"What is it?" I ask, now fully awake. "Did something happen?"
"Your family," she says, still only half smiling. "They are here, in Phoenix. They want to see you today for lunch."
I jump out of bed immediately. My heart races at the thought of seeing Antonio, Alexander, and Felix again. It’s been ages.
"They called early this morning," Pita continues anxiously. "They are opening a restaurant here…."
“I know.”
“You know?” she asks, confused.
I stop short, not knowing how much I should say. Would Frankie be in trouble for telling me? I don’t want to do anything to put him in danger so I choose to ignore her question. She doesn’t press the issue thankfully.
"They want to meet for lunch today?" I ask nonchalantly.
"Yes, today."
Excitement bubbles up within me, followed by a wave of anxiety. What do they know? Do they know about the letter and my upcoming marriage? About Frankie guarding me? Do they know Uncle Alessio is dead? My thoughts race as I swing my legs over the edge of the bed.
"Diego will be here in one hour," Pita says, moving to my closet. "We must get you ready. You want to look nice for your family, yes?"
I nod, pushing myself up from the bed. An hour isn't very much time, but it's enough for me to look presentable. I need to look composed and mature. Like the mafia princess my family sees me as. Definitely not like some scared little girl who gave her virginity away to her keeper and is about to be married off to a stranger.
"The blue dress," I say decisively, pointing to a silk wrap dress at the back of my closet. It's elegant without being overly formal, making me look older than I really am. It’s also classy and modest. It’s the exact type of outfit my family would expect me to wear in public. It’s nothing like the little black dress I wore to the nightclub. Pita nods approvingly as she pulls it out.
"Yes, perfect. And your hair up, don’t you think?"
This woman clearly knows what she’s doing. Her andMarta would get along great. My stomach clenches. I miss Marta and Nico. They always took care of me when Andre would leave the estate back home. I shower quickly, scrubbing away last night's restless sleep. Under the hot spray, I rehearse what I can and cannot say to my cousins. I can't tell them about Frankie or about what happened between us. I can't let them see how terrified I am of this wedding. But I need to know what's happening back home, what Andre is planning, and if there's any hope of escape before the vows are spoken.
Back in my bedroom, Pita helps me into the dress, zipping it up the back. I sit at my vanity as she twists my hair into an elegant chignon, leaving a few loose tendrils framing my face. The girl in the mirror looks poised and sophisticated. She looks like she belongs in this world of dangerous men and arranged marriages. She looks nothing like the messy-haired girl who moaned incoherent words while Frankie ravished her body in a hotel room in Prescott. She looks like a woman.
"Beautiful," Pita murmurs, stepping back to admire her handiwork, while I apply a nude gloss to my lips.
I stand and smooth the dress over my hips, my fingers unconsciously drifting to my right side, just below my breast where my datura tattoo hides beneath the fabric. I press against it lightly, feeling the slight tenderness that remains. It's like a secret connection I have to Frankie even when he's not here. Even when I'm being handed off to another of Rio's brothers like a package to be delivered.
"Will they have guards with them?" I ask. My cousins don’t usually walk around with guards following them in Italy but it’s been a while and we are in another country after all.
"I don't know," Pita says with a small frown. "But Diego will have his men with him, I’m sure."
I nod, slipping on a pair of modest heels. Of course Diego will have his men. I'll be watched from every angle, my everyword and gesture noted and reported back. To who though? To Rio or his father? To Frankie?
The thought of Frankie makes my stomach sink. Where is he today? Why isn't he the one taking me? Has Santiago already reassigned him after their argument yesterday? What if I never see him again?
"Do I really look okay?" I ask Pita, suddenly uncertain. I want my family to see that I'm okay. I don't want them worrying about me more than they already are.
"More than okay, mija," she says, her voice soft. "You look like a woman who knows her own mind. You look like the future wife of a Sanchez."
If only that were true. Would a Sanchez wife have slept with her guard a week before her wedding? I’m not so sure. I take one last look at myself in the mirror before following Pita out. A sharp knock sounds downstairs, making us both jump. Has it been an hour already?
"He's here," Pita says, unnecessarily.
We both know who’s at the door. I take a deep breath, pick up my small purse, and follow her downstairs where Diego Sanchez waits in the foyer, looking familiar in his black pants and black button up shirt. One of the men from the foyer the other day and from the day at the pool.
‘Time to play my part.’
Our eyes connect and I watch as he scans my body before bursting out into laughter. Pita and I both look at each other, confused.
“This…,” he says while gesturing to me and looking at Pita, “…is who my father arranged to marry Rio?”
