“I hope you get everything you deserve,” she hisses angrily.
Taking a step forward, I keep my tone flat as I speak. “I hope that you do, too.”
The door opens before she can say anything else. It’s the wedding planner. “Pippa, it’s time,” she calls out cheerily.
Irene turns on her heels and I take in the sight of her angrily stomping away. I can’t help but smile as I watch her go, knowing that she’s, for whatever reason, truly pissed off that I’m marrying someone today.
I think that she wanted me to fail, wanted me to go crawling back to her, to beg her for help. I wouldn’t do it even if I were homeless. I would rather sell my body than ask that woman for a fucking thing.
Smiling, I shake off the visit from Irene and turn to the planner. “Can you help me with my veil?” I ask.
She nods and instructs me to face the mirror again. Bending my knees slightly, I close my eyes as she slips the comb in my hair. My veil is cathedral length in matching nude tulle, with little silver bits of matching embroidery along the edges.
“There you go, absolutely stunning,” she whispers.
Opening my eyes, I take in my complete look. My shoes are a pale blue, but you can’t see them. My bracelet is a borrowed diamond tennis bracelet from Nicola. My something old is a penny in the bottom of my shoe. It was Arlo’s mother’s, she insisted that I wear it. My something new is my dress.
“Are you ready?” the planner asks.
Turning to her, I lift my lips in a small smile. “I am,” I lie.
Gripping my bouquet of all white with a splash of pale pink roses, I attempt to calm my racing heart.
She guides me toward the closed double doors. She walks over to one and I smile as she and her assistant tug the doors open. My breath hitches when I see the decorations and the number of people standing facing me.
Inhaling a deep breath, my eyes find the man standing at the end of the aisle. I can’t tell who it is, if I even know him or not. He’s too far away and the veil makes it hard to see clearly. Taking a step forward, I slowly make my way toward him.
My gaze is transfixed on him. This strange man that I am about to vow to love and devote my life to until my dying breath. Stopping right in front of him, that’s when I finally recognize him.
My breath hitches.
My heart stops.
My entire world spins.
My lips curve up at the same time his do.
This man is going to be mine or at least, I am going to be his.
I may be promising myself to the Devil himself, I’m unsure. But there is a chance that I haven’t completely ruined my life—a sliver of a chance.
This stranger, a man that I don’t know, not even his first name, he’s been in and out of my thoughts for the past two years and here he is, holding out his hand for me to take.
Chapter Eight
MASSIMO
There isn’t a word in the English dictionary to describe Pippa Mazzilli. She’s beyond stunning, taking my breath away every step she takes closer to me. My gaze flicks down to look at her entire dress.
The top of her dress is almost indecent, but I like that she is willing to do something so daring. It speaks to the woman that she is inside. She isn’t shy and timid, there is a boldness to her and I can’t wait to see just how daring she’s willing to be.
She stops in front of me. Holding out my hand to her, I wait as she lifts hers before slipping her shaky fingers in mine. Grasping her hand in mine, I give her what I hope is a reassuring squeeze. She shifts, moving closer toward me.
Licking my lips, I smirk as I listen to the priest. I tune out most of the ceremony, speaking only when necessary. That is, until it’s time for me to kiss my bride. After slipping the two-carat wedding ring onto her finger, it’s time for me to lift her veil and kiss her.
Her blue eyes are wide, her lips parted and full as she tips her head back to look up into my eyes. I didn’t realize just how much smaller she was than me.
Bellarosa is a tiny woman, but Pippa is miniature. The top of her head only reaches to the bottom of my ribcage. Her body is so slim, so small, that I wonder if she’ll break beneath my grip.
Lifting my hands, I slide one around her small waist, the other, I curl my fingers around the side of her neck as I dip my chin. Slanting my head to the side, I touch my mouth to hers. She gasps, her lips parting and I can’t stop myself.
My tongue slips out and tastes her lips before I break the kiss and straighten. Turning around, I face the audience. Taking her hand, I wrap her fingers around the crook of my elbow while the priest announces us as husband and wife.
Together, we walk down the aisle of the church. I don’t miss the way her aunt watches me, her eyes narrowed and a sour expression on her face. I don’t give a fuck about her either.
Pippa is mine now, and if the cunt doesn’t watch it, she’ll end up exactly where her brother and sister-in-law did, fucking vanished without a goddamn trace.
Without stopping, we walk toward the waiting limousine. The reception isn’t far, it’s located at the restaurant that the famiglia owns. Gavino allowed us to shut it down for the night. Though I’m sure it’s going to take a hit, my bill covers the loss of business without a doubt.
I help Pippa into the limo, then follow behind her, shoving the massive amount of fabric from her dress in before I sit down next to her. She doesn’t say a word as the driver closes the door behind us, then doesn’t speak until he’s in the front seat.
The car begins to move and I watch as her gaze moves from the driver’s partition to me, then back to the driver again.
“The partition is up,” I inform her. “You may speak freely.”
I watch as she frowns, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip. She doesn’t speak right away and I want to demand that she tell me what she’s thinking, but I decide to wait it out. She looks down at her lap, then I watch as she straightens her fingers, her ring shining in the sunlight that’s streaming through the window.
“Massimo,” she whispers. “That’s your name? The one you go by?”
My lips twitch and I nod once. “Gavino and my friends sometimes call me Mass. But yes, in general, I go by Massimo.”
“Massimo Ferrucci,” she exhales.
“Pippa Ferrucci,” I say.
Her gaze flicks up to meet mine and she just watches me for a moment, her eyes searching mine and she has a million questions floating around in her head. I wait for her to ask them though. I’ll answer what I can for her, what I am willing to. She won’t get every single answer to every question that she has I’m sure.
“You’re Made?” she asks.
“That bothers you,” I say.
It’s not a question. I know that it does. She nods, then she lifts her hand and I feel her soft fingertips touch my lips. I hold my breath as her fingers trace my mouth, her eyes searching mine.
“I don’t know if I’m supposed to want this. I never wanted to marry a man in the famiglia. I never wanted to marry a man like my father,” she says. “But here I am.”
Lifting my hand, I wrap my fingers around her wrist. Squeezing her firmly, I hold her hand right where it is, freezing it in place. I want to feel her touch against my skin, it’s fucking outstanding.