“Wrought-iron furniture, Sir?” she whispers, gazing around the outdoor space. “Howcomfortable.”
“Not everyone believes in lounging while eating. Italians are rather active eaters, little deer. We don’t require cushions.”
Her eyes sparkle with a memory. “Because you Italians eat best under a level of duress, right, Sir?”
My heart aches with love. Hearing our past conversation on a day like this makes this rather hard man almost sentimental. “Sicilian,” I correct, “and indeed.”
“My boy!” Alceu calls and coughs at the same time from a far side of the alfresco, having already consumed a bottle of red wine since he woke up only a few hours ago. Jetlag, of course, doesn’t bend even to the Don of Sicily.
As we approach him, I hear my little deer muttering to herself. “Crap. Crap. Crap. Crap.” Her hands work at smoothing down her dress, a pointless action as nothing is out of place.
I stop, turn the radiant girl to face me, and smile down at her. “Perhaps a little treat before you meet him, Se?”
She perks up. “Whiskey?”
“Something better.”
I lift my gaze and scan the tops of heads, nodding a quick acknowledgment to Alceu—yes, I heard you, old boy—before finding my target speaking to the barista.
Warm esteem moves through my chest as I lead my sweet girl through the sea of guests until we are beside her. Fawn’s shoes stop dead in their tracks, as if glued to the terracotta.
Her eyes widen.
Before us, a tall, striking Italian woman in a red dress slowly turns around, tiny espresso cup in her hand, her smile widening as her soft, loving gaze falls to Fawn.
“Sweet Fawn,” Aurora coos.
“You came!” Fawn leaps at her, all decorum apparently gone, the regal woman who entered the terrace replaced by my bouncing little deer. I really do not mind.
Much.
I hum. “I do believe you received a warmer welcome than I did, Aurora. I’m not sure whether I should be jealous.”
Fawn clings to Aurora’s side, who allows the public display of affection however odd it may appear to others, witnessing my ex-wife and my bride embracing.
“Oh, Clay,” Aurora says, half laughing. “I do believe youhave always been a tad jealous of me.”
“Is that right?”
“Territorial,” Fawn points out sweetly. “A man like Clay Butcher doesn’t feel jealousy. He feelsterritorial.”
I’m taken aback by Fawn’s mocking tone and teasing little smile as she tucks herself protectively into Aurora’s side like I won’t drag her away and fuck that tone from her mouth. “Are you taunting me, sweet girl?”
She bites her lower lip, poorly concealing a wide smile. “I would never, Sir.” She turns to my ex-wife. “Are you walking me down the aisle? Is that actually happening?”
“I would be honoured to.”
Tears bubble in Fawn’s dual-coloured eyes as she takes in the sight of her friend. “Thank you so much. This meanseverythingto me. It was going to be Bolton?—”
“Excuse me?” I deadpan.
“But he wants to be my butler-rat on the day,” she finishes, appeasing me somewhat. “He said he’d spend the entire wedding watching the man whose job it is to guard me, anyway. So he might as well do it himself.” She peers up at me. “So I asked Luca.” Her eyes slide back to Aurora. “But I’m so happy you came home.”
Aurora cradles Fawn’s hands in hers, her longer fingers with red-tipped nails I’m certain she uses as claws when needed, squeezing with ardency. “I am here now.”
It was a last-minute decision. Not an easy one. Dangerous, even. Aurora has encountered a lot of tension in Calabria. After all, quiet overthrows take time and commitment, leaving the battlefield for even a few days is never ideal. Not to mention the Family turning their noses up at the presence of an ex-wife amid a new union. We don’t allow such things.Usually.
It was quitethe challenge to steer my sweet girl away from Aurora, but when I see my father join Alceu’s side, I decide to make the introductions now.
