“Santo would definitely prefer if we did,” Rosa says. “He’s completely obsessed with the new store, isn’t he?”
I nod in agreement. The man has a focus that even an atomic bomb couldn’t rattle.
It’s a little astounding to me how quickly Santo and his men have prepared these buildings for retail. Tavi looked into it, and apparently this is part of my inheritance. The Regazza family didn’t advertise the fact that we owned retail property in Boston. Santo found it through a series of investigations. Tavi’s given this to me, and Santo will help manage it.
It didn’t need as much work as we thought it would, and after a deep cleaning job, a new coat of paint, and some new fixtures Santo had brought in, the shop is looking beautiful.
Something plagues me at the back of my mind though. I remember when Tavi showed it to me. I saw those sunglasses… They looked like Piero’s. I bought a pair just like them. He had them when we were in Tuscany, but I was confident that he no longer had them when he was taken from me.
I didn’t see Piero killed. I saw his body, though.
How could his sunglasses end up in Boston? It isn’t possible.
I was the one that found Piero. I felt his lifeless wrist under my fingers. I put my head on his chest, so still, too still, and wept for him, moments before I realized my own safety was compromised and ran to call Angelina.
Rosa unzips a small garment bag. The jarring sound of the zipper drags me back to the present. I focus on the soft unfolding of the bag, revealing Natalia’s little flower girl dress. It’s a soft, petal green, adorned with hand-sewn flowers. It was once traditional for a bride to wear green the night before her wedding, so we gave a little nod to old Italian tradition with my flower girl.
“Oh, it’s gorgeous,” Rosa says. “You did good, Elise. She can’t wait to toss rose petals at you.”
Roses, the Rossi family signature flower, are inked on the forearm of every made man in The Family.
They remind me of Tuscany.
“Glad you like it. I’m just happy we found things in stock.”
We’ve put this entire wedding together in a week. It helps that Tavi didn’t give me a budget. Tavi’s been busy at work, and I know he’s spent a great deal of time trying to get answers about his cousin’s death. Santo isn’t convinced there was foul play, but Romeo trusts Tavi’s intuition. They’ve been hard at work asking questions but don’t have all the answers yet.
So I’ve been planning the wedding of my dreams.
I sat down with Tosca, Rosa, and Marialena and got everything done in record time. Thankfully, most of the guests were willing to accommodate our quick change in dates, so Tosca’s on cloud nine because she still gets the big wedding she’s longed for.
“Has your mother seen it yet?” I ask.
“Seen what?” Tosca walks in. The seamstress’s eyes widen a bit, maybe because it seems the entire Rossi family wants to congregate in my changing room.
“The flower girl dress for Natalia.” Rosa holds it out against her body, and Tosca gasps.
“Gorgeous,” she murmurs. And then she looks at me for the first time, and covers her mouth with her hands. “And you, Elise! Oh, mamma mia. La sposa è bellissima.”
I flush. “Why thank you.”
Marialena stands behind me and stabs her fingers into my hair. “Just wait until I get my hands on her hair and makeup.”
“Which you will soon, very soon,” I promise her. We decided to forgo the traditional rehearsal dinner in favor of allowing me a night with the girls and Tavi a night with the men, but we are having a small appetizer and cocktail gathering before we go out. Guests have flown in from all over the country and elsewhere. We had a family of ten arrive just this morning from Tuscany. Nonna and Tosca are in their glory.
“You are now my favorite,” Tosca says with a teasing wink. She waves her hand and rolls her eyes. “The other girls didn’t indulge me like you are.”
“Oh, so I missed the memo?” Angelina sits on a stool with the baby and gives her a look of feigned hurt.
“It isn’t your fault, of course,” Tosca says. “You, I forgive. But my sons…”
Angelina grins. The two of them get along well.
Tosca waves her hand. “None of us knew you were going to marry him like that.”
Orlando married Angelina in an arranged marriage ceremony the very day he was released from prison, and Tosca was not privy to that. He came home married, with a wife she’d never met.
That rankles in Italian tradition. It’s partly why we’ve given her free rein with this wedding. This isn’t a wedding either of us has chosen. So while we’ll make the best of it and enjoy what we can, we aren’t hung up on any details.
In the distance, I hear the strings of a violin playing. “What’s that sound?” I ask.
“Ah.” Tosca smiles. “My cousin Alexandria arrived. Wanted to practice for tomorrow.”
“Oh, she’s the one that plays the violin?”
“Yes, you’ll meet her soon.”
The song wails and cries, then changes course and lilts like magic. My heart aches and swells.
“Now, wait until you see,” Vittoria says. She’s standing by the window, excitedly rocking on the balls of her feet. “Oh, Elise, we are all excited about this. You know I kinda had a slapdash wedding, too.”
So I’ve heard. “Yes.”
“So it’s fun that I got to play around a bit, too. Romeo told me to spare no expense, so…” She steps away from the window. “Voilá.”
Still wearing the dress, I sashay my way to the window and look out. I gasp.
“Oh my God. What did you do? Vittoria!”
I feel a little emotional about all of this. I put a hand to my mouth and swallow hard. I’ve gone from hating being here and being Tavi’s prisoner to feeling almost as if… as if I could belong. I don’t yet. I don’t know anyone, really, but Angelina, but they’ve welcomed me with such open arms I can’t help but hope.
Behind The Castle lies a beach, typically cold in the winter on the North Shore of Boston but warmer now that we’re heading further into a light and airy New England spring.
Along the beach, in a half-moon semi-circle, white chairs are arranged so prettily they look as if they were set with the cast of a magic wand. Stunning white flower arrangements with elegant petal green accents sit at the end of every row, and at the very head sits an elevated platform. An arched trellis beckons us, adorned with red roses.
Large vases filled with delicate, lacy flowers give the whole ensemble a whimsical look.
Tomorrow. There. Tomorrow, I’ll walk down that aisle and say I do.
Sudden panic swoops in my belly, and I don’t know how to process all of this. It looks so gorgeous, even though this isn’t the marriage of two people who’ve fallen in love.
Nothing is ever as it should be here.
I don’t feel like a bride about to be married. I feel like we’re having a party and I’m wearing a fancy dress. That tomorrow, I’ll take the next step and do what I must, because it’s the only choice I have.
A part of me longs to see Tavi. I want to feel his solid, immovable presence beside me. I want to feel his hot, warm skin next to mine. I want to hear his rock-solid voice and look into the depths of those strong eyes of his that give me the assurance of his safety and protection.