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 shook my head. “So I did all this for nothing?”
My father frowned. “Are you listening to me? You did it because deep down, you wanted to. You were tired of being alone. You were ready for a family. But like all Moretti men, you needed a push, so I gave it to you—just like my father gave it to me.”
I stared at my hands in my lap, at the gold band on my finger. Was he right? I had to admit that if I hadn’t felt pressured into faking the relationship with Bianca, I never would have realized how much I wanted to be with her. Or what it was like to love someone. How it felt to put someone else first. “Maybe you’re right,” I said slowly.
“Of course I’m right.” Then he tapped his temple. “You think I didn’t see what you were doing? I raised you. I taught you everything you know. And I wasn’t born yesterday.”
“You knew I wasn’t in love with Bianca when I married her?”
He rolled his eyes.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because I had a feeling.”
“What feeling?” A shiver moved up my spine.
“That she was the one for you. I saw it that night at the table when you announced your engagement. I wasn’t sure what kind of game you two were playing, but I saw pretty clearly how it would end as long as nobody interfered.”
I stared at him in disbelief. “She is the one. I see it now.”
“Better late than never, I guess. Now go make sure she knows it.”
Rising to my feet, I nodded. I was almost out the door before he spoke again.
“You have to say the words, son. And you have to mean what you say. Bianca’s the kind of girl who will see right through your bullshit—that’s why she’s perfect for you.”
His words made me grin. “I know.”
“Good. Now get the fuck out of here, and don’t come back until you’ve made things right with your wife—and get used to doing it, by the way. That’s married life.”
I laughed. “Thanks, Pop. For everything.”
Right in front of my parents’ house, I called DiFiore’s and left a message, requesting a reservation for Friday night. Then I went directly to the nursing home to speak to Grandma Vinnie. From there I went over to the jewelry store and talked with Paulie. Later that afternoon, I went over to the rectory to speak with Father Mike. When the hostess at DiFiore’s called me back to confirm my reservation, I asked if they’d please hold a particular booth for me. Then I texted Blair and Cheyenne, begging them to make sure Bianca showed up at the restaurant for dinner Friday at seven.
It was torture staying away from Bianca for four more days, especially knowing that she was as miserable as I was, but I forced myself to be patient so I could surprise her.
On Friday morning, I woke up at the crack of dawn and jumped out of bed. Each hour seemed to pass more slowly than the last, but eventually it was time to get ready.
I took twice as long as I usually did. I dressed in my best suit. I made sure my hair was doing the thing. I shined my shoes, put on her favorite cologne, and re-knotted my tie five times. Everything had to be perfect.
Because there comes a day in a man’s life when he enters a room with hope in his heart and a ring in his pocket, fully prepared to get down on one knee. To pledge his eternal devotion. To take his soul mate’s hand in his and pop the question, promising to love, honor and cherish her forever and ever until death do them part, amen.
This was that day.
I’d never loved anyone the way I loved Bianca, and I was going to tell her that. I was going to put a new ring on her finger, one I’d had made just for her. And I was going to ask her to be my wife—for real, and for always.
No pretense, no expiration date, no conditions.
I had a feeling she’d say yes, but just in case, I practiced my smolder in the mirror before I left.
Oh yeah. I still had it.
Twenty
Bianca
On Friday night, Blair picked me up at quarter to seven for a girls’ night out to celebrate Cheyenne’s thirty-first birthday and the fact that she and Cole had set a wedding date—they’d get married in late June in the backyard of their new house.
Plenty of people thought she was slightly crazy for setting a wedding date that was only six weeks away, but she said she’d waited long enough to become Mrs. Cole Mitchell, and I didn’t blame her one bit. For a lot of brides, maybe it was about the custom gown and the engraved invitations and the guest list with three hundred people on it, but Cheyenne felt—and I agreed—all that stuff was nice, but it was just window dressing. What mattered, what was real, was the way they felt about each other. The life they had planned. The family they were becoming.