35. Athena
THIRTY-FIVE
ATHENA
“ I can’t believe you’re going to have a little baby soon,” Isla said, her eyes growing soft. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, her hair and makeup immaculate as always.
We were in the bedroom, and I was trying on wedding dress number five. It was a good thing Manuel’s walk-in closet was large enough to accommodate all the gowns he’d had delivered today.
“Me neither,” I admitted, glancing at the door. “I haven’t had any morning sickness. No weight gain. Nothing.” I turned on the spot and glanced at my reflection in the mirror. “Okay, I don’t think this is the right dress.”
“Try the next one,” Isla encouraged. “One is bound to be perfect.”
“Although, I think my boobs are bigger,” I said, my eyes darting to the door again.
My mom left thirty minutes ago to get freshened up and had yet to come back. I trusted Isla’s opinion, but it still seemed like something my mom should experience with me.
“Just a lot of unprotected sex, huh?” she teased, pulling my attention.
I shook my head. “You’d think we’d have known better.”
She raised both palms. “Not for me to judge.”
“I’m just disappointed in myself,” I admitted, standing in my underwear as I scouted my dress options. “I promised myself I wouldn’t repeat my mom’s mistake.”
“Well, you didn’t exactly repeat her mistake.”
“How do you figure that?” I asked her as I stepped into a simple couture dress with a neckline that elongated my silhouette. It was minimalistic yet stunning.
“She was banging a married man,” she explained. “Manuel is single. And he wants to marry you.”
“But he’s a criminal.”
Isla knew this world, the dangers of it, with her husband and brother being in the mafia.
Isla shrugged. “They’re better criminals than our fathers, and more importantly, more caring.”
She was right. Our fathers didn’t deserve us. Their selfishness and inability to remain faithful started shit, and they’d left us behind to deal with the consequences of their actions.
“You’re right,” I whispered. “You’re so damn right.”
I swung around and studied myself in the mirror.
“Holy shit,” she murmured. “I think you found your dress.”
“Yes,” I agreed, unable to peel my gaze from my reflection. The dress clung to me like a second skin while accentuating my waist and softening my curves. “I think you’re right.”
My eyes darted to the door again. Where was she?
Isla must have picked up on my mounting anxiety. “She knows only the bride wears a wedding dress, right? Surely she’s done by now.”
I laughed, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “Maybe she got lost on her way back from her room.”
“Does your mom know about the baby?” she asked, her voice low. “She was in shock when we picked her up and kept asking for the reasoning behind this whirlwind wedding.”
“No, she doesn’t know.”
“Are you going to tell her?”
“Eventually. If only she hadn’t dated him before.”
Her eyes widened. “Get the fuck out. You’re making that shit up.”
I shook my head. “I wish.”
“So you’re sleeping with your mother’s ex-lover.” She smirked, her voice dry. “She must be overjoyed.”
“Thankfully they never had sex.” I grabbed her hand and squeezed gently. “Promise you’ll never tell anyone.”
She rolled her eyes. “I promise, although the girls wouldn’t judge you.”
“I know, but it still feels weird.” I sighed. “I wish they were all here. I hope they’re okay.”
She stood next to me, eyeing me in the mirror. “They’d be here if they could. They’re going to be fine, Athena. Don’t worry.” She brushed my hair back with gentle hands. “But we won’t be if we don’t make you the most beautiful bride.”
There was a knock at the door and Mom walked in.
“Is it time?” Isla asked, excited to get the wedding going. My mom didn’t comment, her eyes locked on my face.
“Where have you been?” I asked as I smoothed down my wedding dress.
“Athena, this is a mistake,” she said gravely. She took my forearm, her fingers digging into my flesh. “Let’s get out of here, okay? You can come to Spain with me.”
I yanked my hand out of her grip. “I told you already, Mom, I’m marrying him.”
Her eyes flared angrily. “He’s all kinds of wrong for you.”
I gave her an incredulous look while Isla stood to the side staring at her with a shocked expression.
“You’re kidding, right? Why do I get the feeling that if it was you he wanted to marry, your story would be completely different.”
It was a cheap shot and I knew it, but the words were already out and there was no taking them back.
Her eyes bore into me. “You’re young, why does it have to happen today? Wait a year or two, and if you still feel the same way, then we’ll reconsider.”
“No,” I snapped, putting my foot down once and for all. “There’s nothing to reconsider.” It was time to come clean and be honest with my mother. “I’m pregnant.” A bloodred flush washed over her complexion and she gaped at me. “Whether you like it or not, I’m marrying him. You can be happy for me and stay, or you can leave.”
I turned to Isla, who handed me my bouquet—a tasteful arrangement of red roses. I headed out of the room with her by my side. We walked in silence, my shaking hand in her comforting one, my heels clacking on the marble floors while my heart pounded in my chest.
It wasn’t until we stepped out onto the veranda, overlooking the vineyards, lemon trees, and the sea in front of us, that Mom appeared at my side.
Isla squeezed my hand as we stepped through the open door.
“I asked Enzo and Amadeo to be the flower boys,” she said, and suddenly the mood lightened. We shared a glance and chuckled softly.
Amadeo and Enzo appeared in front of us wearing three-piece suits, little replicas of their father who I spotted down the path, his eyes hidden behind dark aviators. The music began and off they went, dancing down the makeshift aisle, throwing red petals on the ground, their moves nothing short of suave.
“What are they doing?” Mom asked in shock.
I kept my gaze on the boys, smiling. “Being the best flower boys the world has ever seen.”
With each step, the Marchetti boys created a path of red rose petals, leading to where Manuel stood, tall and imposing.
The music changed from a dance beat to Pachelbel’s and then everyone’s eyes turned to me.
Taking my first step, all my attention was on the man waiting for me. He was wearing a sharp black tux, and the heat in his dark eyes drew me forward. Emotion I couldn’t quite decode flitted over his expression—I suspected a combination of obsession and impatience—and it made my toes curl.
The whole world disappeared, red petals flattening under my shoes. I closed the distance between us and Manuel extended his hand, reaching for me. My fingers interlaced with his, my engagement ring glinting under the late afternoon sun.
The priest in his white frock greeted us, and the rest was a blur until he asked us to recite our vows.
We faced each other, and Manuel spoke first. “I, Manuel Marchetti, take you, Athena Kosta, to be my wife.”