I feel a little awkward standing here now. Meg probably does, too, but you can’t tell looking at her. She keeps her cool, her hand drifting almost absently to her slightly swollen belly as she watches Mateo cross the dance floor.
As is his way, Salvatore saves me. “Well, I think my bride and I should get back out on the dance floor ourselves.”
“Of course,” Meg says, her gaze snapping back to us. She smiles, literally shooing us. “Go dance the night away like the newlyweds you are.”
I do not hesitate to take the out she gave me. As Etta starts singing, Sal takes my hand and guides me out onto the dance floor. I lack the self-control to keep from looking over at Mateo, standing in front of Mia, Vince sitting there looking like he’s going to kill someone.
“Oh man. How close do you think we could get to that table before they would realize we’re shamelessly spying?”
“Guess what?” Sal asks, his hands moving to my hips as he firmly moves me so that my back is to Mateo.
“What are you doing?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder. “I have to see what happens.”
“Nope,” he says, pulling me close. “We are officially on vacation from your brother’s love life.”
“But—!”
He doesn’t let me finish. “Tonight you and I are going to go back to our new home and spend our first night together as husband and wife. Then tomorrow we are going to go to the airport and take a very long plane ride. We’re going to spend an entire week relaxing, fucking, and eating delicious food—and we’re going to be free of the Morelli madness the whole time.”
“But can’t we just wait until—”
Sal shakes his head. “Nope. Vacation is supposed to be relaxing. You can’t relax if you’re worrying about everyone else. As soon as we get back, you can meet Mia for lunch or we can have her and Vince over to the house for our own family dinner. Plus I’m sure we’ll go over to Mateo’s on Sunday and catch up on whatever we missed.”
Nodding reluctantly, I say, “I guess that’s fair. I can’t believe we’re spending a whole week in Italy. What are you looking forward to most?”
“Non-stop Francesca for 168 hours,” he states without hesitation.
I grin, winding my arms around his neck and pulling closer. “Oh yeah?”
“Yep. It’s my favorite part of everything. When I took you to New York, that was the day I realized I needed to marry you. I mean, I would’ve settled for moving you in with me, but that wasn’t any more attainable than marriage, so I thought, hell, why not shoot for the stars?”
I let one of my hands drop from his neck to run tenderly down his chest. He looks so handsome in his tux, and even though I’m used to him being mine, I’m not used to him being my husband. “I can’t believe we’re married. As many times as we joked about it, I can’t believe it actually happened.”
Sal’s hand tightens almost protectively on my waist. “I get shit done when I need to.”
He certainly does. I love every side of him, from the light-hearted charmer to the darker side I’ve only seen brief flashes of. I’ll be perfectly content if I go the length of my life without ever seeing that side in depth, since I don’t especially love that side of anyone, but if I’m being honest, coming from my background, I’m relieved he has it. While I don’t enjoy sadistic monsters like Luca, or selfish liars like my brother, there is something impressive about knowing my man will go to any lengths to take care of me. I hope he never has to go through anything like he’s already gone through for me again, and I don’t think he will, but that he wanted me that much to begin with is almost unfathomable.
“I’m so proud to be your wife,” I tell him, resting my hand over his heart.
“I hope so. I’m happy as hell to be your husband.”
“You know what I want to do when we get home?”
“Me?” he asks, hopefully.
Chuckling, I say, “Well, yeah. But before that, I kinda want to eat cereal on the couch and watch something. Is that stupid? It’s our wedding night, so we should probably light candles and do something romantic, but… I really want Froot Loops.”
Laughing, Sal presses my face to his chest, wrapping his arms around me. “You’re too goddamn adorable for words.”
I tilt my head up, pressing a kiss to his chin. “Is that a yes?”
“If my wife wants Froot Loops on her wedding night, my wife gets Froot Loops on her wedding night,” he verifies.
“Your wife,” I say, sighing happily.
Sal suddenly lets me go, repositioning his hands. I realize the song is about to wrap up as Etta belts out the last lines. Sal gives me a little wink, then spins me, pulls me back in, and dips me the way he did at the altar, leaning down and sealing it with a kiss.