with the more intimate gesture. In fact, his fingers were nearly grazing the top of my breast. Had he done that on purpose? Either way, it sent a little electrical pulse zipping up my spine. “We already applied for a license. So hopefully within a week or two.”
“What?” My mother exchanged a frantic glance with Mrs. Moretti. “You can’t get married in a week or two. That’s not enough time to send out all the invitations.”
“We want a small wedding, Mom,” I said. “Just us and two witnesses at City Hall.”
From the looks on everyone’s faces, you’d have thought I said we were getting married in the alley behind the Bulldog Pub.
“City Hall!” Mrs. Moretti clutched her chest like she might be having a heart attack. “But you’re both Catholic!”
“We know, Ma, but we’d just prefer to keep it simple,” said Enzo.
“Intimate,” I clarified.
“You mean we can’t even come?” Mrs. Moretti’s face was rapidly turning white.
“You can come if you want,” replied Enzo. “But we’re keeping the ceremony very small. We’ll have a party afterward that everyone can come to.”
“Is this for real?” Enzo’s sister Talia asked. “Haven’t you guys only been dating for like a month?”
I opened my mouth with a rehearsed reply, but it wasn’t even necessary. Mrs. Moretti reached over her husband to flick Talia’s ear.