Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 63052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
I guess we’re all trying to pretend like this is normal.
Only immediate family and Drew are gathered in the living room. Drew is sitting beside my mom. The Benedetti family is sitting across from them, Mr. and Mrs. Benedetti and Dominic. I don’t look at Dominic. I don’t need to to see the one-cornered smirk of ‘I told you so’. I also don’t look at Sergio’s uncle. His ruthlessness terrifies me almost more than Franco Benedetti’s.
What a turn of events.
Salvatore is standing beside his brother. I have no maid of honor. A priest I don’t know waits, bible in hand. The pianist begins the wedding march again. I realize I missed the first cue. Sergio clears his throat when I still don’t move.
I look up at him. He’s not smiling. He’s just watching me. Waiting.
“Mine. Always. No matter what.”
And I’m doing this.
I take the first step and my father squeezes my hand and we walk down the aisle toward my destiny. My future. With this man who is as good as he is brutal. Who has killed with the same hands with which he has made love to me. This man whose baby is growing inside my belly. The man I’m bound to. Was bound to from before I ever set eyes on him.
27
Sergio
For a minute, I’m not sure if she’s going to do it. If she’s going to take those steps down the aisle. Down to me. She’s in her head and I know she’s hasn’t been sleeping. I see it in the shadows beneath her eyes.
I don’t know what I’ll do if she turns and runs.
I know I can’t let her go. I won’t.
But I don’t want to chase her. I don’t want to make her.
And a moment later, when the pianist begins the wedding march again, I’m glad I don’t have to. Her lips move into a small smile, and, eyes locked on mine, she comes to me.
I’ve never felt relief like I do in that moment.
Does she deserve this? Me? My family? No, she deserves a hundred times better. I will live and die with that knowledge. I will live and die knowing I loved her too much to let her go. It’s selfish. But I guess I’m selfish. And what I feel for her, it overwhelms me sometimes. It swells and surges and takes me under so I can’t breathe.
She is breath. She is life. She is everything.
She reaches the altar and I take her flowers from her, hand them to the priest because I don’t know what to do with them. I lift the veil from her face and her eyes glisten with tears. I know they’re not all tears of joy and I lean close to her, touch the soft skin of her cheek and bring my mouth to her ear.
“You’re beautiful.”
With my thumb, I wipe away a tear and we just stay like that for a minute and I breathe her in and I want to make this moment last forever.
“I’m happy,” she whispers, more tears sliding down her cheeks.
I close my hand over the swell of one hip and draw back to look at her. I know happy isn’t all she is. I know she’s scared. I want to tell her not to be afraid. That I’ll protect her. That I won’t ever let anything happen to her. To us. That I’ll take care of everything. But I can’t do that. And I don’t. And all I can do is smile at her words.
Someone clears their throat. Fucking Dominic. I want to kill him. I want to kill my bastard brother. But Natalie pulls back and we turn to the priest and he begins the ceremony and, a short while later, Natalie Gregorian is Natalie Benedetti.
My wife.
28
Sergio
“I’m going to miss being in the city,” Natalie says. We’re a few blocks from the house on Elfreth’s Alley where we just handed over the keys to a house-sitter I hired so Natalie and Pepper can move in with me.
“You’ll appreciate the quiet. Although you will have to learn how to drive a car.”
“I can drive a car. I just haven’t in a while.”
“If you always drive like you did tonight, you’re going to take some lessons.”
“I’m just rusty. And your car goes too fast. I’m not used to it.”
“Right.” I’m glad she can’t see the expression on my face. “This is my favorite Italian place in the city,” I say, changing the subject as we round the corner and I push the door to the tiny restaurant open.
“I’ve never even seen this place and I must walk by here four times a day,” she says once we’re inside.
I smile. It’s loud in the restaurant, even though there are only seven tables. Italians are loud though, and everyone here is Italian.
“It’s a well-kept secret,” I say, hanging my coat on the rack by the door before helping her get hers off.