Accidentally Marrying the Mafia Don (Accidentally Marrying #3)

Chapter 1

RUBY

This is my first wedding hairdressing job, and it’s a good one.

Italy, no less. They paid for my flights, and I’m staying in the same hotel as the guests.

My room doesn’t have a view, but it’s really nice, and breakfast was amazing.

There was fresh orange juice, fruit, pancakes, and a load of delicious little pastries.

But maybe breakfast didn’t agree with the maid-of-honour, who’s looking a bit green as I pin diamantes into her hair.

“Are you okay?” I ask as I nudge her head to remind her to keep it straight for the fourth time.

“Mmm.” Amber nods but it sounds like a no.

The wedding is going to take place outside in the stunning gardens overlooking a lake, and the afternoon summer sunshine streams into the huge, light-filled bedroom in this villa, which is exclusively for the bridal party.

The bride’s small, white curly dog, Al Poochino, or Alpi for short, is taking full advantage, lying belly up in a sunbeam, his ears out like miniature wings and his little balls on shameless display.

“He looks angelic now,” the bride laughed when the photographer said how cute he is. “But don’t let him fool you. He’s smart, and quick when he wants something. He stole his treat bag yesterday and ate every single one!”

There’s friendly chatter as everyone gets ready. They’re really down to earth given how loaded the family must be to afford all this. They slip into Italian occasionally, and have dark hair and tanned skin, so I think they’re of Italian descent, but their accents are English like mine.

“I might lie down for a minute,” Amber says, rubbing her chest and pressing her lips together.

“Let me cover your hair so it isn’t spoiled…” I search my supplies for a hair wrap. I’ve already done that for Daisy, the bridesmaid, because she wasn’t feeling well.

“Here!” Triumphant, I find a silky scarf at the bottom of a mainly empty plastic bag. “Now…”

I get the scarf over the crown of her head, covering the pins, and am deciding how to tuck it into place when Amber slaps her hand over her mouth and retches.

OH NO.

I grab the plastic bag, and shove it in front of Amber’s face just in time. She empties her stomach into the supermarket’s so-called “ready for anything” bag, and never has a plastic bag been more appropriately named.

There’s a cascade of concerned voices as everyone else in the room realises what’s happening.

“Amber!” exclaims the mother of the bride, a woman who doesn’t look old enough to have a daughter my age but laughed earlier about turning forty.

The bride, Francesca, gasps in horror and gets to her feet. “Are you okay?”

My boss backs away from where she was doing Francesca’s hair and bolts for the door with a muffled, “Phobia! Sorry!”

The photographer keeps taking photos. Amber stammers out an apology while Francesca, is next to her, concern on her face.

“Hey. It’s alright,” I say comfortingly. “Let’s get you to the bathroom.”

I hold the sick bag in one hand and Amber’s arm in the other, and we help Amber to the toilet.

Alpi barks, no doubt delighted for some excitement, and races over to us.

“No petting now,” I mutter to the dog, or possibly myself, when there’s a nudge at my hand. The next thing I know, the bag is snatched from my fingers, and there’s the thunder of triumphantly thieving paws.

I spin and find Alpi with the bag of bounced breakfast held delicately in his mouth, wagging his tail happily. I gape in horror, but the potential for the truly gross urges me into action and I grab for it. I’m way too slow for this dog.

“NO!” Francesca shouts.

Alpi dances backwards as Francesca lunges for him. Her “Bride” emblazoned white robe falls open, and she lets out a frustrated squawk as she misses Alpi and nearly trips over the waist tie that’s dragging on the floor.

Letting out a muffled bark around his disgusting trophy, Alpi play-bows, putting his head down and sticking his white furry bum in the air.

“Here!” Francesca insists, trying to regain her composure.

Alpi wags his tail and gives the bag a shake.

“No!” she and I say together, presumably with the same vision of Amber’s technicolour stomach soup being dog-projected over the bridesmaid dresses and pristine white wedding dress hanging on the back of the door.

Alpi clearly understands the word “no” as a snub of his dog-activities, and proceeds to trot out of the room.

“I’ll go,” I say in a strangled voice. This is totally my fault.

I should have been holding on more carefully to the bag.

I should have put it down. I should have known Alpi might take it, given how dogs are, and Francesca warned us he was a thief.

In short, I need to rectify this situation.

“You continue getting ready and look after Amber. Don’t worry! ”

I dash after the dog, and find him at the top of the stairs. There are fancy paintings on the walls, and I blanch at the thought of what could happen.

“Hey,” I croon. “Come on Alpi, share the disgusting spoils with me.” I get down into a squat and shuffle slowly towards him. “It’s okay. I’m your friend.”

This elicits more tail wagging, and he gives the bag a precarious shake.

“Just give it to me, and nobody has to…” Die? “Surely there are more fun things to play with?”

Alpi evidently disagrees, because instead of approaching me, he rushes off into another bedroom.

Groaning, I rise.

“Alpi!” Francesca calls, and with a more securely tied robe now, follows Alpi with what I assume is a dog toy.

I’m about to do the same, but an idea strikes. I run downstairs, open doors until I find the kitchen, and make for the fridge. It’s one of those huge, fancy stainless-steel ones with an icemaker. I inwardly plead for good luck.

There’re bottles of expensive-looking water, champagne, some yoghurt, and yes! Bingo. A pack of cheese. I rip it open and break off a load of little chunks.

I’m betting that Alpi will do a swap.

I race out of the kitchen as fast as I can, and collide with a wall.

I yelp, and let go of the cheese to catch myself. But instead of falling, I’m held by a pair of strong hands on my upper arms.

“Easy,” a deep voice says.

I look up, and up, past a perfectly fitted dinner jacket, tattoos that curl up onto his neck, and black stubble, into the man’s face. He’s gorgeous. He has sparkly forest-green eyes and I’m lost in them.

My tummy swoops. I’ve never had a physical response like this to a man.

If he’s the groom, shoot me now. Handsome, yes, but there’s something else about him. He’s tall and commanding and calm.

His grip tightens for a second.

“The cheese,” I gasp out, like it’s the key to the meaning of life.

I’m the biggest idiot in the world.

The man blinks at me as though I’m insane. He releases me, putting me away from him deliberately.

I flush, and fall to my knees, scrabbling to pick up the small pieces of cheese I dropped when I threw myself at this man. Accidentally, though seeing him now, I can’t promise for sure that I wouldn’t do it again to have him touch me.

“Ah, cheese.” He makes a low noise in his throat, and kneels next to me. He reaches for the cheese, and his hands are big, and tattooed. Black lines curl over the backs of his hands and my brain stutters. He’s hot and dangerous. A warm shiver goes down my back.

“Sorry, it’s for Alpi,” I mutter. “You don’t need to…”

The man ignores me, and continues plucking cheese from the tiled floor.

“Alpi’s the dog, and he stole…” A bag of puke? Am I really saying that? “Something we have to get back.”

“An essential part of the wedding decoration?” he asks.

The Exorcist confetti? Or the dog, unmurdered?

“Mmmm,” I reply faintly. I search around me for any stray bits. “I think that’s all of it.”

He pushes to standing, and from my position still kneeling, I get an eyeful of the cut of his trousers.

By which I mean, the outline of his dick underneath.

I make an involuntary sound of inappropriate desire as my clit does a weird pulse from looking at that bulge.

I scramble to my feet, and now I’m staring at his chest, as though I could cut away his shirt with my laser eyes and see his abs.

There’s an awkward silence.

“I, uh.” I hold out my hands, cupped. I crane my neck to see his face and promptly lose my ability to think straight.

He has a sprinkling of grey in his hair too, which somehow only enhances my attraction.

He’s mature and sexy. “Your cheese?” This man makes me borderline non-verbal.

“The cheese you picked up, I need your—”

“Let me help,” he says in a deep voice that I feel down to my toes.

I nod and practically run upstairs. In the other bedroom, Francesca is begging and pleading with Alpi.

I approach slowly, crouching down again.

“Here, Alpi.” I hold out a piece of cheese.

“Oh, good call,” breathes Francesca.

The dog pauses in his playing, but doesn’t move.

“Al Poochino,” the man says in a low rumble from behind me. “Take the cheese.”

“Uncle Dante!” Francesca exclaims.

Ohhh, he’s the bride’s uncle. That makes more sense, because he’s got a touch of silver in his black hair.

“I came to see how my favourite niece is getting on, and I found chaos and cheese,” Dante says, catching my eye and giving me a small, secret smile.

Alpi cautiously sniffs the air before approaching me.

“I’m going to take the bag as you give him the cheese,” he says very softly, coming to my side.

The scent of spew must be overwhelming, because he doesn’t surrender his precious bag until he’s right on the cheese. The instant he releases it, Dante grabs the bag, and I scramble to my feet.

“You’re such a trouble-maker!” Francesca cries, and picks Alpi up, then turns to us. “Thank you! I’d give you a hug, but—”

“You get ready and I’ll see you in a minute,” Dante instructs her, and a moment later he and I are alone.

“So what is this?” Dante regards the bag curiously, and lifts it towards his face.

“Don’t open it!” I yelp.

His green gaze flicks between me and the bag, surprised, and I get the impression that no one dares tell Dante what to do.

Then his nostrils flare and his expression changes.

“It’s vomit,” I say, internally cringing so hard I might break a rib. “He was…” I mime shaking my head around and growling like Alpi did.

His mouth twitches with amusement. “I’ll deal with it.”

And then he’s gone too, and I wonder if I’ll get to talk to him again, and emptiness settles in my tummy that the answer could easily be no.

I go to find my boss, who is heavy breathing in one of the lounges, and tell her it’s safe—the smell makes her sympathy-sick apparently—dispose of the unused cheese, and return to the room where the bridal party is getting ready.

“I think it must be the oysters from last night,” Francesca is saying. “Amber and Daisy both ate them, and I didn’t.”

The bride is back in her chair, my boss finishing her hair while the makeup artist begins, since I guess we’re behind schedule because of the digestive protest and dog episode.

“But with both my besties ill, who’s going to walk Alpi up the aisle to serve as ringbearer?” Francesca sighs despondently, patting her dog, who is now tethered to her chair by a lead.

“I’ll do it,” Lucia says in a strangled voice.

“Mama, that’s impossible. You’ll be streaming with allergies if Alpi licks you.”

“I’ll be there!” croaks Amber from the ensuite bathroom, sounding like death warmed up.

“Mmm. And Daisy has been in bed all morning.” Francesca’s lip wobbles. “I know all that matters is getting married, but this isn’t working out the way I imagined. Ugh. This is so bad. My besties aren’t going to be at my wedding, and neither is my dog.”

“And the photos will look unbalanced without a bridal party, since you’ve got groomsmen,” offers the photographer, helpfully.

This is a personal, family conversation, and I feel like a creep listening in. I think I’ll make myself scarce. Since I’ve already done Lucia’s hair, and I did the mother of the groom and several of his aunts earlier, I’m surplus to requirements now.

“I’ll be going…” But just as I head for the door, Dante fills it, leaning against the frame. I come to a sharp halt. He really is huge and delicious.

“I’m here to see the beautiful bride.” Dante glances at me, his gaze sweeping quickly up and down before looking at his niece in the mirror. “Have you finished with your cheese-based crisis, now?”

“Oh my gosh, you have no idea!” Francesca launches into an explanation of what’s been happening, finishing with, “And our hairdresser totally saved the day!”

“A legend-dairy save,” Lucia adds, grinning at me.

Dante winces, shaking his head. “That was too cheesy, sis.”

“Well, now there’s a bit more of a crisis, because we don’t think Amber or Daisy will be up to looking after Alpi for the ceremony. And Amber did all the planning too.” Lucia shakes her head regretfully.

“The solution’s simple.” Dante has the sort of authority that looks effortless, but seems to be a genetic quirk that only the extremely rich, beautiful, or lucky get.

“The two girls throwing up in the bathrooms will sit at the outer end of the front row seats, so they can run out if need be. And for the practicalities of the ceremony…” He turns to me. “You’ll be the bridesmaid.”

“Me?” I yelp.