Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 39068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 195(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 195(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Antonio's uncle, Don Beretta, is hosting a private anniversary party for me and Antonio at one of his nightclubs, and Antonio asked me to sing a song as an anniversary present. I chose Peggy Lee’s recent version of “Fever.” It's sexy and sultry and speaks to the burning romance I have with my new husband.
What I didn't expect, though, was to see my parents escorted in and given the front-row seats beside Bea.
She looks as surprised as I feel, so I know she didn't invite them. I haven't spoken to them since the day I jumped off the balcony. That day, I became a part of Antonio's world and left high society life behind. I haven’t missed it once.
Bea remains my steadfast friend (much to her parents’ dismay), and I’ve been welcomed fully into the Beretta clan. I now have lively cousins and sisters and friends. The Berettas are a tight, loud, lively bunch.
Antonio must have orchestrated my parents’ presence. I can't decide if I want to kiss him, slap him, or cry. Maybe I'll do all three. It's too late to back out of singing or curse at my husband now, though. The band leader is introducing me.
Eek!
My legs tremble as I step out on stage and take the microphone. The band is already playing the music to the song. We practiced this afternoon, and it went beautifully. There's no reason for me to panic. No reason other than I wanted to sing to Antonio and feel sexy and now my parents, who hate my singing and would find my open sexuality an affront to my upbringing, are here.
But screw them. This is my anniversary. This is my world. A year ago today my real life started. The life where I am myself, all of me, where I'm loved for who I am, not what I represent. Not how I reflect on another.
I look around for Antonio. This song is his gift, after all. I'm shocked to find he's taking the seat beside my mother. All three of them are now sitting around a small cocktail table in front of the stage.
My husband leans back in his chair, his dark glittering gaze on mine as he lights a cigar. He winks, and that's all I need for my power to return.
Because Antonio does make me feel powerful.
He makes me feel beautiful and talented and strong. And I haven't missed my old life for one moment. Yes, the rift between me and my parents has bothered me, but I haven't missed living under their control or the pressure to perform for them.
I keep my eyes glued to my husband's handsome face and sway my hips slowly to the music. The moment I begin to sing, I forget my nerves. I forget that my parents might disapprove. I stop worrying about why they're here or what I will say to them afterward. I just feel the music. Embody the music. Sing out of pure joy. Out of love. Out of total devotion to the man who is totally devoted to me.
Antonio's gaze never leaves my face, and it tells me everything: that he's as enamored as I am. As bewitched. As feverishly in love. It's strange, but our love only seems to grow.
By the time I finish the song, I realize that everyone's watching. Even Don Beretta and the Family men who were talking loudly amongst themselves when I began are quiet now, staring at me.
I complete the last note and fumble as I put the microphone back in the stand.
Did I embarrass them? Maybe the Berettas don't like me singing in public either.
A chance of glance at my parents, and I'm shocked to see a tear running down my mother's face. She climbs unsteadily to her feet. She's going to walk out now without even saying anything to me.
But no, she stands and begins clapping. She's giving me a standing ovation.
The smoky lounge erupts with applause. There's a roar of cheers. Some people call my name. Bea, I think. And Antonio.
It takes me a moment to recover, but a smile breaks out on my face, and I take a bow.
My dad stands up–although I think I saw Antonio give him the evil eye first.
I bow again, heat and pressure building in my chest and behind my face like I’m going to cry.
Instead of heading off stage, Antonio holds his hand out to me, and I jump down from the stage apron and fall against him. He envelopes me in a hug and kisses my forehead. “Bravo, Principessa. Grazie. I loved the song. You were incredible.”
“You invited my parents,” I croak.
“I did. It’s time to mend fences, amore.” He turns me toward my mother and nudges me forward.
My mom holds back. It’s an awkward moment until Bea throws an arm around each of our shoulders and pulls us in for a group hug. “Wasn’t she amazing, Mrs. King?”