“I have a baptism to get to,” I remind her.
“Yes, and...” She pulls up my schedule on her phone and shows it to me. “We still have an hour before you have to leave.”
“Val,” I whine.
“Nope.” She grabs me by the arm and drags me into the sitting room, where our half-sister Francesca is parked on the recliner.
“What are you doing here?” I ask as she scoops a spoonful of cereal from the bowl balanced on her very pregnant belly.
“Gio’s out of town,” Franny mumbles as she chews. “He didn’t want me to be alone.”
A frown tugs at my lips. “He’s been out of town almost every weekend for the last two months.”
“He’s busy.” Franny shrugs.
“Busy with who?” I demand.
“I don’t know, and I don’t care either. I’m the one he comes home to. What he does with his free time is his business.”
I bite my tongue because there’s no point in telling her that’s not how it should be. Like most men in our world, Gio sees no issue with keeping six other side pieces. Franny knows the score well enough, considering her mother was one of our father’s mistresses. TheCosa Nostralikes to do things the old-fashioned way, even if it requires a mistress to get the job done. When mymother could no longer bear children, my father found someone else who could. Needless to say, he still didn’t get the son he wanted.
Though Franny and I aren’t very close, I don’t want her subjected to the same fate. But it doesn’t matter what I say. Our father told her before she married that wives are for business, and she shouldn’t go poking her nose where it doesn’t belong. I guess she took that to heart.
“You could learn a thing or two from me, you know,” Franny says. “Your marriage will be better off for it. If you think Matteo’s gonna be sitting at home with you while you moan your whole pregnancy, you have another thing coming.”
Nausea churns in my stomach, and Valentina shoots Franny a glare. “You aren’t helping.”
Francesca grunts as she sets her empty bowl aside and stands up. “Whatever. I’m gonna watch Housewives and leave you two to commiserate together.”
“Yeah, thanks for all your help,” Valentina mutters.
“I can’t fly to the wedding.” Franny points out. “Why should I help plan it?”
“Wouldn’t expect you to.” I roll my eyes at her. I can’t recall Francesca ever lifting a hand to help anyone with anything.
Valentina waits until she’s gone and directs me to the couch. “You aren’t running off until we get a few things settled first. I don’t think you understand the mountains I’ve had to move to make this wedding happen on time. Throw in all the secrecy, and it’s made my job ten times harder than it needs to be.”
“Is it more so than usual?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“You’re a Moretti marrying the next Vitale king,” she huffs. “Not only do both sides want me to perform a miracle by giving them the wedding of the century in zero time, but they want it all done quietly. The guests don’t even know where the ceremony isbeing held. They’ll be transported to the location that day after they’ve been screened.”
An invisible weight presses against my chest as I consider that. Paranoia isn’t unusual in theCosa Nostra, but this seems like overkill.
“What, do they think the Stavros brothers will have me killed?”
“Dio mio!” Valentina rushes to make the sign of the cross. “Don’t give yourself themalocchio, Abella. You know that’s what everyone is already thinking. You don’t need to give life to it.”
“You’ve spent too much time around Nonna Vitale.” I smirk.
“Well, maybe it’s not true,” she says. “But you can never be too careful…just in case.”
“The Stavros brothers aren’t going to hurt me,” I assure her.
“Of course not,” she agrees, but I can still see the concern in her eyes as she shoves her tablet onto my lap. “There are some ideas for the centerpieces. All I need you to do is look them over and tell me which variation you like.”
My eyes glaze over as I scan the images, not really seeing them. Truthfully, I don’t care about any of it. The colors, the decorations, the theme. I could get married in a paper sack, and I wouldn’t even notice. This wedding, the marriage, and all its expectations are suffocating the life out of me. I’m only surviving on autopilot because I’ve been trained from birth to understand that even if the world is on fire, I better still have a smile on my face. It’s the Moretti way. No matter what cards life has dealt me, I’ve always kept my chin up and my heels high as I soldiered on. But lately, I feel like a thread that’s started to unravel, and I don’t know how to stop it.
“Abella?”
