Flowers spill over every pew and surface in the chapel—and also the small dressing room.
A knock on the vestibule door. Maria peeks inside. “Are you ready?”
“Almost,” I tell her, picking up the sweeping bouquet of calla lilies.
“You’d better hurry,” she says, her voice dry. “I think the groom is going to pass out soon.”
That makes me laugh. “Cold feet? We’re already married.”
The past few months have brought us closer than I could have imagined. My recovery at the mansion, the birth of my nephew, Alessandro. We spend every day together, talking and laughing and dreaming. And every night, he explores new ways to make me shiver and moan.
Before I wanted to sculpt the counterpoint to the angel at the Grand, but only now I realize that isn’t the archangel. It’s a phoenix, rising from the ashes. The perfect use for the red alabaster stone.
Maria shakes her head, expression rueful. “I think he’s worried you’ll get cold feet.”
I stare after her as the old wooden door shuts. “Silly man.”
“Smart man,” Honor says. “He knows what you’re worth.”
A small, plaintive cry comes from the corner. “Shhh,” she soothes Alessandro, picking him up from the carrier. “Are you hungry, little one?”
He grasps at the silvery material of her dress, impatient.
“Oh, but they’re ready for you,” she says, biting her lip. “I think he could wait until after.”
“Don’t be silly. No nephew of mine is going hungry.” I fight a smile and lose. “Besides, maybe five minutes will give Giovanni a little scare. It’s nothing he doesn’t deserve.”
Honor laughs. “You really are his perfect match.”
It turns out to be fifteen minutes instead, but I’m not worried. The afternoon is cool, the wind light enough to leave the chapel doors open. Only people who love us are in attendance—Candy and Hannah from the Grand, Amy from school. Giovanni’s cousin Lorenzo returned as well, looking very relieved to have my consent this time. He also couldn’t stop looking at Amy throughout last night’s dinner.
Even Romero attended, having been given the green light to resume normal activity last week. His health has returned to normal, but his spirits remain subdued after Juliette’s arrest. She took the fall for everything, with Javi
er Markam missing. But we knew the truth about what happened, and Giovanni was looking for him.
Men in suits and sunglasses are tucked into every corner. Security is high, but we’re in the mafia. Security will always be high.
Maria waits at the foot of the aisle with Lupo, who looks disgruntled at the flowers she’s looped around his collar. I laugh softly and give him a soft pat as I pass him.
The small chapel hums with conversation. Giovanni stands in front of the room, anxious energy vibrating around him. Maria wasn’t exaggerating. He looks ready to tear into somebody.
He grows still, and I know he’s spotted me. The entire crowd quiets.
Giovanni has a natural command of the room. The son of a foot soldier, he was never expected to lead. But he assumes his position with a grace and control that are enviable—and an innate respect for humanity that my father never had. He still hasn’t found his mother, but I know he’ll never stop searching, never stop until she’s found or, at the very least, laid to rest.
The touching refrain of the wedding march fills the air, and I walk down the aisle. Flower petals catch at my dress. Friends and family watch me, some stoic, some with tears in their eyes. Everyone here wishes the best for me, and it feels a little bit like floating.
Giovanni’s jaw is clenched hard when I reach him. He takes my hand in a firm grip, and I feel the tremors run through him. He looks like a man pushed to the brink. You wouldn’t know we just had wild marathon sex this morning, not four hours ago.
The priest welcomes everyone and begins the ceremony, his droning voice booming through the rafters.
“You came,” Giovanni says low enough that only I can hear.
“Did you think I wouldn’t?” I whisper.
There’s a pause. “Thought you might pay me back.”
I bite my lip, holding in a laugh. “I thought about it.”