by L. K. Shaw
“May I come in?” she asks.
“Of course.” I wave my arm in a welcome gesture.
She moves to stand next to me, her gaze taking in my reflection, and she smiles brightly. “You look absolutely stunning, my dear.”
“Thank you, Moira.”
“I wasn’t sure if you had anything old or not, but I wanted to give you this.” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out the most stunning pearl necklace I’ve ever seen. “These belonged to my great-aunt and were given to her by her grandmother. She was a wonderful woman who never had any children of her own. I know she would love for you to have them.”
“Thank you so much,” I manage to say, almost blubbering as I turn my back to her and swipe my hair out of the way.
Moira drapes the pearls around my neck and fastens it before moving to Brenna and putting her arm around her daughter. I finger the round gems with reverence, no longer able to hold back the tears.
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry,” she rushes out, grabbing several tissues from the box on the stand and passing them to me.
I pat my eyes, trying to be careful of my makeup, but no doubt making a mess of it. Brenna and Mila grab their own tissues, and all of us are in tears. My mother should be the one here giving me a token for my wedding. Instead, she’s gone. Living with the consequences of her actions. I mentally shake myself. She doesn’t deserve any more of my thoughts. Another knock, this one louder than Moira’s, hits the door.
“Are you decent in there?” Pierce’s voice is muffled through the wood.
Mila crosses the short distance from where she’d been sitting on the chaise and lets him in. He gives her a quick kiss. Then, his eyes meet mine and his face softens even further with affection. Besides Mila, I’m the only person who gets the privilege of watching him lose the mask of indifference he always wears.
I rise from my seat and Pierce meets me in the middle of the room. He brushes a stray tear off my cheek, and I lean into his touch.
“Are you ready for this?” he asks gruffly.
“More than ready,” I say laying my hand over his. “I’ve waited my whole life for this moment.”
“If he ever hurts you, I’ll kill him.” It’s not an idle threat, either.
“At some point in time you’re going to have to stop threatening to kill my soon-to-be husband.” I chuckle.
“Never. You’re my sister, and I’ll always look out for you. That means killing any person who might hurt you. Even if he’s your soon-to-be husband.”
A fresh batch of tears attempt to escape. “For so long you’ve taken care of me. It’s Giovanni’s turn, now. You know he’ll never hurt me.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t still put the fear of god into him.”
I smack my brother’s arm.
“Alright, let me know when you’ve finished getting ready. I’ll be outside waiting.” Pierce brushes another kiss across my forehead, whispers something in Mila’s ear that makes her blush, and heads back out the door.
“Now then,” Moira claps her hands. “Let’s put the final touches on your hair and makeup so you can get married.”
The final notes of the prelude fade, and the wedding march begins. Should I be more nervous than I am? Because the only emotion soaring through me is excitement. I’m marrying Giovanni. My best friend. This is the first day of the rest of our lives together. How can I not be excited?
Two soldiers open the double doors of the sanctuary and my gaze heads straight down the middle of the aisle, ignoring all the guests on either side, to where Gio waits at the end of it. I only have eyes for my fiancé. Like always, my heart begins to race. The smile lights up his beautiful face and the dimples form craters in his cheeks. He looks so dashing in his tuxedo.
Pierce and I glide down the red carpet toward the altar. I can’t look away from him until, at last, we’re standing face-to-face. My brother takes his place next to Jacob, the best man. Brenna and Mila stand on my side, both of them wiping away their tears.
“Dearly beloved,” the priest begins.
The ceremony passes in a blur until Jacob hands Gio the ring, and he turns to me with so much love in his eyes. I’ve held it together this long, even through the vows, although that was close, but I can’t any longer and tears cloud my vision.
He reaches for my hand, holding it gently, as his gaze drinks me in. “I, Giovanni Cristiano Saccone, take you, Francesca Luisa De Luca, to be my wife. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.”
Gio slides the platinum pavé eternity band down my finger, and then brings my hand to his lips, placing a kiss against my palm. I sniff back the tears and give him a watery smile. He releases me, and I turn around to face Brenna. She places a ring in my trembling hand. I face Giovanni again.
“I, Francesca Luisa De Luca, take you, Giovanni Cristiano Saccone, to be my husband. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.”
My hands shake so bad, I’m afraid I’m going to drop it, but I manage to slide the titanium band down his finger.
“Let us pray.” Father Moretti closes his eyes, and I follow suit as he recites the Universal Prayer.
After a collective, “Amen”, I open them again.
“By the power vested in me by the state of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride,” Father Moretti announces.
I sink into Giovanni’s kiss. At last, this man is my husband. I’m ready to spend the rest of our lives together. We turn to face our families, their welcoming smiles greeting us. Brenna’s family is here. All except her grandfather. He suffered a massive stroke a few months ago, and Cormac has taken over while his father is in the hospital.
The day couldn’t have turned out more perfect. As Giovanni—my husband—escorts me down the aisle, happiness pours into me. We’ve both been through so much and we finally found our way to this place. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with him.
Epilogue Two
I wish someone had told me beforehand how boring Italian weddings are. Not that I could have gotten out of coming to this one, but at least I’d have been prepared. Everyone is so stiff and proper. Where’s the lively music? The dancing? I’m not a particular fan of weddings in general, but at least the Irish throw a good party with theirs.
The late afternoon sun is hidden behind the giant manor house where the reception is being held. A large white tent stands tall over and shelters tables where Italians loiter and chat. Children race around the garden lawn; two of them screech by and nearly collide with my legs. A caterer passes a moment later with a tray of drinks, and I snag one before he can get away.
“Jaysus, how much longer are we going to have to hang around this place?” my younger brother, Padraig, asks before tossing back a half-full rocks glass of top-shelf Irish whiskey. Thank fuck the Italians got something right.
“Hopefully only through one more round of drinks.” I raise my glass. “Slàinte mhaith.”
Just as I’m about to drain the whole thing in a single swallow, my attention locks onto a flash of green near the gazebo on the other side of the garden, and I pause. A young woman stands half-hidden behind the wooden structure. She leans out several times, her dark hair pulled into some fancy updo, and her eyes scan the grounds before she darts back behind cover. I glance around, trying to determine who, or what, she’s looking for, but I can’t figure it out. No one is paying her any attention that I can tell.
Without warning, she snatches up her skirts, darts across the lawn, and disappears into an open side door of the house. Interesting.
“Stay here.” I practically throw my glass at Paddy without taking my eyes off the door the woman ran through.
“Hey,” he grumbles, bobbling it, but I’ve already started walking away. “Wait, where are you going? Don’t leave me here for Mother to find.”
I’m standing at the end of a long, dark hallway. Light comes from the other end, and I move toward it, coming out into a large entryway. Twin curved staircases lead to the second-floor landing. Laughter from the garden spills in through the open windows, but there’s not a soul in sight. Where did she go?
Footsteps come from above me, and I look upward, but there’s no one there. I keep my eyes locked on the second floor, and I start up the stairs, my hand gliding along the shining surface of the bannister. Two hallways branch off the landing in opposite directions. Damn it. Left or right? Taking a chance, I finally choose to head down the right one.
Three doors line the length of the wall, each spaced about ten feet apart. The hallway ends at a final fourth door. It stands open, and I catch another flash of green from inside the room. Bingo. With my destination so close, I should be able to take my time, but some force drives me to walk quickly.
I reach the room and stand in the doorway, my eyes scanning the space. The only thing in here is ghostly outlines of what appears to be furniture covered in white sheets; possibly several couches, a tall cabinet, and several more box-shaped items. My face wrinkles in confusion. Where did she go? She can’t be some ghost or a figment of my imagination. The Irish are a superstitious lot, but I’ve never fed into any of that.
Soft humming comes through the open glass doors across the room—ones that face the front side of the manor, not the garden where the reception is being held. Is she meeting someone up here? I stride across the hardwood floor toward the balcony, stopping just at the threshold.
Her back is to me, and my gaze travels over the dipped in waist that flares into wide hips. Her ass is thick and juicy. Just the way I love. The humming stops, and she lets out a loud sigh.
“Why can’t you just let me have a few minutes to myself?” she says, her voice a sexy rasp.
Instantly, I imagine silk sheets and hot, sweaty bodies pleasuring each other. Her voice is raspy and pure sex.
“My apologies,” I say, stepping completely out onto the small balcony to join her.
She whirls, her hand to her chest, and stares at me with her perfect pink lips gaping open.
“Who are you?” she breathes out.
I bow with exaggerated flourish. “Jack Donnelly.”
There isn’t any recognition on her face.
“Brenna’s brother,” I add.
Those gorgeous lips of hers form an “O” and her cheeks darken. “Mrs. Ricci.”
“The one and only. And you are?”
She bites her bottom lip, and I barely hold back my groan. My cock goes semi-hard. “I’d rather not say.”
I grin. “Ah, a lady of mystery. Should I try and guess?” I’ve used this smile to seduce more than one woman into my bed.
“I won’t tell you,” she says pertly.
“Then I’ll have to make one up for you. How about Aisling?”
Her head tilts charmingly. “Why that name?”
“It means dream, and I’m sure I’ll be dreaming of you tonight.”
She wrinkles her nose. “I doubt that. You don’t even know me.”
“I’d like to,” I say.
My mystery woman rolls her eyes. “No you don’t. Not really.” Her expression shifts. Is that a flicker of sadness? It disappears before I can tell. “No one wants has any interest in knowing me.”
Taken aback, I study her more closely. For the briefest moment, I feel a genuine camaraderie with this woman. To everyone, I’m Jack Donnelly, eldest grandson of Colm Donnelly, one of the richest Irishman in Brooklyn. I belong to a powerful family. A wealthy family. That’s what the women see anyway. All they care about. Where did that come from? I shake off the maudlin thought and focus back on the beauty standing close by.
“I’d love to get to know you,” I say in my most flirtation tone.
She ignores me, something I’m not used to. “I take it you’re up here to escape someone?” I ask.
There’s a pause before her shoulders sag and she turns to face forward again. “My father.” I move to stand next to her and lean my forearms on the railing, my gaze taking in the scene before us. A stone fountain sits in the center of another well-manicured and bright green yard that reminds me of the hills of Ireland. The circle drive is lined with expensive-looking cars and SUVs. Beyond that, there are only trees. It’s peaceful and quiet up here. No wonder she sought out the privacy it offers.
“If it makes you feel any better, I’m escaping my mother.” I pivot to lean on a single elbow and take in my mystery woman’s profile. A pleasant fragrance of lemon surrounds me.
Her lips tip up in amusement before she smothers the expression. “Is she trying to marry you off, too?” She bites the bottom lip as though regretting letting the question slip from them.
I smother my chuckle, because there’s a seriousness to her that makes me think she won’t appreciate my humor. “Not yet, but I expect it to start soon. I’ll be thirty in a few years, so I’m unenthusiastically waiting for the not-so-vague comments. Is that what your father wants to do? Marry you off?”
She nods, but doesn’t speak, her eyes still focused on the landscape. Sadness surrounds her.
I’m not sure she’d be what most people consider classically beautiful. Her nose is a little on the large side and her chin juts out, but they go together. My gaze travels downward, pausing at the breasts that would certainly overflow my palm, before it continues along the slight swell of her belly.
“I don’t envy you women,” I tell her.
She turns to me, her eyes widened in surprise. “What do you mean?”
“You know that my sister’s marriage was arranged to Emilio. Luckily, he’s a decent bloke. I expect not every man that some women has to marry is. From what I understand, though, the Italians tend to respect their wives and aren’t usually unfaithful.”
The irony isn’t lost on me that we just attended the wedding of Emilio’s illegitimate half-brother.
“But what if those men are old enough to be your grandfather?” she asks with a shudder.
“Well, now, that’s a pickle. Is that who your intended is? A grand-da?”
She turns and leans back against the balcony. “He doesn’t even look at me when he’s talking. Like I’m not important. He just speaks at me. I’m nothing but a decorative doll that he can display on his arm.”
I wince, because that sounds terrible. A woman like her shouldn’t be sold off to some old geezer who won’t appreciate all her soft curves and that husky sex-dripped voice. Old man probably can’t even keep it up long enough to satisfy her like she deserves. I shift closer until the heat of her body radiates against mine. She startles and takes a small step away from me.
“What are you doing?” she yelps.
I close the short distance she managed to create between us until my chest nearly brushes against her. Brown eyes widen and the seam of that gorgeous mouth parts.
What will a little kiss hurt?
I dip my head and press my lips to hers. She freezes beneath me, but then sags against my chest. Her arms go to my shoulders, and I deepen the kiss, my tongue begging for entry. She opens farther. Triumph surges through me. She tastes like buttercream, as though she stole a nibble of frosting from the wedding cake.
Either way, she’s sweet and sugary. One taste of her won’t be enough. I circle her waist with my hand and tug her close so she’s flush against me. My cock is hard against her stomach. For the briefest moment, pure arousal makes it twitch, and then a white light explodes behind my eyes as the most excruciating pain hits me right in the nuts.
; I loosen my grip on her and my entire body folds in half as I try not to puke from the agony of having a knee rammed straight into my dick. What the fuck? I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, willing the nausea away. Mumbled words reach my ears and footsteps grow faint, but my focus is elsewhere.
Finally, the pain becomes manageable. I rise up, taking my time, my cock still spasming and throbbing. My gaze roams. She’s gone. Of course she is. Nearly unmanned me and then ran away. With a few uneasy steps, I head back through the empty room and then rest of the house before returning to the garden, my eyes peeled and scanning every person I pass.
I find Paddy. “Have you seen a lush, dark-haired woman wearing a green dress wandering around out here?”
“Where the feck have you been?” He gripes, ignoring my question. “Mother cornered me and started pointing out all the eligible young women here. For Christ’s sake, I’m only twenty-four. You’re the one she should be pushing towards some unlucky dove to shackle yourself to.”
Completely ignoring my brother’s bitching, my gaze travels around the crowd—searching—but there are too many damn people here. Maybe Francesca knows who she is. Leaving a still whining Paddy, I locate the bride and groom under the tent talking to Pierce and Mila.
“Jack,” Giovanni greets me with a handshake. Impatience roars through me as the small group all has to get in their hellos until finally I’m able to speak.
“Do you by chance know of a young woman wearing a green dress, here with her father? I assume she’s some relative of yours,” I say. I leave out the married to the old man part.
Francesca thinks for a moment, but shakes her head. “I’m sorry. It could be anyone, really. All the families are here, some from out of state, and I don’t know them all. Why?”
Not wanting to go into details, I wave off my request with my hand. “I was just trying to place her.”
Pierce studies me with those cold, knowing eyes of his, but he doesn’t say anything. I change the topic and the five of us chat for a while until I excuse myself to wander through all the people. I run into Paddy again, then my mother—who tries to engage me in the same conversation about the eligible women here—until she gives up and leaves me alone.