Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
She’d tamed her hair, too, and it fell in soft waves down her back.
Her chin was high.
Like a queen walking to the guillotine. Aware of her fate, but refusing to reduce herself on the way to it.
I’d chosen well.
There had been no shortage of women in the Costa Family to select, but something about Isabella just called to me. As if something within me recognized that she was the one who could navigate this future with me. Whether she liked it or not.
Before I could open my mouth to give her a compliment, she was coming to a stop and dropping the skirt of her dress that she’d gathered in her hands, letting it fall to spill all over the floor.
“This is way too long,” she told me. Not a thank you for the dress. Not a comment on the style. A complaint about how it fit.
I liked that more than I should have.
“I will note your measurements for future reference,” I said, holding out the box.
“What is this?” she asked, immediately suspicious.
“What does it look like?”
“I don’t want it.”
“Too bad,” I said, flipping the top open. “You will wear this,” I told her as she stared at it, her gaze downcast so it was impossible to read her feelings about it.
It had thirty-nine round-cut black diamonds, each of them set in a ring of normal diamonds. A total of one-hundred-and-twenty karats with a white gold band.
“I said I don’t want it,” she said, still looking downward.
“That’s a fifteen-thous—“ Terzo started to say, getting cut off by one gesture before I snatched the necklace out of the box, opened it, and moved behind Isabella to drape it over her skin.
“I said I don’t want it.”
“And I said too fucking bad,” I said, clasping it into place. “Are you going to be a pain in the ass about the bouquet as well?” I asked, grabbing it off the counter.
“Are those peach peonies?” she asked, gaze shooting up to me.
“They are.”
“How did…” she started then trailed off as realization dawned on her. “You’ve been stalking me?” she asked, face twisting.
“I was deciding which Costa woman to choose,” I said, shrugging.
“That’s really creepy. Just so you know. Lurking in the shadows like some basement-dwelling incel.”
“Such love words on our wedding day,” I said, shoving the bouquet toward her. “Let’s go. The priest is waiting,” I said, waving toward the door.
I noted that when we got in the elevator, she took several slow, deep breaths, further confirming my suspicions about her issues with small spaces.
She was silent the ride down, and as we approached with my other brothers.
“Isabella, this is Dawson and Dulles.”
“Dawson and Dulles,” Isabella repeated, brows knitting. “Primo, Due, and Terzo. First, second, and third,” she said, making it clear she had at least a cursory knowledge of Italian.
“Dawson and Dulles had a different mother,” I told her, leaving out the gory, ugly details that surrounded that truth.
They looked different from myself and Terzo as well. They were tall, but where Terzo and I were of a slimmer build, they were naturally stockier, and many hours in the gym made them wider still. Where my and Terzo’s hair was black, theirs was a dark shade of brown. And where our eyes were brown, theirs were a bright, almost unnatural shade of green. They were identical twins, but a youth spent getting scrappy on the streets left them with scars that helped you tell them apart.
“Everything clear?” I asked, looking at them, relaying the silent question.
The Costas haven’t shown up to stop this, have they?
“Everything is set.”
“Let’s go then,” I said, nodding toward the door that led outside.
“Where’s the car?” Isabella asked when noticing the empty alley beside the building.
“We’re walking.”
“We’re walking?” she snapped. “It is thirty degrees out. I’m wearing a freaking silk sheet,” she added, waving at herself.
“It is across the street, baby,” I said, shaking my head, pressing a hand to her lower back, and pushing her out the door.
“Easy for you to say with your suit on,” she grumbled, shrinking into herself as the cold bit at her skin.
I figured I’d thought of everything.
I’d missed the jacket or wrap or shawl.
Or perhaps a part of me had purposely omitted it. Because I wanted the neighborhood to see her in her wedding dress, walking alongside me willingly.
There would be no mistaking who she was, what her connection was to me.
It was worth three minutes of exposure to the cold.
Her hatred should keep her warm enough. And make no mistake, she was fuming as she lifted her skirts and tried to keep up with my pace as I led her down the alley, onto the street, and then across it.
I could feel my neighborhood leaning against their windows to watch. Those on the street paused to offer me tight smiles and nods, silent congratulations on my nuptials.