Chapter 33 – Peter
Chapter Thirty-Three
Peter
Ispot Aricia the moment I walk into the restaurant.
I’m late because Flora had too many appliances plugged into the kitchen circuit and blew out half the lights at the apartment downtown – where I had absolutely no intentions of being for the rest of the night.
I would have left her alone in the dark if it weren’t for how she helped us in Miami.
My sister’s a good girl and she deserves better than us.
Aricia leans forward, her eyes locking with mine the moment I stumble through the door late.
She’s fucking gorgeous – obviously – and dressed in something so perfect it’s like she stepped out of a dream.
It’s a floor length, navy blue dress pinned at the waist by a gold brooch.
She’s tall without heels, but seems a little taller than I remember, so she might be wearing them.
Doesn’t matter what she’s wearing – I definitely plan on taking it off after dinner. And after we secure our future together. Tonight, I’m not taking no for an answer. I’ve done enough for Aricia that I need to just come out with it and ask her for exactly what I want, even if she thinks I’m crazy.
I want marriage.
And I believe she’ll say yes because I prayed to Saint Jude – not our family saint, but the patron saint of lost causes. If he can’t help me, nobody can.
When I sit down, a server hurries to our table and offers wine and bread. Aricia graciously thanks them and I just… stare at her. Because she looks incredible and I’m about to ask her a crazy question that I don’t know how she’ll answer.
“I love you, Peter,” Aricia says. I glance tepidly at her wine glass. But it’s dry. She’s saying this without the influence of alcohol and I thought I would have to take the lead here.
“I love you too.”
“What? You look–”
“Surprised?”
“Yes,” Aricia says. “I thought…”
“I love you. Of course, I love you. But that’s not all I want, Aricia. I can’t just be some guy you fuck.”
She flinches when I say the word ‘fuck’ and then nods slowly.
“Okay. You’re breaking up with me. This is not how I thought this was going to go,” she says, clearly trying to stay composed but losing her shit because when the hell did I say I was breaking up with her? She’s nervous.
“Well,” Aricia stumbles. “I thought it was a possibility but after M–”
She stops herself and then just looks at me.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tell her. “I just want to marry you. I will get down on one knee in this restaurant, but I have to know that you aren’t going to scream and run away first. Or hit me.”
“What?”
“Promise?”
“I won’t…”
She seems confused. And the server isn’t back with the wine, so I take the opportunity to slide down on one knee and remove the relatively large ring box. This confuses her less. Aricia’s hands clast over her mouth, but she doesn’t leave or hit me.
“I want you to marry me and don’t say no until you see the ring.”
I open the box and Aricia yelps because…
Of course she does. The woman has taste and enough of it to recognize a vintage white gold ring with real diamonds valued over $1.
2 million. I had to make a deal with the devil to get permission to have this heirloom from the safety deposit box, but I made my case to Michael and he agreed.
The center stone is a rare thirty carat diamond surrounded by slightly less rare but equally valuable stones for their clarity and other rare characteristics that I can’t completely recall.
But it’s an old ring – it’s been in our family since the 1500s with some fixes and updates over the years.
We get it cleaned every year, so it doesn’t look old at all, but it’s a piece of jewelry so beautiful that it almost has a soul.
“Peter. That is a gorgeous ring,” Aricia says, her hands falling away from her mouth as she answers me – but not my question.
“Marry me, Aricia.”
The patron saint of lost causes flashes into my head. And then I hear her say the word I want to hear as clearly as a cathedral bell.
“Yes. Of course, Peter. We’re having a baby together, we’re in our forties and… I love you more than I even thought possible.”
It’s my turn to freeze tonight. I can hardly take my eyes off Aricia and my knee feels plastered to the ground.
The only thing that motivates me at all is getting the ring on her finger.
I take her hand and slip it on. Thankfully, we’re seated somewhere private so I didn’t subject her to a spectacle.
Except for the one from the server, who times the wine just right.
“Is that what I thought I saw?” Sam says. (I read the nametag.)
“Yes,” Aricia says with a warm smile. “We’re getting married.”
“Wine?”
“None for me,” Aricia says. “I’ll have some sparkling grape juice if you have anything non-alcoholic.”
Sam nods and disappears. I need wine tonight and I plan on drinking enough for both of us. Aricia notices me adding to my glass from the bottle and shakes her head.
“Now that I can’t drink, you’re drinking for two?”
“Just tonight. The rest of the time, I’ll be sober in solidarity.”
She grins. Her smile makes the entire room brighter. I hardly feel hungry anymore because I feel perfectly content to stare at Aricia and feast on her appearance instead. I’m sure Aricia’s actually hungry.
“We’re really going to do this then?” she asks.
“Of course,” I tell her. “Why wouldn’t we?”
“Because it’s crazy.”
“Nothing could be crazier than how we got together,” I remind her. “So let’s promise to make the rest a smooth ride.”
“Thank you,” she says. Her tone is blunt, almost chilling. My eyes meet hers and for a moment I wonder if she suspects or knows what I did with my family in Miami. But then she relaxes and I remember that I’m dealing with a defense attorney. A pretty fucking smart one.
“I love you, Aricia. I would do anything for you.”
“I know that.”
“So that’s it then? We’re getting married. I’m happy.”
Beyond happy. Aricia laughs, like there’s something funny about me confessing my deepest emotions to her. There’s no feeling more dangerous than happiness in the mob, none more vulnerable. But I feel safe sharing it with Aricia.
“So am I, Peter. Let’s promise to only get better with age.”
“That’s an easy promise to make.”