Alive. I’m grateful for small mercies.
I wish I could see you.
My heart does something complicated in my chest.
Soon I hope.
Not soon enough.
I press the phone to my heart for a moment, letting myself feel the warmth of his words.
Then I look at my father’s closed study door, and reality crashes back.
I have no idea how to get close enough to Dad to record a confession, and the clock is ticking.
Two days later,I’m browsing the most exclusive bridal boutique in Malus with Lucy and Clara. The boutique is all cream walls and soft lighting, with gowns displayed like works of art. A woman named Simone greets us with champagne and ushers us into a private fitting room that’s bigger than my bedroom.
“Tell me about your style,” Simone says, her eyes shrewd and assessing. “Classic? Romantic? Modern?”
“Romantic,” I say. I think about everything that Vincenzo and I have been exploring together, and add, “Nothing too virginal.”
Lucy snorts into her champagne. Clara’s eyes sparkle behind her oversized glasses. Okay, so Vincenzo and I haven’t had sex, but it’s only a matter of time. When I’m not worried about beingdismembered by chainsaws or my father murdering the man I love, being pounded hard by Vincenzo is all I can think about.
“I understand perfectly,” Simone says with the faintest smile. “Let me pull some options.”
She disappears into the back, and I sink onto the velvet settee beside Lucy.
“Is Don Agnello coming?” Lucy asks.
I widen my eyes and glance meaningfully at Clara, who’s picking a bridal magazine up from a side table. Understanding flashes over Lucy’s face. No mafia talk. Mr. Montoni, not Don Agnello.
“No.” The word comes out flatter than I intend. “Dad’s not interested in the details.”
Lucy sighs. “Typical. But at least you get to choose what you want without him vetoing anything too sexy.”
“That’s a silver lining,” I agree.
Clara takes a seat on my other side. We are two mafia princesses and a wedding planner who hasn’t quite figured out exactly what kind of world she’s stepped into. Or she’s just very good at hiding it.
Simone returns with an assistant, both of them carrying gowns. They hang them on hooks along the wall.
The first dress is what my father would want. High neck, long sleeves, modest and appropriate. A dress that says good mafia wife. Obedient daughter. Nothing to see here.
The second dress is lace with illusion panels, and a sweetheart neckline that’s demure but romantic. The kind of dress that would make everyone happy. Traditional enough for my father, pretty enough for me.
The third dress is pure sin. Backless. Low-cut. The kind of dress that makes daring promises, designed to drive a man insane with wanting. The kind of dress I want to wear when I marry Vincenzo.
“Two and three are both beautiful,” I say, but my eyes are lingering on the third.
“Try them both,” Simone suggests. “See how you feel.”
I try the demure one first. It’s expertly tailored and would photograph beautifully, but it makes me look like someone I’m not. It’s the kind of dress a bride would take off and then return to her happy, ordinary life.
Lucy takes one look at my face and shakes her head. “Next.”
The next dress, the one I’m drawn to, slides over my skin like water. Cool silk, almost no back at all, and a neckline that plunges just this side of scandalous. When I look in the mirror, I’m reminded of the Malus girl who barged through a crowd at a bare-knuckle fight and saved her man, and a smile spreads over my face.
“Oh,” Clara breathes.
