“What time is it?” I rasp, sitting up and tossing back the painkillers.
I chase them with a gulp of flavored water that confirms it’s packed with electrolytes.
Thank God for Gio, who somehow manages to keep us all alive. I don’t know what I’d do without him.
Then again, he is also the one who kept making me drinks when he should have cut me off.
But only Giovanni would know me well enough to realize a hangover would be the lesser of two evils if I couldn’t sleep at all last night.
And that’s exactly what would have happened if I’d gone to bed sober.
“Eleven. You should have just enough time to shower and shave. I’ve told the kitchen to send up some breakfast and a bloody Mary.”
“You’re a saint,” I groan, flopping onto my back and staring up at the ceiling as I contemplate sneaking in another five minutes of sleep.
Gio snorts. “Hardly. And don’t even think about going back to bed. Miko doesn’t have time to babysit you, and our father will straight up murder you if you’re late today, so I’m not leaving until you’re in the shower. Go. You can’t keep your bride waiting.”
Surprisingly enough, the thought of Sora does manage to nudge me out of bed, and with another groan, I do as my younger brother says.
I don’t know when he got more mature than me.
Maybe it’s because he hasn’t spent his life hellbent on pissing off our father, but whoever put him in charge of me today made the right choice.
Once I’m cleaned up and dressed and have a bit of food in my stomach, I actually feel alive again, and possibly just slightly less exhausted than if I hadn’t slept.
Still, my feet feel like lead as my last moments of freedom slip away with every step toward the great room.
It’s not far to walk—and the walk feels even shorter today—as Gio and I collect Miko and the twins along the way.
They’re all dressed in tuxedos, like me, and we head out to the terrace as a unit, my brothers having my back every step of the way.
The guests are already there, finding seats in the rows of white chairs set out and decorated with sage green sashes for the occasion.
Hundreds are in attendance for today—to witness one of the biggest weddings of the season.
Don Augusta stands at the far end of the aisle, conversing with Kenji Tanaka and theoyabun’s wife. Signora Aya Tanaka, a striking woman, who looks like an older version of her daughter, Sora, looks elegant in a yellow silk dress.
The subtle pattern in the fabric, made of a slightly softer yellow thread that only appears when it catches the sun just right, looks like cherry blossoms that cascade across the silk, falling to the ground.
With a polite nod, I greet my soon-to-be in-laws and head to the archway near the terrace railing and the officiant waiting there.
Meanwhile, my brothers pile into the chairs along the front row of my side of the aisle.
It doesn’t matter how good that bloody Mary was or how well the aspirin is working.
As I look back over the sea of guests toward the house, the brilliant summer sun makes me squint as it reflects off the white chairs and bright, cheery wedding clothes.
What I wouldn’t give for a pair of sunglasses, but I have no doubt that would be an insult to the occasion.
I can sense the last few minutes ticking by as the final guests filter into their seats to the sound of the grand piano we’ve rolled onto the terrace for the occasion.
Then, the music transitions into a traditional wedding march, and as one, the guests turn in their seats, rising when they see the glass doors open—and Sora steps out.
My heart stops.
She’s positively radiant in a simple white cap-sleeve wedding dress with a high collar made of the finest lace.
The fitted bodice tapers to her slim waist, where a thick kimono-style belt is tied, showcasing an elaborate scene of gold-and-white cranes on a red background dancing above blue waves.
