After a few closing words, Father Paul Michael congratulates us, says his final blessing, then says, “You may kiss your bride.”
Fuck.I’ve been fantasizing about having my hands and mouth on every square inch of Gia’s body, except her mouth. I don’t kiss women I fuck.
All it took was one kiss from your father and I was in love.My mother had told me this a million times growing up. When I was young, I thought the notion of kissing a girl was disgusting. By the time I was old enough to appreciate the act, my parents were brutally murdered in front of me.
A kiss leads to love, which leads to permanent heartache. My mother wouldn’t have been killed if she hadn’t been in love and devoted to my father.
Other than the Italian greeting of a kiss on the cheek, I’ve never kissed a woman. I’ve never wanted to. I don’t approach Gia. She moves into my space, takes my lapels in her hands, and roughly jerks me toward her, then kisses me.
It’s quick, hard, and soft at the same time. She releases me as quickly as she grabbed me. “We don’t want to scare Father Paul Michael.” She winks at him, a satisfied grin appearing on her lips. Where mine had been.
Unlike my parents, the kiss doesn’t lead to feelings of love. It means nothing. I feel nothing. My dick is hard, but it has been that way for the past twenty minutes. Hell, it’s been hard for the past week, ever since breathing in Gia’s flowery scent in the diner in San Diego.
“We’ll be sure to come to Sunday mass soon, father.” Gia kisses the priest on either cheek, and I say my thanks, shaking his hand.
“Congratulations!” Elena kisses my cheeks and hugs me before doing the same to Gia. “You had me worried there, cousin. What were you guys whispering about with Father Paul Michael before your vows?”
Gia loops her arm through Elena’s. “I had some jitters. The priest and Rocco helped calm me. All is good, and now we’re family. I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.”
“Boss.” Marco appears a few feet from me, his phone in his hand.
“That was fast,” I mutter under my breath. No doubt there’s a message from Parisi’s men. Or even Parisi himself.
“No way.” Elena steps between them. “No work today. The photographer wants you two over by the gardens then the vineyard.” She gives us a nudge toward the woman with the camera.
I jerk my head to the left knowing Marco will understand. Wait for me in my office. The next thirty minutes feel like thirty hours as the photographer has us posing like a couple in love. When she tells us to kiss, Gia takes the lead—again—and moves so her back is to the camera. To the photographer, it looks like we’re kissing.
“Don’t quit your day job,” she whispers only a fraction of an inch from my mouth.
“What?” I rest one hand on her lower back and the other on her hip, holding her close, pressing her into my cock.
“You’re a terrible actor.” She tries to tilt her pelvis away from me, but I pull her in tighter, then drop my hand and squeeze her ass.
It’s firm yet soft. Small yet round and full. My cock twitches.
“Is this better?”
“Typical guy.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I move my hand back up to her hip.
“Thinking your dick is what every woman wants.”
“It is.”
“You’re going to die a sad and lonely man, Rocco.” She breaks free from my hold and moves over to the roses.
I hear the photographer snap pictures but I pay no attention to her, watching Gia instead. She’s a complicated woman.
And I don’t do complications.