Page 51
She masks her twitching eye with a smirk, but I saw the crack. Saw the flinch.
“I know what this is, sweetheart. You’re just a placeholder. He’ll come home. He always does.”
Her words sink like stones, the truth of them twisting my stomach. She’s probably right.
I smile sweetly. “You think I can’t keep him? Watch me.”
Izzy leaving with daggers in her stare feels like a small victory.
Am I being petty by saying those words so she’d scurry off? Sure, but does it feel satisfying? Hell, yeah.
Marco comes to me next. He’s the only one who seems remotely human. He’s got a warm grin, messy hair, and nervous charm.
Enzo shifts beside me, watching silently.
“Hey, Mrs. Ricci,” he greets with a wink.
My stomach flips. The name lands wrong. Foreign. Heavy. Like I’m wearing someone else’s skin.
Mrs. Ricci.
I’m married.
I almost snort. “Don’t call me that.”
As Marco shrugs and strolls away, Enzo’s expression changes.
“If I knew you’d be so against bearing my name, I wouldn’t have suggested the wedding.”
“I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to do.” I blow out a breath. “I don’t even know if I’m doing it right.”
He flashes a smile that transforms his face. “Well, you’re pulling it off…with terrifying beauty. I’d completely buy it if you didn’t appear to be fantasizing about stabbing someone with a stiletto.”
I snicker. “When does this end?”
His voice drops. “Hopefully soon. You’ve got half the room wondering if you’ll survive the night, and the other half scared you’ll have their beloved Ricci poisoned by breakfast.”
“Now that second one…that I like.”
He throws his head back in laughter. “I can already sense this is going to be a great marriage.”
Then Gio arrives, all twitchy with his eyes shifting around before he gives a shy smile. “Hi, ma’am.”
“Please don’t call me ma’am.”
I stand to hug him, and he flinches. When I pull back, I catch the bruises along his neck and the raw scrapes across his lower jaw.
My eyes narrow. “Who did this?”
He shakes his head quickly. “Don’t. Not here. It’s your wedding day.”
My hands curl at my sides. “Was it the men who brought me here? Vito? Rocco?”
Enzo moves beside me. He doesn’t say a word, but his presence settles like a wall.
Gio’s gaze flicks to him. “Please,” he says quietly. “Don’t make this worse.” He slips away before I can respond.
Too late considering the spark already in my chest. The one thing I don’t take kindly to, even with the kindergarteners I teach, is bullying. And right on cue, Vito and Rocco slither into view, their nervous smiles aimed at the platform.
