The mood changes. We both repeat it, quieter this time.
“To Santino.”
We drink.
The old man would’ve had something to say about tonight. Probably would’ve laughed at me, told me to stop being a stubborn bastard and just tell Sierra how I feel.
He’d be right.
Tomorrow, I’m marrying the woman I love. And she has no idea.
The thought sits with me, heavy, as the music pulses around us.
Soon. I’ll tell her soon.
When Viktor is handled. When I’ve proven I can keep her safe. When I’m worthy of her.
The excuses feel hollow now, exposed for what they really are.
Fear.
I’m fucking terrified.
But tomorrow, Sierra Dixon becomes Sierra Rossi.
And I’m going to spend every day after that earning the right to keep her.
38
SIERRA
The morning of my wedding,chaos reigns supreme.
My parents’ house has transformed into a war zone of garment bags and hair products and relatives who apparently forgot how to use their inside voices.
Everyone came over last night for a family meal and game night, and most of them went home afterward. But they’re all right back here first thing this morning, armed with tuxedos and makeup brushes and enough hairspray to put a hole in the ozone layer.
My mom has been crying on and off since I woke up, dabbing at her eyes every time she looks at me. My dad can’t find one of his dress socks and keeps wandering through the living room muttering about it. Sarah has morning sickness again and is camped out near the bathroom just in case, while Greg hovers nearby looking helpless and slightly green himself.
Another pin is jabbed into my scalp.
“Hold still, sweetie,” my mom says, working a curl into place. “Almost done.”
Easier said than done, when my nerves are wound so tight I can barely breathe. In a few hours, I’ll be married. To Matteo. My stomach does a weird little flip—the good kind, for once. This is actually happening.
The curls take forever. Then comes the makeup, layer by layer. Finally, my mom helps me into the dress. The fabric whispers against my skin as she zips up the back, and when I turn to face the full-length mirror, my breath catches.
I look like a bride. An actual bride.
“Oh, honey.” Mom’s voice cracks. She presses a hand to her mouth, fresh tears pooling in her eyes.
“Mom, please. You’re going to make me ruin my mascara.”
She laughs, but it comes out watery. “You’re just so beautiful. I can’t help it.”
Downstairs, I hear Uncle James arriving with donuts and coffee. Dad’s voice carries through the house, complaining that he still can’t find his damn sock. Greg is asking if anyone’s seen his cufflinks. The normal, wonderful chaos of a family getting ready for something important.
Julian’s absence is the one shadow over all this happiness. He’s still in the hospital, slowly recovering from Viktor’s hit-and-run. He had memory loss for the first couple of days, which terrified all of us, but that’s cleared up now. There are still headaches. Pain in his leg. Each day brings small improvements, but he’s not well enough to come home yet.
