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I flick open the curtain and Giorgio’s eyes light up.

“Oh, Olivia.” He gasps as he spins me away from him and inspects my behind. “Oh, yes, I like this. I like this a lot.”

I wiggle my hips in the mirror with a cheeky smile. “Me, too.”

“Here you are.” Someone hands Giorgio a newspaper, and he smiles as he studies it.

He holds it up, and on the front page is a picture of me. I can’t understand what it says. It’s written in Italian.

“What does it say?” I ask.

“Enrico Ferrara chooses his queen.”

“That’s the headline?”

He kisses my cheek. “It takes a brave woman to love a Ferrara man.”

I smile, but my heart drops. “Why do you say that?”

He takes my hand in his. “Nothing, really, just not everyone is cut out for the life of a Ferrara man, that’s all.” He flicks the curtain shut and I stare at my reflection in the mirror.

An insidious festering fear begins to swirl in my stomach, like the calm before the storm. It takes a brave woman to love a Ferrara man.

Bravery has never been my strong point.

________

“What about this?” I come out of the closet in a pink dress. I hold my hands out to give him the full effect. “Is this better?” I do a twirl.

Enrico rolls his eyes. “You look gorgeous, like you have in the last five dresses. Just pick one because we need to go.”

God, all this fucking picking outfits lately has me going crazy. I wish Giorgio never showed me that damn newspaper. Now I’m second-guessing every damn outfit I wear.

How the fuck am I supposed to compete with Bianca?

“Pick one,” he repeats.

I look at him, deadpan. He doesn’t need to worry because he looks amazing in anything he wears, and how wrong can you go in an Armani suit?

I turn and look at my behind in the mirror. “I’m getting a fat ass already.”

He smirks.

“Your baby is making me put on weight already.” I huff as I walk into the wardrobe. “What do you wear to fucking church, anyway?” I call as I flick through all the coat hangers.

“The word fucking doesn’t go in that sentence, Olivia!” he calls back.

“Stop telling me not to swear.”

“I never knew a mother who swore so much.”

“The baby isn’t here yet, so I’m saying all the fucks I can.” God, so many dresses and none that look good.

I’m nervous as all hell. I’m going to church with the Ferraras.

The whole damn family is coming. Enrico’s brothers are home, and after church we are going back to Nonna’s. It’s Sunday, and I was supposed to be having a cooking lesson, but I hope she’s forgotten.

I know I want to.