“It’s ridiculous,” he scoffs. “My mother married my father at eighteen, and they’d been courting since she was fourteen. I don’t know why all the young people make such a fuss these days. Why waste life partying or pursuing careers when you can be a wife and mother?”
“Come on, old man, don’t pretend like you’re that much of a traditionalist. You were one of the ones who championed for women to have greater rights and freedoms in our world.” He also supported Catarina Conti when she first showed up in New York, but I don’t mention that because it was Cruz who initially asked my father to give her his backing. Mentioning my brother will only send my father wallowing in a pit of despair and depression. He blames himself for the shame Cruz brought on our family, and nothing any of us says will ever change his mind.
“And I stand over it. Women should have choices, but it doesn’t mean my personal views have changed. I don’t see anything wrong with wanting to marry young and start a family early.”
“This is a pointless conversation.” I smile as Sloane bends down to sweet-talk Elio into one more picture. I don’t know what she’s saying, but it’s working. He stops fidgeting with his collar and moves back in front of Isa. “Sloane is my nanny, period. Quit with the matchmaking. I’m getting enough of that shit from my friends.”
“It’s past time you took a wife, Cristian.”
“Please don’t start this again.”
“I know you don’t want to consider an arrangement, but maybe it’s the best option for you and Elio. You’re not getting any younger, and Elio needs a mother.”
“Elio is doing fine, Pops. He’s not wanting for anything, including maternal love. He is doted on by his grandmothers and his aunts, and Sloane adores him.”
“I don’t want to argue with you. I’m just saying you should consider all options.” He squeezes my shoulder and stares earnestly into my eyes. “You’re doing a fine job with Elio, Cristian. Your mother and I are so proud of the man you’ve become. You’re an amazing father, as we knew you would be. We only want you to be happy and to have love in your life. You deserve that.” His gaze bounces to my mother as she talks with Sloane. “My father chose Beatrice for me, and there isn’t a day that I’ve regretted it. I love your mother more than my life, son. Do not close yourself to it.”
My anger fades as fast as it came on. “You got lucky, Pops.” My parents have a great marriage, and it’s the benchmark I’ve set for myself.
“You could be lucky too.” Papa smiles affectionately at Sloane as he slaps me on the back. “Don’t rule anything out. Fate has a funny way of working.”
21
SLOANE
“Here, you look like you could use this,” Mrs. DiPietro says, topping off my wineglass.
She isn’t wrong. It’s been a long, tiring day, and I’m sick of everyone staring at me, especially the older men. I’ve even caught the bride’s father glancing in my direction a few times. No doubt Isotta has been badmouthing me to her family, and they probably all think I’m a gold-digging slut who doesn’t care about their nephew and grandson. Thankfully, Isa has been too busy to approach me, but she shoots daggers in my direction any time we cross paths, and I’m so ready to call it a night.
Forcing my gaze from the dance floor where Cristian is dancing with the bride, I smile at Cristian’s mother, hoping my jealousy isn’t too obvious. “Thank you.” I’m tempted to knock the whole thing back, but I’ve already had a couple of glasses, and I need to pace myself. I’ve been too busy hopping up and down with Elio to drink too much, but I don’t mind. My little prince is in a side room now with his cousins watching a magic show. The babysitters Isotta hired are taking care of all the kids, so I get a reprieve for a while. I spotted a few men who are obviously bodyguards standing watch outside the kids’ room and around the ballroom of the plush golf resort and hotel where the reception is being held. Security seems tight, but maybe this is the norm for mafia weddings.
Cristian has been busy chatting with various men throughout the day, but he makes sure to check in with us regularly. He seems to know everyone here. His dad too. Thank God for his mother. I’d be miserable if it weren’t for Beatrice. She’s been super kind and attentive, and I’m enjoying getting to know her.
“I think the bride has probably had too much wine,” she surmises, watching Isa paw at Cristian in a way that’s incredibly disrespectful to him and her new husband. Every time Cristian stops her wandering hands, she starts all over again.
“Or she’s just always like that,” I say, unable to retract my claws in time.
Beatrice smiles. “Ah, I see you’ve noticed what my son is far too blind to notice.”
“What I don’t understand is why she married Carmine if she wants Cristian.”
Sympathy splays across her face. “There are certain traditions within our social circles that dictate the way things happen. It’s rarely black or white.”
She’s as cryptic as her son and his friends, but I can’t fault the mafia for being guarded around outsiders. Reading between the lines, it seems obvious this is an arranged marriage. Why else would Isotta marry a man old enough to be her dad? I know her personality is hideous, but she’s young and pretty, and I can’t believe she couldn’t find a more suitable man to marry.
I shudder at the thought of being tied to someone like Carmine, which I know isn’t a charitable thought, but the guy gives me the creeps. I’ve spotted him watching me several times today, and I don’t like how he looks at me. I’ve gone out of my way to avoid him, and I’m praying he doesn’t try to make good on that dance because I’d rather walk over hot coals than dance with that man.
I have sympathy for Isotta. I can’t stand her, but I truly wouldn’t wish this on anyone. Every woman should get to choose their life partner. It’s disgusting she’s been forced into this.
“Josef to the rescue,” Beatrice says, gesturing to where Cristian’s father has intercepted the amorous bride, slotting into his son’s place so Cristian can make his escape. Cristian’s eyes find mine across the dance floor, and he stalks toward us. We don’t break eye contact as he approaches, and butterflies are skipping around my chest at the intense way he’s staring at me.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his eyes probing mine.
“Funny. I was going to ask you the same thing.” My eyes flit to Isotta.
“I’m fine.” He dismisses it casually. “I need to take care of something, but I’ll be back in a few.” His expression is tender when he looks at his mother. “Can I get you anything, Mama?”
“More wine is always good, son,” she says, waggling her brows.
