Chapter 21
Idon’t think either of us imagined, in our happiest dreams or our scariest nightmares, that our wedding would be like this.
But today, the eve of our wedding is putting any hopes we’d had of a simple ceremony firmly to rest. Not just six feet under, but more like oceans under.
All of Violet’s family is in town now, people who haven’t seen her since she was knee-high and whom she doesn’t even remember. I’ve lost track of names because there are just so many of them.
And now, we’ve completely filled up Papa and Nana’s house for a get-to-know-you lunch.
I feel like a bug under a microscope as they circle me, patting my back, shaking my hand, and pulling me in for wet kisses to my cheeks as they exclaim in Italian.
They might be saying kind things, or they might be discussing how a beauty like Violet could do so much better than a schmuck like me. I’m not sure either way.
“Tell us about your work, Ross.”
“How many babies are you planning to have?”
“How soon for the babies?”
“Do you know how lucky you are to catch a woman like Violet?”
“If you hurt her, I will kill you so badly, the polizia will never find your body.”
That last one had been said straight-faced and seriously in broken English by a big, beefy wall of a man whose name, I think, is Rafael. I won’t dare call him that in case it’s wrong, though, because I’m not willing to risk inciting his anger or violence.
It’s nice that they’re protective of Violet, but they don’t need to worry about me. I have no intention of hurting her.
I excuse myself from the group surrounding me and go in search of my bride.
I find her in the kitchen, holding an olive in her hand.
She’s killing me with this egg diet. I want to just feed her and worship her curves.
But she’s holding strong and seems confident that her fitting with Weston will go fine later this afternoon.
I know the olive is just a cover because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that her family will feed you at every opportunity or create one just so that they can spoil you.
I step to her side, sliding my hands around her waist, and eat the olive from her fingers. “For me?”
She smiles and whispers as she leans into me. “Thank you. Nana and Sofia keep trying to get me to taste everything. I finally had to say the olives made everything taste salty, and that got them arguing about how much salt to add to the marinara again.”
I laugh. “Evil woman, making them fight just so they’ll leave you alone.” She shrugs and I press a soft kiss to her cheek.
“Aww, to be in love . . . such is amore,” a voice says behind us.
I turn to see Gianna . . . no, wait . . .
it’s Giovanna—those extra syllables are a killer—leaning against the door frame with her hands clasped beneath her chin.
She’s a cousin, I think, from somewhere on the family tree.
I swear I’m going to need a PowerPoint presentation or a flowchart to keep them all straight.
“Violet, I wanted to ask you something,” Giovanna says. Her smile looks friendly enough, but I’ve been in enough board rooms to recognize a shark approaching when I see one.
“Of course,” Violet says, unaware of the minefield she’s stepping into.
“I wasn’t sure you knew this or not, but Michael and Anna have been in several weddings now. Anna does enjoy sprinkling the flowers along the aisle, and Michael is very responsible and would keep the rings safe and sound. They’d be a lovely addition to your bridal party. They’re family, you know?”
Giovanna wants her kids to be the flower girl and ring bearer?
Are these the same kids who are currently running wild in the living room using tubes of wrapping paper as swords and bopping each other over the head like feral Bunny Foo-Foo characters?
Why do they even have wrapping paper out? It’s not Christmas or a birthday.
And did they just . . . yes, Michael did in fact just launch himself from the chair to the couch in a dive roll to escape Anna’s foot kicking out at the chair legs.
No way are they flower girl and ring bearer material. We’re not even doing that. Are we?
I turn to Violet, who looks like a horrified deer in the headlights, and decide to take the oncoming bullet myself. I squeeze her side, letting her know that I’ve got this.
“That is so kind of you to offer, Giovanna. But we truly are trying to keep things as small as possible, given the size of Violet’s family and my family’s business associates.
I’m sure you understand that when an event like this is pulled together so quickly, it has to be as streamlined as possible to prevent anything from going awry.
But thank you, truly.” I smile, thinking I handled that quite nicely.
The temperature in the room drops to frigid, and I swear, conversations stop all over the house as eyes turn this way.
Even Nana is looking at me through narrowed eyes, but I have no idea what’s wrong.
I thought I was pretty polite about the whole thing because who forces their kids into someone else’s wedding party twenty-four hours before we walk down the aisle?
Especially hellions like Michael and Anna, who are now smearing something on the coffee table. Dear God, let that be chocolate.
Violet suddenly finds her tongue and leans toward Giovanna. “Of course, we’d love to have them.”
There’s an audible sigh of relief, and conversations begin again. Giovanna glares at me as she walks away, hopefully, to corral her demon spawn.
“What just happened?” I whisper to Violet.
“You can’t turn down an offer like that. It’s . . . it’s just not done,” she says, as if that explains everything. It doesn’t, not at all.
We both look to the living room. Giovanna has Michael by the ear, which he’s struggling against, and Anna is sitting pretty as a picture in the chair, her feet swinging where they don’t reach the floor.
She looks like one of those girls from The Shining, all sweet and innocent, but it’s a cover for the evil beneath.
“So we’re up to a news crew, an orchestra, family guest singers, and a forced ring bearer and flower girl. Anything I’m missing?” I ask, shaking my head in disbelief.
Violet grimaces. “If we can pull this off, it’s going to be a miracle.”
We’re lying on the sofa, Violet’s body limp after the whirlwind of today. In the last eight hours, we’ve marked every last detail off the to-do list . . .
* The get together with her family, where I insulted everyone with my lack of understanding about forced wedding party participation being a gift.
* A walkthrough of the ceremony with Father O’Flannigan, during which Violet looked ready to collapse.
* Coffee with my mom, though my Dad was noticeably absent and Mom’s excuse that he was at work was painfully thin.
* Violet’s final fitting at the bridal shop. I’d heard her whoop of delight at fitting into the dress from the lobby, where I’d been relegated because it’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride.
And now, we wait. In less than twenty-four hours, we will have pulled off the biggest prank of our lives . . . together this time, instead of against one another.
“Ross?” she says, her voice a bit scratchy.
I put my arm around her, holding her gently. “Yeah?”
“Did I snap at Father O’Flannigan during practice today?”
I nod, kissing the top of her head. “Just a little. I’m sure he’s seen a few nervous brides before. It’s okay.”
“Really?” she asks, utterly exhausted. “Then why do I feel like everything’s going to be a giant mess tomorrow?”
“Because despite every bride’s best intentions, and every wedding planner in the world, a wedding is like a football game,” I say with a soft laugh. “Everyone’s game plan goes right out the door when something smacks you in the mouth.”
“Thanks,” she complains, punching me weakly in the ribs. “You know, this isn’t helping with my pre-wedding jitters.”
I wrap both my arms around her and lay her back on the sofa, wiggling until I’m wedged in next to her. Reaching up, I stroke her hair out of her eyes, looking at her in awe and worship.
“You’ve moved heaven and earth to get this done. Your Papa is going to be so happy,” I tell her softly, “and we’ve gotten through it. Sure, it took a team, but something this big always will. It’s going to be fine, honey.”
The assurance slips out easily, comfortably. She sighs and relaxes into my arms, finding some solace from the world outside that’s going to take over again.
I want to wake up every morning next to you and go to bed every night with you in my arms. I want to feel you from the inside. I want to feel your heartbeat under my fingertips. I want to . . . I want to have a family with you. I want to be your husband.
For real.
The thoughts run through my head in one big continuous wave, and it should terrify me, take me under, but I just feel peace.
I look at Violet, unsure whether I should say anything.
On one hand, it could make tomorrow so much better.
But if she still sees this as something she’s doing for Papa only, and our sex as just a bonus, it’ll make tomorrow and the next six months awkward as fuck.
It’s a gamble I’m not willing to take, not because I’m a wuss but because I know how much this means to her and I won’t risk messing it up or making it uncomfortable for her.
For now, I decide to bite my tongue and just keep doing everything I can for her. Maybe one day, she’ll grow to feel something for me too.
“I have to go soon,” I whisper to her. “I’m supposed to be at Kaede’s by eight. We’re doing a simple dinner in instead of a bachelor party, I promise.”
She smiles, and I know that a bachelor party is the least of her worries right now. I soothe the wrinkle between her brows. “You gonna be okay here tonight? You sure you don’t want Abi to come over?”
Her nod is hesitant. “I’m sure. I just want to take a bath and go to bed. But the bed will feel big without you in it with me.”
I lean down, meeting her lips with my own. “After tomorrow, you’ll never have to sleep alone, Vi. You’ll be my wife.” It’s as close to a confession as I can get.
She melts for me, writhing dreamily beneath me. I feel it. This isn’t just sex. Not for me, and I don’t think for her, either.
As my hands stroke her body and she caresses me back, there’s more to it. My lips write on her skin in passion, but there’s no greediness there.
This isn’t just ‘frenemies with benefits.’ It hasn’t been for a while.
“Violet,” I whisper as my hand slides between her thighs and she lifts her leg to rest it on the back of the sofa, “do you want this?”
I mean so much more than the physical things we are doing to each other, but she doesn’t know that. Can’t know that . . . yet.
She nods, whimpering in pleasure as my fingers stroke over her panties. My head’s already swimming, and even Violet’s face looks different, more serious somehow. “No sex until tomorrow, though, remember? We agreed.”
Her whine of disagreement almost makes me forget our plan and just bury myself in her, but I hold steady, finding strength I didn’t know I had.
“No sex, but I’ll make you feel good,” I tell her gruffly.
I move between her legs, shoving my shorts down to free my hard cock. Wrapping my fist around it, I press my knuckles along her core. As I stroke myself, I tease her through the soaked fabric of her panties.
It’s heaven and hell all at once. I want her so badly, but waiting is the right thing to do.
I kiss her, slow and deep, driving us both higher and hotter.
I make promises with my mouth—that we can do this, that’s it’s going to be okay, that we’re in this together.
My hand speeds up, sending sparks through my body, and I bury my mouth in the curve of her neck. I can feel the racing thump of her heartbeat beneath my lips.
“Vi —” But I stop myself, swallowing down the words that are trying to escape.
The heat builds between us until I explode, my groan rough in my throat until Violet captures my mouth with hers.
Her returning moan is soft, and I taste it greedily as she bucks her hips, guiding my knuckles right where she needs me most. Hot stickiness spurts between us, and I feel her cream on my hand, mixing with my own.
I look down to see my seed covering her panties, her belly, and feel like a god claiming what’s his.
Deep inside me, my heart unlocks, and I collapse onto her as I wrap her in my arms, not wanting to go.
Across the room, her phone begins to play a tune. After a second, I recognize it—Going to the Chapel.
I lift up, looking at her questioningly. “That’s my alarm. You have to go so you make it to Kaede’s on time and I have the evening to relax and get ready.”
“That’s my girl, always thinking ahead and planning for everything, even this,” I say, lifting my chin toward the sexy mess we’ve made. “Don’t move.”
I get up and silence her phone before heading to the bathroom. I wet a towel and wipe away the evidence of what we’ve been up to, then get dressed. I turn the hot water on and fill the tub for her, throwing in some bubble bath that turns the water pink below a froth of bubbles.
In the living room, I pick Violet up from the couch, her body soft and pliant in my arms. I pull her ruined panties down and ease her into the hot water, and she moans out a breathy sigh. “Dio Mio, this is perfect.”
I press a kiss to her forehead. “Violet, I . . .”
Weak. I am so fucking weak as the words try to sneak out again. She opens her eyes, and beneath her heavy lids, I can see her hopefulness. But I’m too scared that if I say them, I’ll be jinxing things.
So I punt. “I’ll be the guy at the end of the aisle tomorrow. I’ll be your husband.”
Once upon a time, those words would’ve terrified me, sent me running for the hills screaming faster than a defensive lineman chasing me down the field. Tonight, I can’t wait for tomorrow.