Chapter 17
Luci
25 Days Until The Wedding
T he rest of the day goes by without a glance of Alessandro. Assuming he’s busy, I get ready for our dinner tonight. I swipe through the new dresses I have, keeping in mind what Alessandro asked of me. The dress I know he’s describing sits in the back of the closet, taunting me. I slide the clothes back and forth, wishing something else would show up between the mass amounts of clothes I’ve searched through already. The dress is the definition of a little black dress. Fitted, ending about mid-thigh with a sweetheart neckline and thin straps. I put it on with shaky hands, confident it’ll never zip, it won’t be flattering at certain angles, or I’ll simply have to be cut out of it. Part of me thinks if the last one were to happen, Alessandro would unapologetically savor it.
Once it’s on and zipped, I turn around to look in the mirror, relaxing my stiff shoulders when I take in my reflection. Shocked is a mild way to describe how this dress fits me. In moments like this, it would be helpful to have a friend. I pick up the phone Alessandro got me and call the only person I would consider to help.
“What’s up, babe? Fuck off, Marco!” The last part yelled in response to his irritated voice in the background.
Asking for help has never been my strong suit, but she’s the expert. “Hi El, it’s Luci. Are you busy helping Andrea with something for Marco? I need some help accessorizing. If you’re at work, I’ll figure it out myself.”
“No, I’m not busy. Andrea and I have today off. Let me step away and we can chat.” Muffled voices come from the background. One I know is Marco and the other I’m assuming is her boyfriend, Andrea by his French accent.
“If it’s your day off, what are you and Andrea doing with Marco?” Normally it would be an innocent question, but Marco’s flirtatiousness the other day comes back to me and now I’m curious.
There’s a brief pause in the conversation, ending before I can ask if she’s still there. “Don’t worry about it. What’s going on?”
“Alessandro and I are having dinner and I put that little black dress on, which by the way, fits perfectly. The only problem is, I don’t know what else to wear.”
“Girl, say less, video chat with me.” We switch to video as El adjusts her hair and I’m still wondering why Marco is there with her and Andrea. Instead of pushing it further, I show her my reflection in the mirror and wait for her reaction. “Yes! That dress was made for you. Seriously babe, it’s fucking hot. Listen, your hair is perfect, loving the crucifix necklace you always wear. Add a smidge more makeup. Key word is a smidge. We still need to give ‘I’m innocent, defile me’ vibes. Here’s the kicker. No underwear or bra, but wear the stockings with the lace at the top and black pumps. I wore something similar the other week and can happily say I got thoroughly fucked into that next week. Last piece of advice, have fun, look hot, and update me later. Oh! Also, if you use the lip stain nothing will get ruined by your dinner, drinks, or other oral activities. I have to go. Bye, doll!”
I take El’s advice and study myself all done up in the mirror. My feet are metaphorically stuck to the floor until I get the courage to walk out of the bedroom. Enzo is outside in the hallway when I open the door, more serious than the last time I saw him—plus a nice new black eye. That conversation with Marco must have gone differently than the one with Alessandro and I. “I’m guessing you’re here to escort me to dinner with Alessandro.” He nods and I follow him downstairs into the garden where Alessandro said we would have dinner.
Alessandro’s reaction to my appearance must match mine, because wow, he’s handsome. His all-black suit is tailored perfectly and individualized to fit his personality down to the shirt opened at the top and a peek at a printed sock.
“Thank you, Enzo. You’re dismissed.” His voice snaps me out of his trance when Enzo retires inside and Alessandro pulls out the chair for me. “Luci, you’re breathtaking tonight. Please have a seat.”
There’s an awkwardly long pause, except for the low volume of music playing until food and drinks are brought out. We say our thank yous before it’s the two of us again.
Alessandro speaks while I’m cutting my food, talking over the music that’s been playing. “I know this isn’t your favorite situation you’ve been in—”
“You’re right about that,” I say, loud enough to cut him off and annoy him in the same sentence.
“Yes. Anyway, we should get to know each other. Tell me what I can’t find from researching you. Tell me who I’m marrying.” The intensity in his eyes locks me in place similar to how they did the night we met. I can’t tell if it’s a game, or if he’s being genuine, but he’s looking at me like any woman would want a man to look at them.
“If you insist. I can’t guarantee you’ll be entertained. There’s nothing that special about me. I’m a born and raised Philadelphian, well, raised an hour outside of Philadelphia. I’m a Pisces, which—according to some girl I had a project with in high school—describes everything about me. I hate pineapple, am allergic to avocado, obsessed with caramel anything, movies, and Halloween, and I’m scared of geese.” Alessandro is in the middle of a sip of wine when he chokes, laughing at my last statement. “Don’t laugh at me, geese are scary! When I was a kid, one chased me in the park and now I’ll avoid them at all costs.”
Alessandro is still gathering himself when I turn the conversation to him. “Okay, meanie, it’s your turn.”
He manages to regain control before answering my question. “I don’t think I can top the geese thing, but I’ll try. I was raised by Geno after my mamma, Gia, passed due to a pre-existing heart condition, and my papa, Salvatore left. Geno and I assume he didn’t want to be in this life anymore. I’ve lived here for several years, expanding my family’s business with the plan to inherit Geno’s legacy. I’ve dedicated this garden and the library to my mamma, who loved her garden and reading to me when she was pregnant. At least that’s what I’ve heard. I don’t believe I’m allergic to anything and while I have no direct animal-related fears, I do think opossums are strange. I am an excellent dancer and collect wine and whiskey. Maybe I could show you sometime.” He reaches over, his hand grazing over mine, causing electricity to course through my body at his touch. “Last, I think I’m a Capricorn, even though I have no clue what that means.
“I think Capricorns and Pisces are supposed to be a good match.” Why did I say that? Okay, switch subjects. “Your mamma must have good taste. This garden is beautiful and I would love to see your library. Which part are you going to show me—the alcohol or dancing?”
He stands, reaching out the same hand that grazed over mine. “I’ll show you both, but first we’ll dance.” Other than dancing in the kitchen on Nonno’s feet, my experience is little to none. The elegant yet masculine way Alessandro leads me makes up for that. I notice that when our eyes lock, something is different. The hard expression on his face softens and instead of asking him about his intentions for tonight, I reach up and kiss him. That singular kiss causes something to bloom inside of me and my heart races.
We dance for the next few songs, only the music filling the garden before separating. He puts his hand in his pocket, pulling out the ring box I slammed on his desk earlier, and kneels on one knee before me. “Wear my ring. Show that you’re going to marry me.”
I’m conflicted, trying to decide whether I want to give into this sweet moment and put aside the hostility I’ve held toward him. Toward what he’s done to me. And most importantly, what he’s threatened to do. I treat this decision like I’ve treated most, giving up the fight to make my life easier as I please him with a singular word. “Okay.”
He slides the ring on my finger then pulls me in for a bruising kiss, standing and I wrap my legs around him as he walks us inside. We shower once upstairs, then spend all night awake in bed together. I’m not sure what’s changed, but this moment with him appears genuine, and marrying him doesn’t seem so torturous.