Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 163540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 818(@200wpm)___ 654(@250wpm)___ 545(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 818(@200wpm)___ 654(@250wpm)___ 545(@300wpm)
I close my eyes in regret.
Don’t go.
“Goodbye, Rici.” She tries to walk away and cling onto her hand.
“What if I won’t let you go?”
“But you will.”
The truth hurts.
She turns, walks out of the restaurant, and out of my life.
I slump back into my chair and drag my hand down my face.
I inhale with a shaky breath. It will fine.
I’ll be fine.
It needed to come to an end.
I’ll be fine.
I sit at the table and stare at the bride.
Traditional white dress, madly in love with her groom.
Italian to the bone.
It never bothered me before, and I’ve been to a lot of weddings. This wedding is different. I can’t take my eyes off the newly married couple. I keep envisaging myself kicking the ten-tier wedding cake down. Smashing it to smithereens.
Screaming to the whole world that it’s a façade.
The groom leans over and kisses his bride, and my stomach twists with jealousy.
Italian blood.
The lifeline of my heritage.
Fernando, my cousin, can marry her because of the blood that runs in her veins.
I tip my head back and drain the scotch from my glass.
Stop fucking thinking about it.
I feel two warm hands on my shoulders. “Enrico.”
I glance up and smile as I see my mother. She’s dressed in her mourning black and as beautiful as ever.
“What is it, son?” she asks softly as she takes a seat beside me. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing, Mamma.” I fake a smile. “Busy.”
“That’s not true. I’ve seen you every day this week. Something is wrong, I can feel it. A mother knows these things.”
I clench my jaw and look out over the party. “Leave it, Mamma.”
“Andrea told me.”
I run my tongue over my teeth as my attention drifts back to her. “Told you what?”
“You’ve met someone.”
“I said leave it.”
“What’s the matter, Enrico? Talk to me.”
I shake my head. “Nothing, I’m fine.”
“She doesn’t love you?”
I roll my eyes.
“She loves another?”
“No!” I snap, angered by the mere prospect. “She does not.” I drag my hands through my hair.
“Why can’t you have her?”
“Because I am Italian. Because I choose to honor my ancestors.”
Her face falls. “Oh, Rico,” she sighs. “My darling boy.” She watches me for a moment. “You are your father’s son. Honorable and brave.”
I stare into her big, brown eyes, and I see sympathy.
“Your father would want you to choose love, Rico. What good is tradition if your love is untrue?”
I stare at her, confusion setting in.
“When you find your love, you must fight to keep her.” She leans over and kisses me on the cheek. Without another word, she stands and walks away.
My eyes go back to the married couple. I don’t even know what true is anymore.
Olivia
Two weeks later
I look at the three swatches of fabric as I try to work out what I’m putting on this vision board for an upcoming dress I am delivering next week. One is browner than I thought, and damn it, I thought it was going to be perfect. I hold the sequin swatch over the fabric. They do still look good together though.
“Delivery for Olivia Reynolds,” someone says.
I glance up to see a delivery man with a big bunch of red roses. “What in the world?”
“Are you Olivia?”
“Yes.”
“Sign here, please.” I sign the card, and he hands over the heavy crystal vase filled with beautiful roses.
“Thanks.” I smile in surprise and open the card attached. It reads:
I need to see you tonight.
Luciano’s Italian at
7:00 p.m.
Rici
xo
What the fuck?
I walk into the restaurant just after seven. I’ve been a bundle of nerves all day.
What does he want?
It’s been two weeks since I said goodbye to Rici. I would love to say that I haven’t thought of him once, but I would be lying.
He’s the first thing I think of in the morning and the last thing I think of at night.
His love has lingered on my soul.
The restaurant is dark and moody. Candles sit on top of every table.
I catch sight of him sitting at the back, and I smile as I make my way up to the table.
He stands and smiles. “Bella.”
Unable to help it, I smile at the mere sight of him. He takes me into his arms. “Hello.” We are genuinely excited to see each other and we hug and take a seat.
He has this twinkle to his eyes, and he pours me a glass of champagne.
“What’s this about?” I ask. “You wanted to see me.”
“I did.” He takes a sip and seems in a rush. “I’m just going to get straight to it. I have a proposition for you.”
“Do tell.”
“Although there are some conditions that you will need to adhere to.”
“Conditions?” I frown. What the hell is he on about?
“You will become a practicing Catholic.”
Huh?
“You will learn Italian and speak it as your first language.”
I frown and sit back.
“You will be under guard twenty-four hours a day, and will not go anywhere unaccompanied.”