Chapter 5
RUBY
Eventually all the pieces of the wedding certificate are found, and Lucia takes charge of them. Francesca returns to claim Alpi, who she praises and fusses over for having done a wonderful job as ring bearer.
We don’t disillusion her.
I’m surplus to requirements now, and begin to creep away. I’ll get my stuff and—
“Where are you off to?” comes a deep, disapproving voice.
I freeze, and peek over my shoulder. Dante regards me darkly.
“Oh…” I flap my hands. “Back to my hotel room?” Because I’m not sure, but I’m awkward enough without standing around where I’m not invited.
“You’re part of the bridal party,” he states lazily.
“I’m really not,” I protest.
“Stay,” he says, roughly. “As a thank-you.”
I pause.
“As a personal favour to me.”
My heart twangs, and I can’t resist the command in his voice. “Okay.”
“Good girl.” He gives me a little nod.
Ohh, that sounds so nice. Heat rises to my cheeks and an answering smile spreads across my face.
“But first, let’s get you a glass of something delicious and fizzy to celebrate snatching a successful wedding out of the jaws of a rogue dog.”
He offers me his arm and it’s so sweetly old-fashioned and in contrast to the tattoos on his neck and hands that I giggle as I put my hand on his sleeve.
This is nothing, I know that. He’s just being a considerate host and stand-in father of the bride.
But I probably have stars in my eyes as he leads me to another terrace where there are waiters with champagne flutes and trays of tiny canapes.
The other guests approach him with compliments about the ceremony and polite small talk, almost like he’s a celebrity in his own family.
Quickly, I realise that I’m out of place.
But when I go to remove my hand from his arm, he smoothly switches his glass to his other hand and catches mine before I’ve shifted an inch.
I freeze, and look up into Dante’s face. He quirks one brow, as if to say, “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Dante,” Lucia’s voice cuts through the general conversation, and we both look over.
“You’re needed for family photographs,” Lucia says, taking in Dante’s hand on mine in a sweeping glance.
Oh god she probably thinks I’m a hussy, hanging on the arm of her brother, who is evidently much older and richer than me. I guess I look like a gold-digger to her. I want to curl into an embarrassed ball.
Feeling panicky, I tug on my hand. Dante’s fingers tighten for a split-second, then let me go.
“Sure,” he says easily, and my silly heart sinks. “Bring your glass, Ruby.”
My brain doesn’t process the casual command at first, but the press of Dante’s hand at the small of my back is very clear, and I move in step with him.
Lucia notices it too, and shoots her brother an enquiring look.
Dante replies with a bland smile. “We’re not leaving Ruby on her own after she saved this wedding at least three times, even if there’s excellent food. And besides, who knows when your daughter’s dog will choose furry violence and we’ll need her.”
Lucia snorts. “You’re lucky I haven’t chosen violence against you.”
I’ve no clue what she means by that, but we’re back on the patio where the ceremony took place, and I stop well behind the photographer. Lucia continues, but Dante pauses with me.
“No running away,” he murmurs. “I’ll be watching.”
And that sends an inappropriate bolt of heat through me.
“Okay,” I reply faintly.
The afternoon light is stunning, and as the photographer and her assistant get everyone into position, I sit down and watch. There are a lot of formal photos, and my gaze tracks Dante as though we’re connected with a silver thread.
It’s like my own personal show of one of those social media videos of a glamorous life. And yeah, I’m on the fringes, but the way Dante keeps looking over at me to check I’m okay is really nice.
Paternal, that’s what I tell myself.
Dante arranges it so that I have dinner with the guests rather than the support staff.
Not at the head table with him and the main wedding party, but with some of the bride’s family—her second cousins—who make very polite conversation to find out who I am and include me nominally, while chatting mainly in Italian.
It’s okay though. The food is amazing, and every now and again Dante finds me across the room—he’s exceptionally tall, so it’s easy for him to look over everyone’s heads—and checks in with a nod. And I reply with the same.
No one at my table has anything but praise for the Angelini family, particularly Dante. The only weird thing that happens is when I go to the loo.
“And those tattoos,” a woman who might be one of a pair of the groom’s aunts says judgmentally as I walk past their table. I pause, pretending to have a problem with my shoe.
“What do you expect from a man in his line of work?” a second woman sniffs.
They’re talking about Dante. No question. No one else at this wedding has tattoos on show.
I wonder what his job is? Something fancy, and perhaps a bit morally grey. There are a surprising number of security guards, but that could just be a rich people thing?
But they continue in a whisper, and I can’t lurk any longer, so I have to move on.
Apart from that, I enjoy the wedding. I’ve never been to one before, as my mother isn’t close to her two brothers and no one at the salon invites me to this sort of event.
I even like the speeches. The groom’s father talks about how he’s gained a daughter, and tells the story of how they got together.
Then the groom blushes through thanking everyone for coming, and his best man embarrasses him with a story about how head over heels he was with Francesca when they first met.
It’s lovely, and I’m not jealous at all of Francesca having a husband who clearly adores her and has since the beginning. Not envious. Nope, it’s just that green is really my colour.
It’s funny, because as I join in the toasts to the happy couple, I almost feel like a part of this family.
What I’m waiting for though, is Dante. He’s standing in for the “father of the bride”, and I do wonder what happened to Francesca’s father. Maybe he was a one-night stand who never wanted to be involved, like my dad.
When Dante delivers a confident speech, with a self-deprecating joke about how it was only five minutes ago that Francesca was his baby niece, and how he’s so proud of her, I tear up a bit.
I wish he were mine. Even though he’s probably too old to think of me as anything but a child like he does his niece.
I’m not sure what to do when everyone gets up to see the happy couple have their first dance. I’m not a big fan of crowds of people, and I’m short, so I won’t see unless I’m near the front. I stay at the table, clap, sip water, and watch from a distance.
I’m going to be so toasted tomorrow. I like people, but I find it much easier one-on-one and when I have something to do.
A job, like when I’m doing hair. Not surrounded by people I don’t know, with no clear task, or anyone to talk to.
I take several calming breaths. This is okay. I’m supposed to have a great time.
“Ruby?” I look up to find Dante, jacket and bow tie discarded, looking down at me.
“Hi!” I say brightly. “Your speech was so good.”
“Thank you. Will you dance with me?” He smiles softly, as though he can see into my heart, and holds out his hand.
It’s a Cinderella moment. Or Dirty Dancing. I’m in the corner, and he came and found me.
“Yes,” I squeak the word.
Then as I put my hand into his—so much bigger than mine, and warm and strong—a trill comes from his pocket.
We both freeze.
His face falls, and he heaves a sigh.
“I’m so sorry, I have to take this.” He sounds despairing as he takes out a sleek, top-end mobile phone. “Will you wait for me? I still want that dance.”
“Of course.”
“Promise?” he asks in a gravelly voice that would convince me to sell my soul.
“Yes.”
And his nod and smile before he turns away and takes the call sends tingles down my spine.
For a while, I’m a wallflower. Everyone ignores me, and I look around at the guests. They’re all having a great time. I play on my phone for a bit, scrolling social media.
Ack ack ack. I know Dante said to stay here, but I feel like a lemon.
So I head out of the main wedding reception and through the garden towards the lake.
There’s a sheltered spot beneath some trees that looks nice, and the path leads off the other way.
I step carefully over the grass—it’s Mediterranean grass so it’s not muddy like it would be at home in England—and stand at the low wall made of stone pillars.
My muscles relax at the relief of being away from the crowd, and the view of the water is just gorgeous here.
It’s dark now, and lights dance on the surface, shimmering reflections from the hills and the boats. From behind, the voices and music are a pleasant burble. I breathe in the scented air, sweet and fragrant with herbs I don’t know the names of.
It’s peaceful, and I’ve been so lucky to be a part of this wedding.
“Ruby.”
I spin around. Dante stands glaring at me. Furious.