by Bethany-Kris
No doubt, her mother had set it in her head to convince Emma on this sort of style. Honestly, the little shoe horn with the pointy handle hanging off the wall looked like a good instrument to inflict a deadly enough wound to get herself out of this hell.
Emma did smile that time.
Calisto was right.
She was a little dramatic.
Emma waved at the skirt of the dress. “Less pouf, Mom. Less beads and shiny things. I want sleeves, capped at least. Something to make me feel like my tits aren’t going to pop out and give everyone a show when I bend over.”
“Emma,” her mother scolded. “Your mouth, my God.”
“Ask the woman to find another dress. This one isn’t it.”
Minnie scowled. “Fine. But it does look nice.”
“If I were a debutant on show, it would be perfect.”
“Now you’re starting to offend me, Emmy.”
Her mother had been a debutant from a well-to-do political family that had a hand in a crime syndicate down south. Minnie had met Emma’s father during college when George had gone down south for business under his father’s request. Twenty-five years in Vegas had cured most of Minnie’s southern quirks and verbal expressions, but an occasional “bless your heart” still slipped through with just the right amount of sarcasm behind it.
“Fine. I’m sorry. It’s a beautiful dress,” Emma said. “But not for me.”
“You’re not sorry,” Minnie muttered, still staring longingly at the gown. “Another one, then?”
“Something different this time. Not something you want to wear, Mom.”
Minnie conceded with a huff. Pushing up from the couch, her mother disappeared out of the private sitting area, likely to find the woman who owned the shop again and search for another gown. With her mother out of sight, Emma’s frustrations grew all over again at the situation she was currently in.
Dress shopping.
For her wedding gown.
A wedding happening soon.
“Yes, George,” Minnie said as she came around the corner with a phone pressed to her ear and no dress in hand. She waved at her daughter and pointed to the phone like Emma was supposed to know what in the hell was going on. With her mother and father, it could be anything. The two got off on their occasional spats. It was kind of unnerving. “I told you, I left the goddamn ticket on your—”
Minnie’s words cut off as her gaze narrowed. “Don’t you yell at me, George, just because you can’t find the stupid ticket for your dry-cleaning. I know where you sleep, you fucking pig. Keep it up.”
“Oh, my God,” Emma groaned, rubbing at her temples.
A headache began to throb there all of the sudden. This was exactly why Emma kept a distance between herself and her parents. Sometimes, their nonsense was overwhelming. How the two had stayed married for almost three decades, she didn’t know.
Her mother was pushy and spoiled. Her father was a bastard with a superiority complex. Yet, the two seemingly adored one another.
“Sweet Jesus, George, you are hopeless. Utterly hopeless,” Minnie said, sighing. “I will go get your suit and bring it to you. Thank you for ruining this day for me. I was so looking forward to this.”
For her.
Emma didn’t miss her mother’s words. She wished they weren’t true, but she knew they were. Her mother had pushed and wanted this dress shopping day far more than Emma. Minnie had her hand in planning the wedding from afar. Minnie was looking forward to it all.
Emma was ready to cut tail and run.
As fast as she fucking could.
If only …
“Emma, dear, we’ll have to cut this short,” Minnie said, drawing Emma from her thoughts.
Relief flooded Emma.
The headache ebbed away.
“No problem, Mom,” Emma replied.
“Dinner tonight?”
The hopefulness on her mother’s face kept Emma from refusing. Despite the strangeness around her parents and their sometimes difficult personalities, she did love her mother … and even her father.
“Sure,” Emma said. “At your home or somewhere else?”
“I’ll wrangle George into getting us a table at the Grand.”
“Perfect.”
“You know,” her mother started to say, glancing around at the gowns in bags and the others hanging off the wall. “Emma, you could try a few on just by yourself. I know you’re not exactly excited for—”
“Not even a little bit.”
Minnie nodded. “I know. But you have a duty, as your father has explained so much that my ears hurt just hearing the damned word. Nonetheless, you could, Emmy. Try on a few alone. Maybe you’ll find something in here that you like—something to make all of this worth it. Hmm?”
Emma doubted it.
She still agreed to appease her mother.
Once Minnie was gone again, it was just Emma alone in the private sitting room. She wondered where the lady that was helping her get in and out of the dresses had gone. More than anything, Emma suddenly wanted to rip the one she was currently wearing off. Just getting another glimpse at it in the mirror was enough to make her sick.
The chiffon … silk … crystals …
Emma blinked.
A church, an aisle, and flower petals filled her vision. Quiet music, a waiting priest, and a man with his hand out, waiting to take hers.
A man she didn’t want.
Emma didn’t realize she was having a panic attack until her throat tightened to the point where she couldn’t breathe. She turned away from the mirror, unable to look at the dress or herself for another second for fear of throwing up the breakfast and lunch she had eaten.
Jesus.
Where was that goddamn woman?
She needed the dress off right now.
Right the hell now.
Slipping on the too long skirt of the gown, Emma stumbled off the slightly raised platform. She managed to catch herself, but not before a sob caught in the back of her throat. Tears welled in her eyes without her permission, promising a breakdown was close by.
Damn it.
She had done so well.
She’d not cried yet.
It wouldn’t do any good.
Hot tears escaped as she fumbled with the back of the corset on the dress, desperately trying to find the ties to undo them even a little bit.
Just enough to take a breath.
She only needed the one.
How was she supposed to get married if she couldn’t even wear a wedding dress without having a panic attack?
Emma was fucked.
She knew it.
Calisto
“Zio,” Calisto greeted respectfully the moment he answered his ringing cell phone.
“Calisto,” Affonso replied, sounding more chipper than usual. “You know, my boy, you could always drop the pretense when I call and address me the way we both want you to.”
“As in, ‘Afternoon, asshole’?”
Affonso grunted under his breath. “Hey, now.”
“I’ll stick with uncle,” Calisto said, dismissing the entire conversation with four words.
“Such a shame. You could save me all the trouble and heartache in the world if you would simply just—”
“Are we going to do this again today?” Calisto asked. “I thought Vegas was supposed to be a break from me. Wasn’t that what you said? You would be happy to put some distance between you and I for a while. You’re contradicting yourself, zio, and we’re not even in the same goddamn state as you’re doing it.”
“Watch it.”
Two quickly spoken, angry words were enough to check Calisto’s attitude. Regardless of his feelings toward his uncle, the man was still his boss. Despite the way Calisto had entered Cosa Nostra, under false pretenses and years of lies spoon-fed to him, he’d spoken an oath and he intended to keep it.
Respect.
Honor.
A boss is a boss is a boss.
Even if a man des
pises that boss.
“My apologies,” Calisto said, the words practically choking him on the way out.
“Thank you.” Affonso sighed heavily before saying, “I did think a break would benefit us both, Cal. I hoped you would see how much respect and clout has been practically handed to you simply by having you grow up under my wing, carrying the Donati name, and taking a proper position in the family. Vegas isn’t even New York, my boy, but look at how they treat you like a prince just waiting to take his throne. Imagine how much more you could have if you would only forget about past mistakes and move onto the future.”
“Mistakes.”
“Well, yes.”
“Mistakes,” Calisto repeated, spitting the word through his teeth. “Is that what you want to call what happened?”
Affonso didn’t answer at first. When he did, he changed direction entirely. “This was not what I called you for today, Cal. Once again, you’re getting stuck on things that used to be instead of focusing on what could be.”
Calisto’s irritation jumped a notch. “You brought it up first.”
“And now I’m dropping it.”
“I wish you would leave it that way, uncle.”
Calisto knew damn well that nothing irked Affonso more than when he reminded the man of what he was to him. Not a friend, father figure, or much else. Simply his uncle.
“You could make a fantastic boss, Calisto,” Affonso said, his tone gentler than ever before. “It is right there at your fingertips. You could take it without even giving me what I want, my boy. Don’t you see that at all?”
“I would have taken it,” Calisto replied quietly. “I would have followed your pack of lies to the very end. Whatever you wanted, I would have done for you. Not now, zio. You want me to be the boss. You want me to run your family. It’s what you want me to do. And because it’s what you want, I don’t want it at all.”
“I indulged you too much,” Affonso muttered heavily.
“No, you lied to me. There’s a difference.”
“You and I … it’s a sad thing, Cal.”
“So be it, zio.”
Affonso let out a grumble. “Did she enjoy her gift today?”
Calisto fought the urge to roll his eyes. Affonso’s plan of bribing Emma into compliance with gifts of all sorts was doing little but reminding the girl of someone she didn’t want to be. Even Calisto, with his usual disregard for other people’s feelings, could clearly see Emma’s issues.
The young woman had already been spoiled by a man—her father. And that same man turned on her, feeding her to a wolf like Affonso the first chance he could. Emma was not going to allow Affonso to trick her the same way her father had once done.
“Well?” Affonso demanded.
“She got the spa documents this morning with her breakfast, as far as I know. I had the casino add it on top of her cart as it was wheeled into the penthouse.”
Today’s gift had featured a spa of sorts that Affonso had purchased a year or so ago. He had apparently asked for his lawyer to change the ownership documents to reflect Emma’s name as the other side of a minority shareholder in the business.
Most women would probably love the idea of free spa days, owning their own business, or simply just the gift itself. Calisto didn’t believe that Emma was like most women. She could probably see the gift for what it was. Another way for Affonso to keep an eye on her, to control her, and for him to take something else away, should she misbehave.
“She did get it,” Calisto said again.
“That tells me nothing, Cal.”
“I wasn’t inside the room. Do you want me to spend evenings in her place?”
Affonso grew deadly quiet. “You’re toeing a very thin line at the moment.”
“I don’t have much else to tell you. She didn’t mention it when we did talk earlier.”
“Earlier? What were you doing with her earlier that you had time for a conversation?”
Another contradiction.
Affonso’s jealousy was showing. The man despised anyone coming close to his women, in any respect. He could be violent toward men who he considered had crossed a line with one of his mistresses or … well, his wife. But it wasn’t like Calisto could find out if Emma enjoyed her latest gift—bribe—without talking to the woman.
Calisto didn’t bother to point it out to his uncle. “I was having a smoke when she finally got out of her car to meet her mother. I wanted to make sure she was feeling up to the day, I guess.”
“What are they doing?”
“Looking at wedding dresses.”
And likely wishing for a black hole to appear so she could disappear forever, Calisto held back from adding.
Maybe Emma wasn’t the only one who could drudge up the most dramatic bullshit at the drop of a hat. Calisto wondered if he should lay off the girl.
“No princess-y garbage,” Affonso said suddenly.
Calisto rubbed at the spot between his eyes as an ache started to form behind his skull. “What?”
“Those big, awful dresses that takes three people to get a woman in and out of a car, never mind through a fucking door. They may look nice on a mannequin, but I can assure you they are hell in a bedroom when you just want to get the terrible thing off.”
Again, what?
“Is there a point to this?” Calisto asked.
“Sì, make sure she doesn’t pick a dress like that. If she does, I am holding you personally accountable for it. I hate those. Cose brute.”
Wonderful.
Just fucking perfect.
Hedging on the line he knew better than to cross, Calisto dared to say, “Isn’t it supposed to be her choice, as it’s her day and all that jazz?”
“Hers.” Affonso scoffed. “Another pile of garbage to wade through. I’m paying for it, Cal. The wedding, the things her mother wants, and even the dress she’s buying today. It’s coming from my bank account. The least they can do is provide me with easier access on the wedding night.”
Jesus Christ.
That was ten shades of wrong.
All wrong.
Emma was more than just a wedding night—more than easy access. She was young, sure, but anyone with two eyes and a half of a brain could see the woman was unhappy, worried, and anxious about what was still to come. Couldn’t Affonso see that, too? Couldn’t the man make the transition a little less painful by allowing Emma her own choices, or even a little more time?
People had to see she wasn’t ready for this nonsense to happen.
Like her wedding night …
With Affonso.
Calisto didn’t like how his entire body seemed to want to recoil against that realization. Like he didn’t even want to think the words because that would somehow make it true. Bile filled his throat, but he swallowed his disgust and the sickness back down. What else could he do?
Emma wasn’t his to protect.
Her feelings couldn’t bleed into him.
It would do him no good.
“Make sure she picks something beautiful, but simple and easy to remove,” Affonso said, bringing Calisto from his thoughts.
He didn’t want to speak.
He didn’t have another option.
“Whatever you need, zio.”
Calisto hung up the call just as Minnie Sorrento stormed from the dress shop, sporting a scowl that could rival even the devil’s. Without so much as a glance in Calisto’s direction, the woman scuttled across the street and jumped into a white Lexus. Tires squealed as Minnie took off.
Maybe Emma had thrown a fit after all.
It was the very last thing he wanted to do, but Calisto stepped up on the sidewalk and made a beeline for the dress shop. He hadn’t been inside one before. Not a wedding dress shop, specifically. Pulling open the door, shades of white trimmed with lace, beads, and glittering panels assaulted his eyes.
Stepping in further, Calisto noticed a mid-thirties, heavy-set woman with large-framed glasses chatting on a phone at the desk. She
didn’t see him as he looked the place over. Dresses hung from hangers and poles on every wall. Shoes, veils, and matching clutches had been displayed in glass cases.
Good God.
This was hell.
A crinoline, silk, and satin-walled hell.
Toward the back of the shop, Calisto took a hallway directing customers to dressing rooms and sitting areas. It wasn’t long before he found Emma.
A dress that was big enough to be a house was the first thing to catch his eye. The second was Emma. Tears streaked down the young woman’s cheeks as she stumbled over the layers and layers of crinoline. She grappled for the back of the dress, failing to grab the ties at the bottom of the tightly woven corset. She didn’t notice him in the doorway of the private sitting room, but her panic was as clear as day.
What had caused her to react like this?
More tears spilled as another sob echoed. Emma tried to reach for the ties again, and managed to get one free. She still couldn’t loosen the back of the dress quickly enough for her satisfaction, apparently. She grabbed at the sweetheart neckline and yanked for all she was worth. It looked like she was trying to rip the damn dress right off her body.
“Jesus Christ,” Emma mumbled. “I want this off.”
Her voice, heavy with pain and anxiety, struck Calisto in the chest like a hot knife slicing through butter. She probably didn’t think anyone was watching her breakdown happen, and she likely wouldn’t want him to step in and help her.
Calisto couldn’t help but move forward with his hands outstretched to soothe Emma. It was like some kind of fucking cord had suddenly wrapped itself around his middle and tugged hard, making him step over the threshold, around the white leather couch, and closer to the woman with her smeared makeup, her mussed hair, and her pain shattering all over a hardwood floor.
No one should cry like she was doing. No one should hurt like that. Hell, it made him ache just to see it.
Calisto figured that Emma’s reasons for her emotional collapse wasn’t all that important for the moment. Getting her calm, comfortable, and breathing normally again was what needed doing before anything else could get better.
Emma bent over at the knees, still not seeing Calisto behind her, and grabbed at the sleeveless, princess-style gown to pull at the bodice again. Her hard panting, like she was gasping for a breath that just wasn’t there, was accompanied by a broken sob.
