Chapter 41 #2
His head swings in my direction, his eyes landing on the dress first, then he freezes, just for a beat, like his brain is catching up.
His gaze sweeps the entire length of my body, and when that look crosses his face—the one that makes me feel like I’m the only thing in the room worth looking at—I know he recognised it straight away.
Abandoning his conversation and family, he stalks in my direction, every step sure and steady. When he reaches me, his eyes don’t leave mine.
“You’re wearing your wedding dress,” he states softly, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I shrug, smiling. “Of course. I love this dress.”
He reaches out, brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear. His eyes sweep over my face, and for a moment, he’s quiet, perhaps lost in the memory of that day.
“I still remember the first time I saw you in that doorway at the safe house,” he murmurs. “You took my breath away.”
I smile up at him. “I’d say it was the best day of my life, but I’ve had lots of them since marrying you.”
His arm slides around my waist, tugging my body to him, as he buries his face in the crook of my neck. “I fucking love you, Lucia,” he whispers against my skin.
I’ll never tire of hearing him say those words to me, even though I know he does. Not a day passes that he doesn’t show me how much I mean to him.
Romeo hasn’t stopped scowling since the moment Gabe was dressed in his Christening gown. I think our little boy looks adorable; his father … not so much.
It’s actually the same gown Romeo’s father wore the day he was christened, and Nonna cried happy tears as soon as she saw her great-grandson wearing it.
She offered it to me a few weeks ago with trembling fingers and said it would mean the world to her, and I knew there was no saying no to that.
“I can’t believe my son is wearing a damn dress,” Romeo grumbles.
“Stop it,” I scold. “He looks adorable.”
“He looks like a tiny Victorian ghost,” he mutters under his breath, cradling our son in his arms as we enter the church.
I snort. “He looks like tradition, so suck it up.”
Romeo doesn’t argue, but he does kiss the top of Gabe’s head before quietly muttering, “Sorry, figlio mio (My son),” like he’s betrayed his little boy’s masculinity beyond repair.
We asked Dante and Arabella to be Gabe’s godparents. Romeo and I are Caterina’s. If anything ever happened to us, they’d be the only two people I’d want to care for my children, and I know my sister feels the same about us.
The entire Famiglia are attending today. Romeo was a little concerned about how his grandparents would feel being surrounded by the mob, but he needn’t worry.
I’m sure they have their suspicions about what he does for a living, but they worship the ground he walks on, and I’m quietly confident there’s nothing he could do to change that.
“Aww, look at him in his little gown,” my sister coos as we step into the church. “He looks adorable.”
“He does,” I agree, smiling over at my little boy who, despite the centuries-old lace and questionable bonnet, looks like a tiny cherub. But I don’t miss the look Romeo and Dante exchange with each other.
“Is that lace?” Dante asks, wrinkling his nose as he points to the delicate trim along the hem. “And what the hell is he wearing on his head? He looks like one of those haunted antique dolls that stare at you while you sleep.”
“He does not,” I snap in my sweet little boy’s defence, even though his assumption holds some merit.
“It’s a bonnet,” Romeo growls, his jaw tight. “And yep, that’s lace. It also has tiny pearl buttons at the back.”
When Dante makes the sign of the cross like he’s just witnessed a holy abomination, I crack up.
“You two are ridiculous,” I say, shaking my head as I take my son from Romeo’s arms and hand him to Arabella. “It’s a Christening gown, not a cursed relic.”
Gabe lets out a grumble in protest when my sister fusses with his bonnet.
“I had my tailor make him a custom three-piece white suit, but apparently it wasn’t traditional enough,” Romeo grumbles, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers.
Dante snickers. “Poor bastard,” he says, grasping my husband’s shoulder in sympathy before turning to his wife. “Our son is not wearing a dress when he gets christened.”
My eyes flicker down to Arabella’s stomach, and when I spot the subtle swell beneath her dress, I gasp. “You’re expecting again?”
She shifts Gabe in one arm and slaps Dante’s abs with the other. “We agreed we wouldn’t tell them today.”
Dante lifts both hands in mock innocence. “I didn’t tell them shit.”
Arabella sighs, turning back to me with a grimace. “I was going to tell you tomorrow. I didn’t want to steal Gabe’s thunder by announcing it today.”
I press my lips together to hide my grin as her narrowed eyes cut back to her husband.
“Congratulations,” I shriek, leaning in to kiss her cheek before moving over to my brother-in-law.
“You’re going to be a big sister,” I say to Caterina as I take her out of her father’s arms and place my lips against her sweet cheek.
“Yeah, congrats,” Romeo says dryly, extending a hand to Dante. “I’ll be sure to tell my Nonna how much you love my son’s outfit, and that you want to borrow it for your kid when it’s born.”
Dante narrows his eyes as Arabella bursts out laughing. “Over my dead body,” he mutters.
“Careful,” I say, smirking. “She’ll hold you to it. That gown has survived three generations. It’s practically indestructible.”
“Fuc—udging hell,” Dante mumbles under his breath.
“Fudging,” Romeo retorts with a snort. “That comment has me wondering if you wore a dress when you were christened.”
“I seriously doubt my papa would’ve allowed that, but even if he did, I can guarantee I rocked it, and it didn’t contain lace, a stupid bonnet, or pearl buttons.”
We’ve now congregated in front of the altar while we wait for the last of our guests to arrive.
“Uncle Dante!” a little voice squeals, and when I turn, I see Luca and Giovanni sprinting down the aisle towards us.
Alexander—Dante’s brother—and his wife, Chloe, follow close behind, looking only mildly apologetic for the chaos.
They both kiss my cheek and congratulate me on the birth of my son before Alexander turns to Romeo and extends a hand. His eyes land on Gabe, who’s now nestled against his papa’s chest in all his lace-trimmed glory.
“I thought you had a little boy?” Alexander says as his eyebrows draw together.
“We did,” Romeo mumbles, shaking his hand.
When Alexander winces, I catch the silent question hanging between them. Romeo just shrugs with a clenched jaw.
I swear, these Cosa Nostra men and their hang-ups about baby boys in dresses. You’d think masculinity was that fragile the way they’re carrying on.
Romeo just shoots Alexander a look. “Apparently, it’s tradition.”
“You do realise I have two boys, and neither of them wore dresses when they were christened.” Alexander’s eyes move to me. “You were at Luca’s Christening, Lucia, you should’ve known that.”
My husband shoots me a look that clearly says, “What the fuck, Lucia!”
I smile sweetly and shrug.
“But plenty do,” Chloe chimes in, swooping in to save me. “I think he looks adorable. Look at that sweet little face,” she coos, leaning in to gently skim the tip of her finger over Gabe’s cheek.
I’m currently inside the marquee, speaking with Maria, the person in charge of catering, who’s giving me the final rundown on what will be served and when.
Dante was gracious enough to lend us his chefs and wait staff from one of his restaurants to handle the food for today.
My husband is up at the house, changing our son into “Something blue that has pants!” His words, not mine.
The rest of our guests have gathered on the grass outside the marquee, chatting easily while the staff move through the crowd, serving drinks and hors d’oeuvres.
The interior of the marquee is nothing short of stunning. Soft white drapes line the ceiling, gathered in the centre around a crystal chandelier that catches the light and scatters it like stars across the room.
Tables are dressed in crisp ivory linen, each one adorned with cascading floral centrepieces of cream roses, eucalyptus, and pale-blue hydrangeas that match the theme.
A huge, three-tiered cake sits on a table off to the side.
Is it over the top for some? Probably yes, but Italians are known for their fanfare. Well, the ones I know are.
Romeo went along with whatever I suggested. I think he just loves that his little boy is going to have everything he didn’t.
I glance towards the entrance when someone appears out of my peripheral vision, seeing it’s Father Flannery. He gives me a look like he needs to talk, so I excuse myself and head in his direction.
“Father,” I say when I come to a stop in front of him.
“Lucia, is Romeo around?”
“He’s up in the house changing Gabe. Is there something I can help you with?”
“It’s about this,” he says, pulling a rather fat white envelope from the inner pocket of his black suit. “It’s too much, I can’t accept this.”
He tries to hand it to me, so I push it back in his direction.
“It’s customary to give the priest a donation after he performs a service, is it not?”
“Not this much.” He lifts the flap of the envelope and fans his fingers over the ridiculous amount of hundred-dollar bills. “There’s ten thousand dollars in here.”
A smile curves my lips. Romeo told me he’d take care of the donation, but I had no idea he planned on giving him this much.
“Please take it,” I say. “Romeo obviously wanted you to have it. You’ll offend him if you try to give it back.”
Father Flannery shakes his head gently, still looking at the envelope like it might bite. “I don’t need this much money; the Church makes sure I have everything I need.”
I want to bring up that heap of shit he’d been driving around until Romeo bought him a new car, but I don’t.
“I know,” I say softly. “But maybe this isn’t about need. Maybe it’s about gratitude.”
“Gratitude for what?”