by Sam Mariano
Meg’s eyebrows rise as if in response to a joke I’m not in on. “Trust me, the feeling is mutual.”
I shake my head at her. “I want to cry for you, so you have to be holding something back. Don’t put on a brave face for me if this is hurting you. I can ask Francesca to come to stuff like this with me if I need a girl.”
“This is not my brave face; this is my every day face. Remember, I buried my husband with dry eyes, too,” she says casually. Then, tapping her chest, she adds, “I’ve got a block of ice in here, I swear to god.”
“Your next love is a lucky man,” I remark, lightly.
“Jesus, Mia, I’ve been single for like five minutes. A new man is the last thing on my mind.”
Stealing a glance at her for reaction, I toss out, “You seemed to like Rafe.”
With a patient nod, she says, “Sure, I was attracted to Rafe; he’s hot and I have eyeballs. He’s in Vegas though, and I don’t think I’d want to keep him, anyway. He oozes dominance. I don’t want another dominant man. If I do get involved with someone down the road, I want a docile little puppy-dog man who will follow my lead and never challenge me.”
“That sounds boring as hell.”
Shrugging, she says, “Kickass single mom owner of the piano bar it is, then.”
“We should tell the bridal consultant I’m here to pick out a dress for my wedding to your baby daddy.”
Snapping her fingers, she says, “I should’ve brought a half-empty beer can and a cigarette. We could’ve really sold it.”
I smile, shaking my head at this crazy lady. “Well, I’m really relieved you’re being so cool about this. I felt horrible. I mean, out of my mind with happiness, but then when I wasn’t feeling that, totally horrible.”
Meg smiles faintly, reaching out and running her hand down the bodice of another gown. “I can’t believe he proposed with shoes.”
“Um, he’s a genius.”
“You’re such a shoe whore.”
“You saw the shoes, right? Your lack of emotional reaction to my gorgeous, fairy tale wedding shoes tells me more than anything else you have no soul.”
“I sold it a long time ago. Turns out the devil gives refunds, though. You just have to dangle a pretty enough prize in front of his face.”
I roll my eyes as we move along to the wall of bagged gowns. “Yeah, I’m a real prize.”
“The Morelli men seem to think so. I think you should look at off-the-shoulder.”
My thoughts returning briefly to my time in Vegas. “Vince’s dad sure didn’t. He didn’t like me at all.”
“Well, you turned his son’s brain to mush and incited a war amongst his close family members; I probably wouldn’t like you either.”
“I didn’t mean to though. It’s not like I asked Vince to come back for me like a psycho. As far as I knew, he had moved on with his life—a nice, mob-free life that he only had because of me, I might add.”
“Well, I’m glad I survived you; it seems like your vagina is a black hole that no man makes it out of.”
That’s when we realize the bridal consultant is standing right there, gaping at us.
As if we’d been talking about silhouettes instead, Meg faces the woman. “There you are.” Wrapping an arm around my shoulder and pulling me close, she says, “This little lady’s marrying my baby-daddy and we want to find her something nice to wear for the big day. Can you help?”
---
“How was dress shopping?”
I turn red just thinking about dress shopping, but I look over at Mateo, still seated to my right at the dinner table. The maid has just put down his salad, but I wait for her to give me mine.
Once she’s moved on to Adrian, I tell him, “Not great. Meg tried to kill me.”
Mateo raises a questioning eyebrow.
Meg rolls her eyes. “You can’t actually die from humiliation. That’s just a saying. Their dresses sucked anyway. We’ll go to the higher-end shop tomorrow.”
“I’m thinking Adrian should help me dress shop instead,” I say, glancing down in his direction.
“No,” Adrian says, not even looking up from his plate.
Elise is sitting there. I could ask Elise, but I feel like she’d say no.
“I promise not to embarrass you tomorrow,” Meg offers. “I didn’t intend to today, it’s just she already overheard too much, so I thought why the hell not?”
“Maybe I’ll ask Francesca to go,” I decide, grabbing my utensils and cutting up my salad. “Her dress was gorgeous.”
“I’ll just tag along, then. You’re stuck with me,” Meg states. “You can keep trying to get rid of me, but it’s not going to work.”
“Why don’t you take Colette?” Mateo suggests. “She’s doing the flowers, so she’s already involved.”
Grimacing, I say, “Okay, fine, I’ll take Meg.”
Mateo smirks faintly and Meg holds up her hand for a high five, but he leaves her hanging. “That’s cold,” she states, lowering her hand.
“There’s no chance you looked at me after nearly five years and thought, ‘you know what, I bet he’s going to give me a high five today.’ Literally no chance.”
Glancing across the table at me, Meg says, “You should really just let Mateo pick out your wedding dress. He picks out everything else you wear.”
“Not everything,” I say, rolling my eyes. “And he can’t pick this. He’s not allowed to see it until I walk down the aisle.”
“You really need to nail down the venue this week,” Mateo states.
“I gave you my top three,” I tell him.
“And two of those were churches,” he responds.
“Oh come on, you walked into a church for Francesca’s wedding. You didn’t burst into flames. It’ll be fine,” Meg assures him.
He shakes his head. “No church wedding. The theater’s the best space for the ceremony.”
To be honest, I’m not that particular about where we have the ceremony. I want to have it somewhere pretty, but I’d marry him in a landfill. “It’s not too late to elope,” I half-joke.
He smiles faintly, reaching across the table and caressing my hand. “I know it’s a lot of work. I just don’t want to wait a whole year.”
“Trust me, I’m fine with the rush. I just hate making so many decisions every day.”
“Well, that’s my fault,” he says mildly. “If you really don’t want to, just bring me your top picks and I’ll make final decisions.”
“Don’t you ever get tired of controlling literally everything?” Meg asks.
“No,” Mateo says, simply.
---
It’s a busy week of dress shopping, meeting with the wedding planner, and browsing photographer portfolios for the best one who has availability six months out. Mateo took the honeymoon plans right out of my hands, which I’m more than happy to give up. I know things turn out the way they should when he plans; I’m much less certain about things I have to plan for him. What if our wedding isn’t up to snuff? What if I pick the wrong chargers? What if the ring I pick out for him isn’t his taste? I’ve never bought him jewelry before. What if he’s unimpressed with the venue I like for the reception? What if I invite somebody Mateo hates, or fail to invite someone who should be there?
I hope it’s not like this for the next six months. I’m super into the aesthetic of a big, elegant wedding, but the actual planning is so stressful. Not to mention we’re going to be dropping so much money on this thing. I don’t have to deal with the financials, he signs off on all that, but I’ve seen enough to know this is going to cost an embarrassing sum of money—and I haven’t even picked a dress yet.
“I’m never leaving this bed again.”
Mateo flips off the light switch and approaches his side of the bed, climbing in beside me. My eyes skate over the beautiful planes of his body before they disappear under the covers, and I turn in his arms immediately, leaning in to give him a kiss.
His arms lock around my waist and he ya
nks me on top of him. “I can live with that. I’ll have to leave, but you can stay here so you’re always ready for me.”
“It sounds like the way to live life,” I inform him, only half-joking.
“Still didn’t find a dress you like?” he guesses.
“There are too many! And they’re all so pretty. And people act like you’re supposed to recognize your perfect dress on sight—like, you should look in the mirror and see your reflection and just start sobbing, because there it is, that’s your dress. If you don’t have that reaction, clearly you don’t have a soul.”
“I know it’s your wedding dress, but it is just a dress. I’d marry you if you showed up naked.”
I grin, trailing my index finger down his bare chest. “Oh, I bet you would.”
He catches my hand, but he seems pensive, maybe a little annoyed. Behind those beautiful brown eyes of his, the cogs are turning, and I can’t imagine it’s over wedding plans.
“What’s on your mind?” I ask him.
He watches me for a moment, then leans up, brushing his lips against mine. I stifle a sigh of pleasure. I want to get lost in him, but I can’t do that and also be mentally present if he wants to talk to me.
“Hm?” I encourage, running a hand through his hair and watching his face attentively.
“I found Vince.”
Fear slices through me before I can temper it, and I can tell by the tensing of his features that he picks up on it. A flicker of aggravation crosses his features, but then it’s gone and he’s in control again.
Swallowing, I ease off his chest to rest more fully on the bed. “What did you do?”
“Nothing yet.” His tone is completely even, as if we’re discussing the weather. “I wanted to, but considering how things went last time, I held off.”
I sigh heavily, moving off him completely and sinking into my spot beside him. “Why’d you have to tell me?”
“You know why,” he states.
“If you want my permission to kill him, I can’t give it to you. I know what he did was terrible, I understand why you want to, but… I’m honestly heartbroken for him. All I want for him is peace and happiness. I want him to find someone who loves him the way I love you. I want him to be happy and move on from us.”
“Considering what he put you through most recently, I don’t give a single fuck about his happiness,” Mateo states.
“I understand that.” Sliding a glance over at him, I add, “But you, of all people, know I don’t hold a grudge.”
“I’m allowed to fuck with you; no one else is.”
I smile slightly as his hand drifts over to grab mine, our fingers naturally lacing together. “I know that. I really don’t think he’ll be back again though. You didn’t see us together this time. It was bad. Our fucked up relationship when we were living together and you were with Meg seemed like a honeymoon by comparison. We did this to him, Mateo. We made him like this. He was sweet and sad and vulnerable, and we turned him dark. We hurt him, a lot, and the men in your family don’t cope so well with that.”
“They also don’t let go,” he states.
I hate it because I know he’s right. I’ve heard stories, I’ve lived amongst them for years—he is not wrong. It just doesn’t change anything for me. It makes me scared, it fills me with dread and concern for the future, but it doesn’t suddenly make me okay with him killing my first love.
“I just want everyone to be happy,” I tell him.
“And I don’t want him to come back and try to steal you away from me again. Or, worse, decide if he can’t have you, I can’t either. He could hurt you worse than he has, Mia.”
“I don’t believe he will.”
“We’ve already established you don’t have a realistic barometer for what people are capable of. I’m not trying to be an asshole here, but come on. You always see the good in people, Mia, even after they’ve shown you the worst.”
“You like that about me,” I remind him.
“I like it when it’s me you see the good in. Not Vince.”
“But that’s not how it works.”
Rolling his eyes and sighing, he says, “I know, but it’s still damned annoying.”
“I really don’t think he’ll come back this time. Can’t we just give him one last chance? You’ve already said I’m going to have a guard on me at all times, so he won’t be able to get me alone again, and I’d never agree to go anywhere with him like I did this time. I honestly just thought he was back in town and stopping to say hi. I would never fall for that again. If next time I see him he has a wife and five kids, I still won’t go anywhere alone with him.”
“And if next time he shows up it’s to shoot you in the head from across the street?”
I grimace. “Ew.”
He lifts his eyebrows pointedly. “It could happen.”
“So I should start wearing a bulletproof helmet?”
“No, you should let me kill this little asshole once and for all so we can resume our life together without having to worry about any of this shit.”
“I can’t believe that’s the only option. You always have a million plans. Can’t you think of something else? Murdering is so barbaric, so basic. Come up with some mastermind plan to keep him out of Chicago. Secretly install facial recognition software in all the red lights or something so you get a flashing red signal if he pops up in the city again.”
This seems to amuse him. “I hate to disappoint you, but I do not have access to facial recognition software, nor would I have the necessary connections to install it in traffic lights. That doesn’t even make sense. I know what you mean, but…”
“Well, step up your villain game, mister. I’m pretty sure Gru could pull it off.”
“Oh, well, if Gru could do it…”
Nodding solemnly, I say, “That’s what I’m saying. The bar has been set; it’s your job to live up to it.”
Mateo shakes his head. “You’ve gotta stop letting the kids pick every movie you watch.”
“That was actually Meg’s choice. None of the kids objected, but it was all Meg.”
Now he’s serious again, looking into my eyes. “We can’t keep letting him get away with everything, Mia.”
Sighing, I roll back over into his side, reaching out and dragging my fingers down his abdomen, creeping lower. “Aren’t there more fun things we could do than talk about this?”
“There are,” he replies, catching my wrist and rolling me onto my back, moving on top of me.
“Mm, yes, I approve of this,” I tell him.
“Yeah?” he asks, his palm covering my breast, squeezing.
“Oh yes.” My heart is already starting to race with excitement.
“Good,” he replies, with suspicious agreeableness. His hand skims my side now, moving in to drop between my legs. “Now tell me you’ll forgive me for killing Vince, and we can move onto the orgasm segment of tonight’s itinerary.”
Smiling helplessly, I tell him, “That’s pretty twisted incentive. I can’t agree to that. Does that mean no orgasms for me?”
Bending to take a hardened nipple into his mouth, he moves that skilled tongue of his around the peak, lightly biting down before flashing me a devilish grin. “Well, no. I’ve been thinking about eating your pussy all night long—but it would make my life a lot easier if you’d give in.”
My head falls back against the pillows as his fingers move inside me. “You know I live to make your life easier, but I just can’t on this. If he comes back again, if he tries to hurt either of us, that’s a different story. But—” I pause, gasping as he strokes my clit. My legs fall open, my hips rolling toward his touch. “Can we not talk about this right now?”
His mouth covers mine and I wrap my arms around his neck to keep him close, opening for his tongue to sweep into my mouth. God, I love tasting him. I love every movement of his tongue, every brush of his lips. I hope he doesn’t do anything awful to Vince, but more than that, I hope he doesn’t keep pushing the iss
ue, because it’s incredibly difficult to deny Mateo anything.
Chapter Twenty Three
Mia
“Do you think this is the one?”
Sighing miserably, I stare at my reflection. All the right pieces and parts are there—I’m wearing a gorgeous white dress fit for a princess, it’s prettier than anything I ever imagined wearing, but I can’t quite pull the trigger. “I don’t know. Honestly, I still love all five of them.”
“Why don’t you get a ceremony gown and a reception gown?” Meg suggests, pushing out of her seat and walking over to the platform I’m standing on. Running her fingers down the huge, embellished skirt of the ball gown, she adds, “Like, this would be amazing for the ceremony. But it’s a little heavy for the reception.”
“That’s so greedy,” I say.
“Who cares?” she replies. “That trumpet one you like would be really great for the reception. It makes your body look ridiculous. Like, whoa.”
Covering my face with my hands, I say, “I just don’t know. I have to make this decision today. The dress should’ve been ordered already.”
Francesca stands now, approaching the consultant and lightly touching her elbow. “Get her a veil.”
The consultant nods and heads off to do her bidding. Francesca approaches, looking at me and smiling softly.
“You’re overthinking it, Mia,” she tells me.
“Mateo likes things to be perfect,” I reply.
“My brother thinks the woman in the dress is perfect, and that’s all that matters. He’s going to think you look absolutely stunning in any of these. You do look stunning in all of these.”
Meg nods her agreement. “You are annoyingly pretty.”
“Want me to send pictures to Sal and see which one he likes best?” Francesca offers.
I glance over to see if she’s kidding. “No.”
Pointing back toward the door, Meg asks, “Want me to go out and drag Adrian in here? Maybe a male perspective will help sell you.”
“Adrian doesn’t have opinions about dresses,” I tell her. “I’ve tried to show them off for him before; the best I get is a grunt or a gruff nod.”
