A soft knock at my door. “Yes?”
Gavino pokes his head inside. “You decent?”
“No, I’m naked. Come on in.”
He gives me a sour look and steps inside. “You should see it down there. Papa has the staff going insane with decorations.”
“I thought he said it’d be a small affair.”
“Small by his standards means half of Phoenix.”
“Should I be nervous?” I walk over to the dress and run my fingers along the fabric.
“Not unless you’re having second thoughts.”
“Of course I’m having second thoughts. I’m going to marry Nico in a few hours, who the hell wouldn’t have second thoughts?”
“You can always still go marry the Russian.”
I gave him a flat glare. “Don’t be an ass.”
“Just saying.” He grins and shrugs. “Anyway, just wanted to come up and say I’m at your disposal all day, as needed. Not quite a maid of honor, but I’ll do my best.”
“Thanks, Gav. That means a lot.”
“It’s not every day your little sister gets married.” He gives me a quick side hug and I catch a hint of something in his expression: he’s worried about me and trying to hide it.
My episode comes back in a flash: the pulsing hole where that memory should be and the anger and the fear and the horror all crushing me at once, compacting me down into my basest instincts, to the point where only lashing out like an animal could tame the ceaseless pain in my skull.
“I’m fine,” I say, smiling at his look, even if it’s not quite true. “Really, I mean it. I’m not freaking out. I’m actually sort of excited.”
“Mrs. Nico. What’s his last name, anyway?”
“I still don’t know.”
“That’s depressing.”
“That’s the Famiglia. Now, are you gonna get me some coffee and breakfast, or do I have to call for the staff?”
His face brightens. “My first task! Lovely, I can handle this. I’ll be back in five. Oh, and there’s a team of stylists waiting to come in here. I told them to stay in the hall until you’re ready. Should I unleash the hounds?”
I sigh and look at the dress one last time. It hangs on the closet door like a flower glistening in early morning sunlight, dappled with dew. Soon I’ll be squeezed into it and all eyes in this place will be firmly locked on me, and the prospect isn’t exactly appealing.
But there’s no reason to hold back.
“Send them in,” I say with a long, dramatic sigh.
He laughs as he pokes his head out the door. “You’re up, ladies.”
And with that I’m swarmed by well-meaning women that do my hair, my makeup, my nails, and essentially treat me like a living doll for the next few hours while Gavino brings me things to eat and drink, makes jokes about how hard women have it, and generally tries to keep my spirits high.
But through it all, I remain focused.
I keep reminding myself why I’m doing this.
Nico. My family. My future.
“You look surprisingly good.” Gavino stands behind me as I stare at myself in the mirror. It’s ten minutes to showtime and he’s wearing his tux with a red pocket square and a matching bowtie. “I mean it. You look beautiful, Kar.”
“Thanks, Gav. Think I’m ready?”
“You look ready. Do you feel ready?”
“I don’t know. I think most brides have a lot more time to think about their future before taking the plunge, but maybe it’s better this way.”
“No matter what, you’re our sister. Don’t forget it.”
“Quit being so sentimental, you’re going to make me cry.”
“Don’t make her cry,” the makeup lady says with a vicious glare. “It’s waterproof but I make no guarantees.”
Gavino laughs and raises his hands. “All right, ladies, understood. How about we get into position?”
I let Gavino lead me from the room. A low murmur drifts up from downstairs as we approach the main staircase. I don’t know what the plan is for the day beyond the basics—ceremony at three, cocktails from four to six, dinner at seven, dancing and such all night long—and my breath catches as we slowly descend into the main foyer.
The place is decorated with flowers, flowers everywhere, white blooms and red blooms and pink and purple and more, so many flowers that it looks like the house has been transformed into a garden. Lace curtains hang from the ceiling and along the walls, and candles burn in candelabras dangling above our heads. The smell of lavender and vanilla fills the air, and several staff members stand at attention nearby wearing their best uniforms.
“Where’s the ceremony happening anyway?” I whisper to Gavino.
“Out back. Everyone’s seated and waiting on you.”
“Nico?”
“He’s there. I had ten-to-one odds that he’d run.”
I pinch his arm. “Bastard.”
“What? He didn’t.”
“You still shouldn’t bet on my misery.”
“Don’t worry, sister, I’ll bet on almost anything.” He pats my hand and pulls me along through the living room where a few stray guests sit on the couches drinking from champagne glasses and to the back door. Gavino pokes his head out and waves at someone and suddenly terror rises into my throat.