But after a couple of seconds, he loses balance and his paws thud as he falls. That was totally gross, and utterly genius.
Dante casually keeps his foot under Alpi’s hips, effectively stopping him, while watching the ceremony with all the appearance that there’s nothing else going on.
It’s amazing. My heartbeat returns to normal gradually, and Alpi calms his libido, eventually to the point that Dante allows him control over his mobility.
Dante shoots a look sideways at me and my heart leaps. He nods approvingly and warmth shivers over my skin. It’s a private, conspiratorial glance, just for me. It says that we are partners in this mission to ensure the wedding goes off without a hitch.
I give him a grateful smile that hopefully conveys how pleased I am that he saved the day.
“And now for the exchange of rings,” the priest intones.
I let a perfectly behaved Al Poochino go to the couple, and there are “aww!” and “isn’t he sweet?” noises from the guests.
Alpi wags his tail as the groom takes the rings off the little cushion strapped to his back. He then accepts hand licks from Alpi, and scratches behind his ears.
And that is real love, because Francesca smiles happily at her soon-to-be-husband getting on so well with her dog.
Good thing neither of them knows that not long ago Alpi was using that same tongue to lick his balls.
4
DANTE
I switch between glaring at Alpi and the boy who needs to keep his correct opinions about the drunk priest to himself, and subtly watching Ruby. This sweet, smart girl who is my unlikely partner, not in crime, but canine-crime prevention. Not a role I thought I’d ever have, given neither dogs nor lawenforcementare my things.
By the time it gets to signing and witnessing, I’m almost relaxed. The photographers take lots of shots of the happy—oblivious—couple signing, and then the priest beckons me. I glance across to the maid-of-honour who was the other planned witness, and she’s absent. Presumably gone to discreetly throw her guts up.
“Come on,” I murmur to Ruby, and avoid my sister’s eyes. My obedient girl gamely stands when I do, and follows me to the table set up with the religious and legal items necessary for a wedding.
The fucking priest—Lucia insisted we flew him out here from London so Francesca could have exactly the outdoor ceremony she’d been dreaming of—is a complete liability, and sways as he guides us to sit side by side at the table.
Ruby efficiently brings Alpi with her. The little menace seems to be warming to her, though I nearly lost it when I saw him humping her leg.
That isnotokay.
If anyone should be humping Ruby, it’sme.
I’m not jealous of that furry trouble-maker exactly, but I’d pay quite a lot for Ruby to feed me cheese whenever I ask.
“Sign…” The priest stumbles. “Here.”
Ruby hesitates, unsure, because the priest is not really that certain. The paperwork is in Italian, after all. I glance down, and probably more from luck than judgement, it’s correct.
“Are we sure that’s the right way around for the signatures?” she asks in a whisper.
The priest scowls. “Yesh, of course. And address, age…”
He catches my eye while she’s neatly writing her details, with a superior, dismissive expression that suggests I should laugh at her for questioning him.
I make it clear with an icy stare that he’s endangering his life with that bullshit, and he pales.
He’s lucky that the dog’s disgraceful behaviour has taken most of my ire—I knew he’d be trouble when Francesca named him Al Poochino after a mafia film star she’s too young to know about—and the mutt is above him on the list of people I’m considering murdering today.
I sign after Ruby, and then we both rise. The priest lurches as he walks away, his long robe brushing the table. I take his arm and give it a pat that doubles as both support and warning that if he doesn’t get his shit together, he might find his reunion with God sooner than he expected.
Back in our seats, I breathe a sigh of relief, as the ceremony concludes.
“I pronounce you, husband and wife.”
