by Lucia Black
He knew that. He’d always known that. She had her own teeth and claws and she could defend herself. “Of course not, it’s just—”
“Just what?” She held her arms out to her sides. “Just that your righteous anger is more important than the decision I made to let it be?”
“I disagree with that decision.” He spoke through clenched teeth, attempting to keep his voice as respectful as he could.
“And you’re automatically right. Alessandro knows best, after all. You know exactly what I need to do in my life because ten years ago I told you about something that happened, and now you think you know everything about it and everything about me, and what should be done.” She took a shaky breath to recover from the venom of that sarcasm. “You don’t get to decide what I need. You don’t know anything.”
“Then fucking tell me!” he yelled. “Tell me what you need.”
“I need to prepare for my wedding and be there for my father while he recovers.” She crossed her arms and lifted her chin, daring him to argue.
“Your wedding,” he echoed.
“Yes, my wedding. To your brother.” He knew she was reminding herself as much as she was reminding him, but that didn’t ease the sting.
“You’re not really going to marry him.” He stated it as fact.
Her eyes flashed fire. “Watch me.”
“You don’t want to marry him,” Alessandro pointed out. Giovanni didn’t want to marry her either, and Alessandro had come here today to tell her that he was going to talk to his father about calling off the wedding.
“Why do you care so much?” she asked. “Am I that good a fuck that you can’t give me up?”
The implications of her words burned him. He wasn’t only in it for the sex. It was never about that. “Lorna,” he said, fighting to keep his emotions reined in. “I’m in love with you.”
Silence for a moment, then she repeated his words with an incredulity that set his teeth on edge. “You’re in love with me.”
“Yes.” He took a step toward her, but she pushed him back.
“Then why the fuck would you take it upon yourself to beat my uncle half to death when you know perfectly well that if I wanted him gone, he would be?” she yelled. “Why the fuck would you throw yourself at me two weeks before my wedding to your brother? Why the fuck are you declaring your tragic undying love for me right after my father had a heart attack, right after I saw that piece of shit child molester, right after you beat the shit out of him in public, and right now when I’m under more stress than I’ve ever been?” Her voice broke, unable to support the weight of her rage.
Alessandro held up his hands as if corralling a small animal and tried to speak softly to calm her down. “I’m going to talk to my father about the wedding. I’ll get it called off.” He expected that to be good news. He expected her to pause and let that sink in and ask, really? Would he do that for her? He expected her to thank him begrudgingly in a way that didn’t actually involve the words ‘thank you’. He didn’t expect her to laugh with bitterness to rival unripe lemons.
“This isn’t really about the wedding, is it?” she asked with such disdain it made him stagger a step back. “This is a power trip for you. You think you own me, and you don’t want to share your toys with Giovanni.”
He closed the distance between them. “Make no mistake, Lorna, you are mine. But this isn’t a power trip. I love you.”
How many times did he have to say it before she would believe him?
“And now I’m supposed to swoon and fall madly in love with you too so we can ride off in the sunset together.” She threw a hand dismissively and rolled her eyes.
“What do you want from me, Lorna?” A bit of desperation leaked into his voice. He didn’t know how to fix this, or what she expected him to do.
“I want you to leave me alone and let me deal with my own problems.”
He blinked, but she seemed serious. He took a shaky breath. “I’m sorry for stepping in where I shouldn’t have. Next time, I’ll be sure to stand there and do nothing.”
“Next time, don’t show up at all.” Her tone was ice cold.
He looked at her for a moment, then shook his head. “I can’t figure you out. I would move heaven and Hell for you, give up everything if you asked me. Yeah, I might make mistakes, and maybe I should have said all of this earlier, but I’ve said it now, and you don’t even give a shit. I’m back where I was ten years ago, and I somehow thought this time was going to be different.” He put his hands on his hips, staring at the ground and sighing. He looked up, meeting her eyes. “There isn’t a goddamned thing I can do to make you care. Congrats on your wedding. I’m sure you’ll be very happy.” He turned and walked away, not waiting for her to reply. He’d done what he could. He’d been honest and genuine, and he couldn’t honestly figure out what else she expected from him. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was one-sided between them and always had been.
His knuckles were bleeding where her uncle’s glasses cut him. He covered the cuts with his other hand and sank his entire consciousness into that sting. It was nothing compared to the way she cut into his heart. He could feel it throbbing as it struggled to pump blood through his body. He’d made his move. It was her turn, and he couldn’t move for her.
25
Lorna
Lorna could not be less interested in her cousin, Mina’s, spreadsheets and checklists, all color-coded and alphabetized in perfectly legible fonts. She was impressed, to be sure, that anyone had the patience to plan a wedding down to the color of the napkins at the reception, but she didn’t have her heart in it like Mina and Mrs. Moretti did.
Mina even looked excited to be here, dark hair pulled back in a bun, dark eyes glittering behind thick plastic frames that slid down her nose when she looked down at her papers. “So we have the cake and flower delivery confirmed and Mrs. Moretti has collected the RSVP cards.” Mina picked up a purple-colored pen and twirled it between perfectly manicured fingers. “I’ve got yeses from almost everyone, so let’s figure out seating for the reception.”
Lorna stared at the beautifully rendered diagram of the table set up in the venue where they’d be having the reception. Delicate lines blurred together, and she blinked to focus her vision. She had too much rattling around in her mind to concentrate on where to seat her relatives and her in-laws. In her mind, she saw Alessandro punching her uncle on an endless loop, and she heard him saying he would do anything for her, but he couldn’t make her care. But she did care, and that was the worst part. She cared too much, and it was getting harder to keep lying to herself about it. She hadn’t heard from him in the few days that had passed since he’d gone all vigilante at the hospital. Sleep didn’t come easily, tossing and turning in an empty bed, and she hated waking up cold and alone. Would it be better when she was married to Giovanni? Would any warm body give her the same feeling of comfort through the night? She had to imagine that it would. She had to convince herself that she was merely lonely, and that Giovanni would be a suitable substitute for the sense of safety she felt with Alessandro. He had to be. Because the alternative was unbearable to consider.
Mina slid a paper with a neat list of names over to her. “These are all the people we invited. The ones with yellow dots by their names are confirmed, so we know they’re coming. It might be a good idea to save places for some of the others, though, just in case.”
Lorna scanned the list. Thankfully, it wasn’t long; just the close relatives who usually came to holidays. She picked up a pen and scribbled out her uncle’s name. The harsh lines in pastel blue didn’t obscure the name in navy blue ink on crisp white paper, but the sentiment was clear. “He won’t be coming,” Lorna informed her cousin.
Mina glanced between the paper and Lorna’s face and nodded seriously, probably more bothered by the messy scribble on her otherwise pristine list than the fact that Ernesto wouldn’t be in attendance. Lorna wondered sometimes if she’d been the only one in her family, or if anyone else ha
d been abused like she had. Mina’s face revealed nothing, but she nodded again. “Cool. That’s one less number for the caterers.”
That’s one less monster in the world, Lorna thought. Logan assured her he made it very clear that Ernesto shouldn’t come anywhere near the family unless he wanted to disappear permanently. Lorna didn’t ask what methods Logan used to deliver the threats she ordered, but she liked to imagine Logan dangling the possibility of letting Alessandro off his chain to do with Ernesto as he pleased. And she liked imagining the look of fear and weakness in her uncle’s eyes. The same look he had when Alessandro was beating the shit out of him.
It wasn’t fair for Alessandro to get to do that when Lorna had wanted to for so long. But she never did. The shame and stigma held her back. That and the thought of having to explain her actions. Because to explain why she hurt Ernesto, she’d have to explain how he hurt her. She’d have to talk about it. Tell that story. Share that trauma with family and with strangers.
She held so much guilt and regret for not doing it. She should have. What if he had hurt someone else because she was too afraid to speak up? She told her mother everything that happened at the hospital, and her mother told her she couldn’t shoulder the weight of that blame and guilt. She was a child. Her mother said she had failed at protecting her. Lorna knew that wasn’t true. Her mother made sure it never happened to her again, but neither of them told anyone. They could have put him away. Could have had him killed. Could have guaranteed that he’d never hurt anyone. But for her own protection, she never wanted to share that experience with anyone. It was hard enough living through it. Reliving it to authorities or to her father was an unbearable thought as a child. She regretted it now, not finding the strength. It would seem both she and her mother harbored that same guilt in the aftermath, and they’d shared in that for twenty years.
But it was over now, and she wouldn’t have to worry about her uncle anymore. She had him threatened, sure. That was for show. She would have Logan follow him out of town to make sure he never had the opportunity to hurt anyone ever again. She was running the Bianchi empire now. If his absence brought questions, she had the authority to answer.
Apparently, she was taking too long to decide seating arrangements because Mina slid the papers over to her side of the table and made recommendations, all of which Lorna agreed with. She was more than content to let Mina do all the work. Mina seemed much more capable than Lorna would be, anyway.
Mina pushed her glasses up and wrote names by the numbered tables in neat little green letters. Lorna didn’t have many close friends. Living in L.A. while running the family business there discouraged superfluous friendships. Mina would be her maid of honor. They played together as children, saw each other at holidays and birthdays and weddings and funerals. They gravitated to each other being girls around the same age. Lorna had always liked Mina, but she wouldn’t call her a best friend. She knew that her favorite color was pink, and her birthday was at the end of April, and that she didn’t like mushrooms, but she didn’t know much more than that. She’d closed herself off to so many people . . .
Lorna tapped her fingers on the table. She dreaded this weekend of planning and preparation. She dreaded the wedding even more, and her life afterward even more than that. A life of being near Alessandro, but never near enough to touch. It was probably better that he was angry with her. If he hated her, it would be easier to ignore her own feelings and be a good wife, a good matriarch of the combined Bianchi and Moretti businesses.
“There’s that settled.” Mina pushed the seating chart away and grabbed a checklist. “So catering. We need to confirm the choices. Did you make a decision?”
It took Lorna a moment to process the question. “Food? Oh, um,” she thought about it. “No . . .”
“That’s okay. We have to choose a chicken and a beef dish, but we do have the option to pick a fish as well.” Mina picked up a blue pen and poised to make a note. “Okay, what does Giovanni like?”
Lorna stared blankly into space. What did Giovanni like? Alessandro liked greasy pizza and strong coffee and any sort of shrimp, but no other seafood. But she wasn’t getting married to Alessandro. “I don’t know.” It came out colder than she intended. It wasn’t Mina’s fault, and she didn’t mean to take it out on her. “I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “I haven’t had a lot of time with him . . .”
Mina covered her hand on the table. “No, I understand. This is all kind of happening all at once for you.” She offered Lorna a sympathetic smile. “You’ve been in L.A., and with your dad in the hospital,” she shook her head. “It’s okay, that’s why I’m here.”
Lorna forced a smile. “Thanks, I really appreciate it.”
“Of course.” Mina pushed her glasses up and adjusted her pen, ready to write. “How about the halibut with parmesan mashed potatoes?”
Lorna shook her head. “No fish.” It was a gut impulse. Alessandro was the first person that came to mind. He would be in attendance, even if he wasn’t the groom. She didn’t want to exclude him even more by serving something she knew he disliked. She ignored the quizzical look Mina gave her. Her cousin knew she loved white fish, but she let it go.
“Okay, we can skip that option. What about steak for our beef option?” Mina suggested.
“Steak is fine.” Lorna could not care less. She knew she wouldn’t be able to taste whatever she was eating on her wedding day.
“Herbed Cornish hens with wild rice for the chicken option?” she asked. I nodded.
Mina made a note and moved on to the next check box. “Colors. Mrs. Moretti wants to finalize it. She said you told her she could pick, but she’s coordinating with me. She wants baby blue and cream, but I think a deep burgundy would be really pretty and sort of different since people don’t usually do red this time of year. What do you think?”
“I don’t care,” Lorna answered honestly. The color of her wedding decorations didn’t matter in the least. You could decorate the bars of the cell, but it was still a prison.
Mina tilted her head to one side and sighed a little. “I like red because then we have red roses in the flower arrangements, and it can be really romantic.” Lorna blanched at the word ‘romantic.’ She didn’t want a romantic wedding. She didn’t want a wedding at all. “Does Giovanni like red?” Mina asked.
Lorna sighed. “I don’t know.”
Mina nodded slowly and made another brief note. “Okay, we can come back to that. Do you know what your first dance will be?” Lorna blinked at her. “You and Giovanni. At the reception.” Mina prompted, but still only received a blank stare in return. “Your first dance together as a married couple?”
Lorna slid her hands over her thighs in discomfort. “Oh.” She winced a half smile. “No, we, uh, haven’t talked about it.”
Mina chuckled uncomfortably. “Wow, do you guys talk about anything?” Lorna looked at her cousin with all the dread for this wedding clear on her face. Realization passed through Mina’s eyes and she pushed up her glasses again. “I’m sorry. I know what this is for you. I do,” she said. “So generic wedding it is. Understood.”
Lorna dropped her head to her arm on the table. Why did Alessandro have to make everything so difficult? She would feel much better about this whole thing if she hadn’t fallen for him. She would have been able to give Giovanni a chance, and maybe enjoy planning her wedding. Fuck Alessandro. Or rather not. That’s what got her into trouble in the first place.
26
Alessandro
Alessandro sat still in the back of the car, happy to have a task to distract him from Lorna. Interrogations could get ugly, but the more he thought about the poor guy who didn’t keep his books straight, the less he thought about how frustrated he was.
Giovanni sat next to him in the back of the car giving him a side-eye. “What’s wrong?”
Alessandro looked over at him. “What do you mean?”
Giovanni squinted at him, trying to assess his brother’s mental state. “
You haven’t moved or said a word since we got in the car.” Alessandro didn’t think he needed to answer that, and he looked straight ahead. Giovanni shifted in his seat. “Did you and Lorna have an argument?”
Why did Giovanni have to be so good at reading him? How could he possibly guess? Alessandro twitched his jaw. “Do you think this was an honest mistake in bad bookkeeping, or was it intentional?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Ah, evasion.” Giovanni leaned back and rested his hand on the armrest. “So it is Lorna.”
“I don’t know this distributor well enough to guess his motive.” Alessandro wouldn’t play into his brother’s hand. He was here for distraction, and talking to Giovanni about his fiancé would be the opposite of distraction. “You’ve worked with him before though, right?”
Giovanni ignored his attempts to converse about the task at hand instead of the girl who repeatedly stomped his heart into the ground and drove him to the brink of madness. “What did you do?” Giovanni asked.
Naturally, he would assume it was Alessandro’s fault. It had been, of course, but the fact that Giovanni could read him that well, that he could pick out the guilt mixed with frustration and longing—it sharpened Alessandro’s anger to a point that stabbed at the back of his throat. “Some people are just disorganized and bad at bookkeeping. It could have been an honest mistake.”
Giovanni whistled low. “That bad, huh?”
Alessandro could keep this up as long as his brother could. He really did not want to think about Lorna’s voice echoing off the concrete walls of the parking garage and ringing in his ears. Next time don’t show up at all. He shook his head to clear it. “Or maybe he’s just stupid and thought we couldn’t catch on.”