Piper appears at my other side, her elegant fingers sorting through a collection of hairpins. “Missing your mafia man?” she asks with a knowing smirk. “Must be weird sleeping alone after all this time.”
“It wasn’t that,” I lie, but the flush creeping up my neck betrays me.
Of course it was that. My body has grown accustomed to Raffaele’s heat, his weight, his presence. Without him, the bed felt wrong. Empty.
The silk kimono they’ve wrapped me in slips slightly off one shoulder. I adjust it, fingers brushing against the diamond choker at my throat. Its cool weight against my skin is the only thing that feels right this morning.
“You’re a terrible liar,” Raven laughs, setting down the brush to rub her swollen belly. “These two kept me up all night with their kicking, and I still look more rested than you do.”
Last night’s dream resurfaced. Well, not a dream, a nightmare-memory of Mom in her hospital bed, the machines beeping slower and slower. Her hand in mine, fingernails blue against paper-white skin. Her voice, once so strong, reduced to a whisper as she thanked me.
The memory makes my stomach clench. I thought I was done with those nightmares, but evidently that’s not the case.
They’re morphing, or at least this one was at the end. When she whispered, “I’m sorry about the debt, Alina. I’m sorry I sold you to him.” Words she never said. Words that made me wake up gasping for air, reaching for Raffaele only to find empty sheets and darkness.
“Earth to Alina,” Piper snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Where’d you go just now?”
I blink, forcing the memory back into its box. “Sorry. Wedding jitters, I guess.”
“Understandable,” Raven nods sagely.
I’m grateful for their presence, for the distraction it provides from the knot of anticipation tightening in my chest. Missing Raffaele feels physical, an ache that started the moment he kissed me goodnight and left me alone in our bedroom.
How ridiculous that after spending my entire life without him, these measly hours apart now feel unbearable.
“Do you think he slept well?” I ask, not realizing I’ve spoken aloud until both women exchange knowing glances.
“If I know Rafe,” Piper says, “he probably didn’t sleep at all.”
“The Russo men don’t handle separation well,” Raven adds, smoothing the sleeve of my kimono. “When Matteo had to go to Chicago for three days, he video-called me every hour on the hour.”
The thought of Raffaele lying awake, missing me as I missed him, sends an unexpected warmth through my body. It’s strange how quickly I’ve grown accustomed to his presence, to his arm thrown possessively across my waist, to his breath warming the back of my neck.
A commotion in the hallway cuts through my thoughts—raised voices, the thud of something hitting a wall.
“What the—” Raven begins, but the words die as we recognize the voices.
“I don’t give a damn about tradition,” Raffaele’s voice, sharp and dangerous, slices through the door. “Get out of my way.”
“Come on, Rafe,” Matteo’s voice sounds strained. “You’ll see her soon. Don’t be dramatic.”
“He says, as if he’s not the king of drama,” Raven mutters.
“This is ridiculous,” Lorenzo’s voice joins in. “You’re acting like a teenager.”
I rise from my chair, the silk kimono fluttering around my legs. The noise outside grows louder—something else hits the wall, followed by cursing in Italian that doesn’t need translation.
“I swear to God,” Piper hisses, “if they damage anything in this cathedral—”
The door flies open with enough force to rattle the hinges, revealing Raffaele framed in the doorway. His chest heaves with exertion, his eyes wild as they search the room before landing on me.
Behind him, Matteo and Lorenzo look exasperated, their hair disheveled as if they’ve been physically restraining him.
“Out,” Raffaele commands, his eyes never leaving mine. “All of you. Out.”
“This is not how this works,” Piper protests, stepping between us. “You can’t see her before the ceremony.”
“You know it’s bad luck,” Raven adds, though there’s a hint of amusement in her voice.
