Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Chapter Three- Emma
“Lorenzo, but everyone calls me Enzo.” The dark-headed man introduces himself, a charming smile on his face.
“Emma,” I say. Enzo and I are the only two people left sitting at our table, the others are dispersed among the crowd. Even the old man has gotten up to mingle. The bride and groom have forgone most of the traditional pieces of a reception so the dance floor opens without a first dance and no one is making any speeches. Sitting at the head table, the two of them are uncomfortable in one another’s presence. They sit with stoic faces, neither one reaching out for the other. “Are you related to the groom?”
His smile falters, and his eyebrows pull together. I guess it is an odd question. Most of the people attending this wedding know each other well enough that they would know who is related to whom. I know Sal is the uncle of the groom, and I can only assume Enzo is Sal’s son since they look so much alike. I don’t want to make any assumptions.
“Yes, he’s my cousin.”
“Andrea, right?”
When I first read the invitation that had come in the mail, I had assumed the wedding was going to be between two women. My father had to explain to me his client came from an old-school Italian family and Andrea is a boy’s name in Italy.
“Yes, an unfortunate first name for an Italian-American man. My uncle insisted on it even when my father reminded him Andrea is a girl’s name in the States. He prefers to go by Andy,” Enzo tells me. He shakes his head and chuckles in amusement, an inside joke I’m not privy to.
“I can understand cultural differences,” I say, though I think I have to agree that it would have been better to consider the culture he's growing up in. I can only imagine what he went through in school.
“When I have a son, I’m going to name him Matteo. It’s a powerful name that pays tribute to our heritage, but it’s still masculine in the American sense. And, if for some reason, he wanted to blend in more with peers, he could always go by Matt."
I’ve never put much thought into what I’ll name my children. Any potential child for me is a long way off. I have several years of school I need to get through, and then find a man I can bring home without my father having a hernia. He'll probably only approve of someone who is so much like himself that I can't stand to be in the same room as them.
The amount of thought Enzo has put into naming his kids is sweet. Though my interactions with men are limited, none of the boys who I met that are my age have even considered children yet. It makes my heart flutter in my chest, beating harder than I’m used to. I pull my glass of water up to my lips to save myself from having to respond and ultimately make a fool of myself.
I’m going to have to learn how to talk to men if I have any chance of dating once I get into university. Enzo has said nothing flirty, and he has me flustered. It isn’t a good look for me.
The sun sets over the garden, and as beautiful as it is in the light, it transforms in the darkness. Twinkling fairy lights and low-lit lanterns illuminate the night, but it is the full moon providing most of the light. With the sun disappearing, the warm summer night becomes more bearable in my long-sleeved dress.
“I’d normally consider it rude to upstage the bride, but I don’t think you were trying to.”
It’s an empty compliment. The bride is easily one of the most stunning women I have ever seen in my life. Still, I preen under his attention. It’s a rush I wasn’t expecting. At a party full of beautiful women, he has turned his full attention onto me. He didn’t have to promise my father he would stay by my side until he returned from completing paperwork with Sal, but he chose to.
My tongue darts out to wet my suddenly parched lips. Enzo tracks the movements of my tongue and lips, his eyes dark with interest. I struggle to suppress the smile that threatens to overtake my face. With every moment, my father’s rules become a distant memory.
He must be sweating bullets trying to get through whatever task his client has for him. Who has a business deal that needs to be completed at a wedding?
“If I look half as beautiful as she does on my wedding day, I’ll be an incredibly lucky woman.” I hope my comment is neutral enough to discourage his flirting. The heat in his eyes doesn’t dissipate. His eyes devour me hungrily, his gaze penetrating the flimsily constructed walls I’ve tried to place between us. I feel naked before him. The hours I spent arguing with my father over this dress turned out to be pointless after all because Enzo makes me feel like I’m in nothing but lingerie.