Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
I was seven years old. She was dead by the time I turned nine.
And now here it is. The same dress. It’s smaller than I remembered, dirtier, more wrinkled, cheaper.
“It’s perfect,” I whisper, pulling it close.
The boys go quiet. My brothers remember Mom better than I do, and maybe that’s harder for them, but it always makes me jealous. Luca is four years older and Daniel is six, which means they both got way more time with her than I did.
We’re all scarred by her passing in our own way. The family was never the same after she was gone—especially not our father.
She was the love of his life, and her death broke him.
Now Bruno Marino is a cold, bitter prick.
The kind of asshole that nearly didn’t give his only daughter her mother’s wedding dress and refuses to tell her the name of the man she’s supposed to marry.
“I know this is hard, but you’re doing the right thing,” Daniel says from the doorway. He gives me a single, approving nod, which is the best I’ll get from him.
“Yeah, seriously, this is all sorts of fucked, but it’s how it goes in our world, right?” Luca stretches and grins at me. “Should I throw you a bachelorette party?”
“Pretty sure you don’t do that for your own sister,” I tell him.
“Good point. It’d be too much fun for you anyway.”
Daniel rolls his eyes and walks away.
I lift the dress off the door and hold it against me. “Can you tell me something about my husband? I mean, what do you know?”
“Not much, honestly. I’m not supposed to say anything. Dad doesn’t want to give you any reason to have cold feet.”
“I know, but I’m marrying him in a few days. We’re meeting in a few hours. It’s kind of too late to back out, right?”
Luca sighs loudly and glances at his phone. “Just don’t tell Dad I talked about it, all right? I don’t feel like listening to him bitch and whine about it.”
My heartrate spikes. I try to act like this is no big deal, but I’ve been needling my brothers for any scrap of information about my arranged husband since the day my father told me it was happening. This is the first time either of them even admitted to knowing who he is.
“Just tell me anything.”
“He’s a Russian guy. Apparently, people like him. He’s not a Zeitsev, but he’s one of the important, up-and-coming families.”
“Name, Luca. Tell me his name.”
His grin says he knows and he’s having fun fucking with me now, which is typical of him. My middle brother can be a vicious bastard sometimes. “He’s got a nice house in the city and helps run their jewelry business. Apparently, he’s got a good mind for it too. I hear he’s popular with the ladies, but the fucker better keep his dick in his pants and better not embarrass my little sister.”
“Luca,” I say sharply. “What’s his freaking name?”
“Federov,” he says.
I wait. He doesn’t elaborate. “First name?”
“Lev.”
I roll it around my tongue. Lev Federov. Which means soon I’ll be Carmie Federov. That feels too strange and foreign, and I quickly banish the thought. I hurry to my phone, dress forgotten, as I quickly start trying to find my future husband’s social media profiles.
“There’s nothing,” Luca says, looking pleased with himself. “He’s a pro. I’m sure he’s got profiles, but nothing under his real name. You know, can’t risk drawing too much attention to himself.”
I curse in Italian, some of the only bits of that language I know. He’s right—the name Lev Federov only brings up a few creepy-looking boomers, and unless my father’s marrying me to a sixty-year-old man who lives in Florida, I’m pretty sure that’s not him.
But at least I have a name. I quickly dive into my favorite group chat in the world and reach out to my friends with family in Philly’s underworld. They’re all girls like me who went to the same private schools and were kept cloistered away from the same bad-news guys, and who completely understand what I’m going through even if they haven’t been arranged to marry themselves. Not yet, anyway.
I don’t remember who, but someone a few years back once named the group mob girlies and it’s been that way ever since.
Carmie: Anyone know someone called Lev Federov??
Gia: Don’t tell me it’s him………
Sofie: IT’S HIM?
Gia: You got the name for real??
Carmie: I got the name!!
Gia: This is HUGE. IT’S HUGE.
Sofie: I’m sleuthing right now, pls hold.
Frannie: SIRI TEXT MOB GIRLIES ALL CAPS GIRL I AM IN THE CAR BUT I AM FREAKING OUT BUT I DON’T KNOW WHO THIS MAN IS BUT OH MY GOD I’M LOSING MY MIND WE GOT THE NAME.
Gia: Please don’t text and drive, Frannie-panties. You’re gonna get yourself and Siri killed.
Gia: RIP Siri.
Carmie: Frannie can’t be trusted behind the wheel with a phone nearby.