Lucy’s grinning. “That’s the one.”
“It’s very…” I turn, watching the way the fabric moves. “Revealing.”
“It’s perfect,” Lucy counters. “I’ve never seen you like this before. I love it.”
I study my reflection, imagining Vincenzo seeing me in this dress. Imagining the look on his face when I walk down the aisle. The way his hands would trace the bare skin of my back. How he’d spend the entire ceremony thinking about getting me out of it.
Clara smiles. “Then it’s decided.”
Simone takes my measurements and schedules last-minute fittings that Dad has to pay through the nose for, and the three of us leave the boutique together.
Lucy hugs me goodbye on the street, and Clara promises to send updated timelines by morning.
I watch them both leave, then climb into the car where Matteo waits behind the wheel.
On the drive home, I think about the dress hanging in that boutique with my name on it. I can’t wait for Vincenzo to see me wearing it.
That night,sleep won’t come. My mind keeps circling back to the same problems. The clock is ticking. Dashamir is waiting. I’m no closer to getting a confession from Dad than I was several days ago.
I’m staring at the ceiling when I hear it. The soft scrape of the balcony door sliding open.
Vincenzo steps through, and even in the darkness I can see the effort it costs him. The way he favors his ribs. The slight grimace he tries to hide as he turns to me.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I whisper, but I’m already crossing the room to him.
“I know.” He straightens with visible effort, and even battered and healing, he’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. He reaches for me, his hands settling on my waist and pulling me close. “But I had to see you. I keep thinking about you in this house with him without me to protect you, and I can’t—”
I kiss him to stop the spiral of words.
He makes a rough sound against my mouth and kisses me back harder, deeper, like he’s trying to crawl inside my skin. His hands slide up my back, under my sleep shirt, and I feel the slight tremor in his fingers.
“How bad is it?” I murmur against his lips.
“The pain? Manageable.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. “I’ve had worse.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“I’m with you. That’s all that matters.” His thumb traces my cheekbone. “Tell me what you’ve been doing. I want to hear all about you.”
So I do. I tell him about Clara, about the wedding venue, and about choosing the warm, romantic, beautiful wedding we deserve.
“And the dress?” he asks.
“It’s very daring,” I say, watching his eyes darken. “The kind of dress that will make you lose your mind during the ceremony.”
“Doe.” His voice drops to a growl. “You’re killing me.”
“You haven’t even seen it yet.”
“I don’t need to. I already know I’m going to spend the entire wedding thinking about getting you out of it.”
“That’s the idea.”
He kisses me again, slower this time. Thorough. His hands map my body like he’s memorizing me, and I can feel the tension in him. The need. The restraint.
