16. Rico
Rico
Now I know why I avoid rehearsals. Or, more accurately, why I avoid groups of people altogether.
My brothers had rehearsals for their weddings, and despite being a groomsman, I conveniently neglected to show up.
What’s the point? Walking is a skill most toddlers master before their second birthday.
Standing still? I’ve been perfecting that art for most of my adult life. I don’t need a practice run.
And yet, here I am.
We made it through the rehearsal, my pulse ticking up every time I had to touch Allie.
Holding her hands while the priest droned on from his little book, repeating vows like a script from a play I never auditioned for.
Pretending to place a ring on her finger.
Pretending that any of this is authentic.
My eyes linger on the engagement ring Marco picked out for her—gaudy, yet elegant. Not the ring I would have chosen, but then again, I didn’t choose any of this, did I?
I didn’t even pick out the wedding bands.
I skipped every opportunity to give my input, too uninterested to care.
Now, I’m kicking myself. I should be indifferent.
And yet, I wonder what they look like. What it’ll feel like sliding it onto her finger.
The more I touch her hands—since apparently, getting married requires far more physical contact than I was led to believe—the less my insides shudder.
Then comes the part that makes my stomach turn.
Father Alberti wraps up with a yada, yada fill-in-the-blank speech and reminds me that, tomorrow, I will kiss my bride.
Right.
A few glaring problems with that.
First—crowds.
I hadn't really considered how many people would be here until now. Someone fully decorated the church with flowers, ribbons, and runners. They've set up the pews, and judging by the looks of it, someone will occupy every single one I don't care to know or talk to. Allie’s immediate family might be a no-show, but that doesn’t mean we won’t have a full house.
Bennettis. Friends. Business associates. A nightmare buffet of eyes. On me.
Second—the kiss.
Why the hell does a kiss seal a marriage? Who came up with that? I’ve signed business deals worth billions with nothing but a handshake, and yet I’m supposed to stamp a lifelong contract with a kiss?
After the priest finishes, I exhale heavily, then I look at Allie.
Her face is unreadable. That serene smile she’s been forcing all night? Gone.
“Right, well, thank you for coming. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
And then she turns—walks away—straight over to Violet and Sienna.
And just like that, I get two simultaneous death glares from my sisters. The look that would make their husbands sweat through their expensive suits.
I don’t sweat. I have a spine.
Still.
They’re pissed. Which means she’s pissed.
And if Allie’s pissed…
Was tonight not enough?
I get a quick bump on the shoulder, but my brother knows better than to go for a full clap-on-the-back moment.
“So, you came.” Dom steps in front of me, completely blocking my view of Allie.
“Yeah.”
“Care to tell me why you finally showed up?”
“Had to.”
“No, you didn’t. You haven’t shown up for a single thing. Not a single meeting, not a single tasting, not a single decision. Hell, I helped plan this wedding more than any man should. I’m permanently marred by Pinterest idea boards, just so you know. So, I’ll ask again. Why. Are. You. Here?”
My eyes flick past him. Allie is smiling. Not the polite, awkward, why-am-I-here smile she reserves for me, but a real one. Genuine. Warm. My sisters are eating it up, surrounding her like she’s a new puppy they’re adopting.
She doesn’t beam like that around me.
They make her happy. They fill the gaps where I sure as hell can’t.
And I just need to keep up this act for a few more days.
Get through the wedding, get through the wedding night, then break it to her that this is it—this is who I am.
There’s no grand revelation, no hidden romantic underbelly, no secret longing to be transformed by love.
“You said I needed to.” I answer.
“And since when have you given two shits about what I think?” Dom stares me down. “Or Alex? Or literally anyone?”
Good question. One I don’t have an answer for. “I want her down the aisle.”
Dom scrubs a hand down his face, exhaustion settling in the fine lines around his eyes. The twin girls are kicking his ass. His fault for spoiling them rotten, one of them already a certified daddy’s girl who refuses to sleep unless she’s in his arms. He made that monster.
“So, let me get this straight,” he starts, and I internally grumble for inviting yet another brotherly lecture. “You’re pretending to be someone you’re not just to get her to show up at the altar?”
I shrug. “Seems to work.”
“Rico…” He sighs, shaking his head. “She’s not dumb. She’s not going to suddenly think you’ve had a personality transplant just because you showed up once. She’s not gonna fall for it.”
She doesn’t have to fall for it. She just has to show up.
Good thing this performance is short-lived. I’m already mentally exhausted from the effort, and I’m counting down the minutes until I can return to my usual evening routine: silence, work, and pretending the world doesn't exist.
Last I checked until death do us part is the most prominent vow in this whole charade. Sickness and health comes in a close second. And I’m already halfway to the emotionally unavailable terminal case, so she’s going to have to accept me as is.
Do I feel guilty about faking it just to get her to the altar?
Nope.
Do I want her to at least enjoy her first—and if I have any say in it, only—wedding?
Yeah.
I also don’t want her to look at me like I’m a complete demon when she realizes she married me.
“It’ll be fine.” I roll my shoulders back. “She knows who I am. Twenty-four hours of this won’t change her mind.”
Dom mutters something under his breath, but I ignore it, moving toward Allie.
Violet shoots me a glare that would make most men cower. Too bad for her, I'm immune—unlike her husband.
“Allie.”
She turns, eyes meeting mine. I extend my hand, avoiding the obligation hanging there to say something.
Sienna beams while Violet squints at me. She knows this is bullshit.
Allie hesitates for a second, then excuses herself from my sisters and places her hand in mine.
I don’t waste time. I lead her to the doors.
“Wait, we can’t leave yet.” She tugs back slightly, wide-eyed. Almost pleading.
Begging. Pleading. Tears—none of that works on me. She’ll figure that out, eventually. Save herself the energy.
“I need to get back to work.” I’ve handed out all I can for tonight. “Besides,” I add, like I actually give a damn about tradition, “we can’t see each other before the wedding. Right?”
Then, because I figure I might as well commit to the act, I pull her close and press a light kiss to her cheek.
Bad idea.
Her skin is warm. Soft. She smells like vanilla and something floral I can’t place, and yet I want to lick it off her and taste it on my tongue.
She sucks in a breath, and for the first time in my entire existence, I nearly forget myself. I nearly let it linger.
Nearly.
Quickly, I pull back and meet her gaze. “See you tomorrow, Pearlina.”
Her brows crunch, like she’s trying to unscramble my sudden shift in behavior.
Will she show up tomorrow?
She nods. Looks sure about it. But nodding and actually showing up are two different things.
I release her hand.
My palm feels empty—a-fucking-gain—and I officially despise how holding her hand for mere seconds creates a loss.
Without another word, I turn and stroll out.