VIOLET
Alejandro told me the verdict while Pippa and I were having the time of our lives shopping.
I still felt a little betrayed that Marcello didn't want me there with him, that he didn't want to share this important moment of his life with me, but I thought I understood.
Having been in the same room with Carlos once had really been enough for me.
Maybe that made me a coward, but part of me was also grateful that I wasn't there.
My phone dings with an incoming message; thinking it's Marcello, I pull it out. I'm right, it's from him, but not what I expected to see. He says nothing about Carlos. Instead:
Marcello:
Change of plans. No ball this weekend.
Me:
What do you mean, no ball?
Marcello:
We're going to a wedding instead. In the Maldives. Pack light.
My heart goes from regular excitement to palpitations within a fraction of a second of reading his text. I'm not sure if I'm elated or stunned. Yes, I'm wearing his ring, yes, I said yes, and yes, I know we're getting married soon, but this…
Me:
Wait… what??? ARE WE GETTING MARRIED IN THE MALDIVES???
Marcello:
Not yet, tesoro. This one's for Toni and Scarlet. But I wouldn't mind the idea…
Oh! Now I don't know if I'm relieved or disappointed. Whatever it is, nervous embarrassment is mixed in with it. An honest mistake given our situation, still.
First, I type,
Me:
Marcello! You can't just casually drop that into a conversation!
But then I think better of it. He has no idea about my emotions when he sent me the text. No reason to embarrass myself further. So I add,
Me:
Also: do I need a gown?? A bikini?? Both???
How does one dress for a mafia beach wedding??
Marcello:
Something that makes every man look and immediately know you're mine.
Me:
So… black silk with a slit up to my hip? Or ivory lace with scandalous cutouts?
Marcello:
Both. One for the ceremony. One for after.
Also—don't forget something red. Tradition.
Me:
You're lucky I like you… and beach shopping.
Marcello:
I'm lucky for a lot of reasons, tesoro. See you tonight.
He's lucky I'm used to switching gears at a moment's notice. I have a feeling this will happen a lot in my life now, which brings a smile to my face, because life with Marcello will be anything but predictable.
"What?" Pippa asks, fingering the purse she bought with a credit card Luciano gave her.
The purse was eight thousand dollars. Eight thousand!
I mean that's a drop in the bucket compared to what I spent on the ball gown—that I won't be wearing anytime soon now—but still.
Never in a hundred years would I have ever considered going inside Maison étoile, let alone buying anything.
Hell, I wouldn't have even been able to afford flip-flops or sunglasses here.
The only thing I've seen that cost under a grand was a pair of panties, and they were over five hundred.
Forget about buying anything. It took me a good hour before I dared touch something.
This place, which was once an eight-story apartment building, has been completely renovated into a shopping center that can't be called a mall.
It's a palace. Travertine tiles reverberate with the sound of hundreds of stilettos walking over them, and tall ceilings echo with the sound of voices and laughter, mostly women's.
Inside each store, Pippa and I are offered free champagne—and not the cheap kind.
After a few glasses of the very potent stuff, my inhibitions slowly left me, igniting a shopping frenzy.
It reminds me of sharks attracted by the scent of fresh blood.
Six times, Alejandro had to send one of the bodyguards back to the car to drop off bags.
They're getting close to having to do it again, and now, it seems, Pippa and I are on a whole new mission.
"Change of plans, looks like Marcello and I are going to the Maldives this weekend," I answer her question.
"Maldives." Her face takes on a dreamy expression. "Nice."
"Yeah," I agree. I've seen pictures of the Maldives. I mean, who hasn't? But just like being inside Maison étoile, it's nothing I ever thought I would get to visit in real life.
Pippa shakes her head, "You know what this reminds me of?"
I have an idea. "Karen Hill?"
She grins and nods. "That's why I love you, you and I are on the same page."
"I'm not sure," I hesitate, then continue, "I'd rather go to the Maldives than the shooting range…"
She cocks her head. "That is a hard choice indeed. You have no idea the kinds of weapons Luciano has…"
"Who is Karen Hill?" Alejandro interrupts us. At first, he stayed a good distance back, but over the past couple of hours, after Pippa and I used him and the other men shamelessly to get their opinions on clothes and shoes, he's become more animated with us.
"Who is Karen Hill?" Pippa stares at me. "Did he just really ask that?"
"Dude." I shake my head at Alejandro.
"What?"
"It's only one of the most epic movie scenes ever." Pippa fills him in.
"I'm not much of a movie person," Alejandro says, sounding like Marcello and making me giggle.
"For you, I would have thought watching this would have been some kind of… training requirement." Pippa shows no intentions of letting the poor man off the hook.
"Training requirement? Now I'm completely lost." Alejandro admits. "Any of you guys have any ideas?"
Bosco coughs into his elbow, and the cough sounds a lot like Goodfellas, making Pippa and me snicker.
"Goodfellas? The movie?" Alejandro still doesn't get it.
I turn to Pippa, putting on my best Karen Hill pout. "Baby, I need some money to go shopping."
Pippa doesn't miss a beat and channels her inner Ray Liotta, complete with swagger. "How much?"
Grinning, I hold my fingers apart to show a thick stack. "About… this much."
She fishes in her purse and pulls out a wad of napkins, pretending it's a wad of cash. "Here. Don't spend it all in one place, sweetheart."
Bosco claps his hands. "That was pretty good."
We grin and bow, while Alejandro shakes his head. "Doesn't sound like something I need to watch."
"It's a classic mafia movie," Bosco fills him in.
"Whatever," Alejandro shrugs. "Where to now?"
"We need some beach clothes," I tell him.
Marcello was right, Alejandro knows just where to go. Without hesitation, he leads Pippa and me to a store that is just as high-class and exclusive as the others. It gives off beach vibes without looking cheap.
An hour later, as I hand the little black card to the sales lady, my brain tries to point out that there is probably a lot of blood on that card.
I say shut up and drop another ten grand on swimsuits, summer dresses, and yes, sunglasses and flip-flops.
The champagne helps suppress any guilt: both the blood kind and the OMG, I just spent probably three hundred grand of Marcello's money in this building.
It's dark by the time we get back into the fully packed SUV—the one following us holds only slightly fewer bags.
Pippa begins to fidget the closer we come to the skyscraper that holds Marcello's penthouse.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
"Is it wrong to be this attracted to a man I just met?"
A small snort escapes me. "You're seriously asking me that? The woman who is about to marry a man she's only known for a few months, and half of that time, he was in a coma?"
"Never mind," she chuckles. "I suppose when it comes to mafia men, normal rules don't apply."
"Rules?" Alejandro scoffs from up front, making me regret ever involving him in our personal lives and conversations.
"Yeah, that's probably true," Pippa agrees.
"You going to be okay?" I ask her when the elevator stops at Luciano's floor.
"As soon as I get my hand on his cock." She grins. This time, Alejandro has the good sense to not only stay silent but also to turn his head.
The guards open the doors for me when we reach the anteroom at the penthouse level.
"We'll be up in a few with your purchases," Alejandro announces and wishes me a good night.
The penthouse is dipped in twilight. Only a few lights burn low, and I wonder if Marcello is even home yet.
Something stops me from calling out for him; the apartment seems too peaceful to disturb with the sound of my voice.
Drawn forward like a piece of metal by a magnet, I make my way into our bedroom, and there I find him.
The sight of him stops my breath. His rugged stubble looks even darker in the shadows, which are playing with his sculpted jaw and cheeks. Only his gray eyes stand out, watching me like a predator, hypnotizing me like a cobra.
His vest is unbuttoned, as well as most of his shirt, partially exposing those hard pecs and a couple of his tats.
My teeth sink into my bottom lip. God, that man looks like a god.
He's leaned back on the padded chair, his sleeves rolled up, strong fingers resting on the chair's arm, holding a half-full glass of whiskey.
His legs are spread, exposing the bulge between, clearly defined by the tightness of his pants. My heart hitches.
"Honey, I'm home," I try to say it lightly, but my voice is hoarse from the lump in my throat. A lump from being already turned on more than should be possible.
"I see that," he growls, his voice low and throaty, eyes burning with hunger. "Christ, you look delicious. Did you have fun shopping?"
"Hmm," I mumble. My mind is racing with naughty thoughts—things I've never done before. But the way he's staring at me through those hooded eyes makes me feel like a goddess. Makes me want to strip right here in front of him while he watches, nails digging into his belt.
Maybe I'm still tipsy from the champagne, or maybe it's how he's looking at me; either way, I stop where I am, twist my arms behind me, and unzip my dress.
It's a tight black dress, one of my many purchases today.
I let my arms fall to my sides, and gravity does the rest, pulling the dress from me and exposing lacy, deep-red underwear that's also new.