Chapter 6
EMILY
The Circle Hotel ballroom is far more grand than I had expected.
The chandeliers, the artistic floral arrangements, and the clear smell of money hit you as soon as the gilded elevator doors open.
“Name please?” says a man in a dark suit at the ballroom entrance. He has a clipboard and the practiced smile of someone paid to be pleasant.
“Not sure I’m on the guest list,” I say. “I’m the bride. Emily Fisher.”
“Of course, Miss Fisher. Welcome,” he says. “Please follow me.”
The ballroom has a similar view of Manhattan as Mr. Ricci’s apartment. Tall buildings look like a Lego set from this height.
Guests have that impossible-to-define ‘international look’ of wealth and privilege.
Women appear well-coiffed and pampered, while the men look serious and rich.
The host leads me to a man who looks similar to my Darcy-like hero.
As I get closer, I realize they are one and the same.
Imagine the incredible luck.
I can’t wait to tell Anna that the man who rescued me from being crushed by a horse and my fiancé are one and the same.
“Mr. Ricci, your bride, Emily Fisher,” says the host with a curt nod before retreating.
I struggle for something sexy and clever to say that would harken back to our “meet-cute.”
Greeting him as ‘my knight in shining armor’ isn’t quite right.
But he beats me to the punch when he takes my hand and bows slightly.
My fiancé looks at me like I’m a stranger. As if he hadn’t saved my life just a few hours earlier.
“Lorenzo Ricci,” he says to me with a charming smile.
I blink.
He doesn’t recognize me.
It’s true I had been wearing jeans and a T-shirt, with my hair in a ponytail when he rescued me in the park.
And now, I’m wearing my aunt’s tweed suit and my hair is up.
But still, I’m the same girl.
“You don’t recognize me?”
“Apologies, no,” he says, with even more charm. “Where did we meet?”
I begin to tell him, then snap my mouth shut.
Had I been that forgettable?
“My mistake,” I say drily, resisting my usual tendency for sarcasm. “I thought you were someone else.”
“Of course. It happens. But how is it that you’re not wearing a wedding dress?” he says, his eyes flicking over my aunt’s suit with clear disdain.
“Well, it’s not quite a wedding, is it?” I have no problem letting my usual sass snap back into my tone.
“No one knows that,” he replies.
“Appearances are important. Guests came expecting to see a traditional wedding. Please explain your choice of attire.”
I stiffen. “My great aunt passed recently. She always wanted to see me married. I wore this in her memory.”
“Ah,” he says in a way that suggests he doesn’t know me well enough to tell if I’m serious or not. “Then allow me to introduce you to your new family.”
I note his ironic tone. Fitting. So we’re on the same page.
“That’s my brother Dante, talking to that group of men there,” he says.
I turn to look at an attractive dark-haired man. I judge him to be an older, more serious, darker version of Lorenzo.
Even from this distance, his eyes look black and carry a ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibe he must radiate even in casual conversation.
“And that’s his wife Gina. Let me introduce you now. She lives upstairs so you’ll be seeing a great deal of one another.”
Lorenzo leads me to a pretty blonde girl about my own age. She greets me with a big smile and a hug as soon as we’re introduced.
“Very happy to meet you, Emily,” she says, beaming at me with genuine delight.
Her hands curve around the slight bump above her belly. “And congratulations on your marriage. Lorenzo’s a great guy.”
“I hope so,” Lorenzo says, wandering off to the bar.
“What’s with the tweed suit?” Gina asks with genuine curiosity. “I have my wedding dress upstairs. I can run up and get it if you’d like.”
I smile and shrug. “Thanks for the offer. You must know Lorenzo and I have a temporary business arrangement. And so, a business suit.”
“Well, that’s one way to look at it,” she says with a charming laugh. “Please let me bring down my veil, at least. This way it won’t be awkward when the officiant asks Lorenzo to kiss the bride.”
Gina slips away. I take advantage of the situation to accept a glass of Champagne from a passing waiter and survey the crowd.
“You’re Emily, right? My new cousin!” says a girl who’s suddenly materialized before me.
She has long midnight-black hair and wears bright red lipstick that actually looks good on her.
“I’m Angie. Welcome to the family!”
Before I can respond, she pulls me into a tight hug. When she releases me, she’s already wincing at what must be a giant lipstick mark on my cheek.
“Oh, sorry about that! I get carried away at these kinds of things.”
She digs through a small beaded clutch, produces a tissue, and dabs at my cheek. “I hear you’re from Boston.”
“That’s right,” I say as Gina returns.
“I see you two have met,” Gina says. “Let’s find a private place so I can fit the veil on your head properly.”
“And I brought this!” Angie pulls a frilly white garter from her clutch. “In my book, it’s not a wedding until bachelors fight to catch it.”
With that, Gina and Angie take an arm each and lead me to a small room.
Yet as I walk, I feel eyes burning at my back.
I turn, and there’s Lorenzo Ricci, dark eyes on me.