Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Us on the beach. That photo. Sunset. Mom and dad young and laughing. My brothers playing. Me tickling Elizabeth’s tiny, pudgy feet after burying her in the sand. Her giggles like all little kids, are filled up and bursting with joy. Just giggling and wiggling her toes.
I exhale. Blink to find Scarlett watching me. I close my eyes and run a hand through my hair, looking away from her eyes.
“I think you shouldn’t waste your time fantasizing about things that can’t be,” I tell her just as we pull into the town and I see the chapel. Before she can open her mouth to reply, the SUV pulls to a stop and I climb out. I close the door behind me and take a deep breath in, grateful for the cooler temperature.
Charlie comes toward me. “Cristiano.” We shake hands. “I finally get to meet your bride.”
“Thanks for coming.” Charlie will stand as my witness since Dante refused. He doesn’t agree with the wedding in the church. He understands the necessity of it but won’t accept the rest.
Incense hangs heavy in the fresh salty air.
I walk around to Scarlett’s side and open her door.
She ignores my hand and slides out on her own. She looks around quickly but her eyes land on Charlie who smiles wide at her.
“I see why you’ve kept her locked away,” he says.
She gives me the side-eye and I have to wonder at his choice of words.
“Charlie, this is my fiancée, Scarlett De La Cruz. Scarlett, Charlie Lombardi. Family friend and my right-hand man.”
She looks at him again, shifts her gaze to his outstretched hand. She reluctantly slips her hand into it but only momentarily.
“Very nice to meet you, Scarlett,” Charlie says. “An honor to bear witness to your wedding.”
She just studies him in silence, and I can almost hear the things she’s telling him on the inside.
“Christ,” I mutter.
Charlie just gives me a wink. “I’ll see you at the altar.”
Her gaze follows him to the chapel door where he disappears inside.
It’s a small wooden structure and doesn’t look like much from the outside. Our small group makes their way to the doors, Scarlett and I at the back, Noah near us. No one speaks.
Once there, Antonio opens the door. The place has been secured already. Even though no one knows we’re here as opposed to the very public charity event, I’m not taking any chances.
My uncle thought we’d be married at the church in Naples where my parents had their ceremony. He sounded a little bitter when I wouldn’t give him the details of our plans but seemed to accept it when I told him I didn’t want to marry her in the same place my parents had been married. He doesn’t know Charlie was invited.
This chapel, though, it’s where my mom was baptized.
Rain begins to fall lightly. Scarlett and I are the last to enter, leaving several soldiers outside. Once we’re in the vestibule, I tell Noah to wait inside the church and turn to my bride-to-be.
She’s looking at me, shivering a little. Raindrops dot her cheeks and two have fallen on her pretty, upturned nose. I wipe them off then brush her hands away from the coat in order to unbutton it and slip it off her shoulders. It’s then I realize why she’s been holding it closed all this time.
“Really, Scarlett?” I ask, shaking my head.
“I thought black was more fitting.”
She’s wearing a black dress appropriate for a funeral not a wedding.
I adjust the lace collar which has fallen over and use it to tug her closer, taking in her paler complexion, her wide eyes as she waits for my reaction.
“You’re right,” I start, playing her game. Winning it. “Black is more fitting for a cartel princess become mafia queen.” I cup the back of her head, weave my fingers into her hair and tug when she pushes against my chest.
“I’m not your queen,” she says.
“Not yet, but before the night is out, you will be mine. All mine.”
Her expression turns into one of worry as she searches my eyes.
“Let’s go get married,” I tell her and shift my grip to her arm, bypassing her brother to walk her to the altar myself.
29
Scarlett
Cristiano marches me down the aisle much the same way as he marched me upstairs last night.
The priest clears his throat, his smile vanishing when he sees the dress, sees Cristiano’s hand around my arm.
The chapel is simple, the pews unadorned, the floors stone, some broken. If there are graves beneath them, they’re so old their names and dates have been worn away by time. The altar though, is something to see. Arched ceilings painted turquoise, like the ocean. I bet during the day when sunlight shines through the stained-glass window, it’s spectacular. The altar itself is as simply made as the pews but the gold chalice and the other paraphernalia are as beautiful as in any church. I wonder if they lock the gold away at night. I would.