GIANNA
A TEAR RAN DOWN MY cheek. “It’s so beautiful.”
Valentina chuckled and handed me a tissue. “You only think so because you’ve won the bet.”
“Shh.” Nadia Abelli, the bride’s grandmother, glared at us from the other side of the aisle.
Val rolled her eyes. “Someone’s the party police.”
Elena looked so beautiful in her wedding dress it hurt my eyes. And Ace was as sharp as ever, pink tie and all.
I had won the bet.
But I was only so happy because the bride and groom seemed so happy.
They looked at each other like they were . . . in love. My chest hurt, and my smile fell. I wished love was visible, like the sparkles on Elena’s gown. Or the shimmer of the sun on skin. Then it couldn’t be hidden or faked.
I wondered what love felt like.
I wondered if it even existed.
Another tear dripped down my cheek, and I wiped it away.
As the usher directed each pew to leave, my gaze landed on Elena’s cousin Dominic walking down the aisle. “Oh, excuse me, Val. I have some business to attend to.”
“A little young for you, you think?”
“Shut up, he’s twenty. Plenty legal.” I winked at her.
She laughed and pulled her long legs to the side and out of the way.
I caught up to the handsome young man and grasped his arm. His gaze slid my way as we continued walking down the aisle.
“I’m here to apologize that you had to take care of me the other night at Elena’s little party.” My papà’s phone call had been haunting me day and night, and I might have gone slightly overboard with the alcohol at her bachelorette. “So, I have a proposal—whenever you go on a bender, I’ll be your DD, take you home, take off your shoes, cover you up, and leave a glass of water and a couple painkillers beside your bed.”
A corner of his lips lifted. “As much as I would love to accept that very specific and generous offer, I didn’t take you home.”
I faltered, pausing in the middle of the entrance hall. “But . . . who did?”
He only gave me a reassuring smile and walked away.
The last memory I had of that party was Dominic escorting me to his car. Tequila and self-loathing had churned in my stomach, and I longed to be home before unconsciousness swallowed me whole. I hadn’t made it, the night slotted into one of the many I’d never remember.
I stared out the glass doors of the church, and suddenly, my heart slowed as something came back to me.
There’d been strong arms, a warm chest.
And two rough words in my ear.
“I’ve never seen such a beautiful bride,” I exclaimed.
Elena blushed, placing a hand on her cheek. “The compliments today are going to go straight to my head.”
“Good. You’re too humble as it is. So”—I linked my arm through hers—“how has the married life been so far?” They’d eloped a short while ago. Apparently, Ace couldn’t even wait one more week.
“It’s been . . .” Her eyes sparkled. “Wonderful. He’s been really good to me, Gianna.”
“Of course, he has. His mamma raised him better than that, even if he’d like to deny it.”
“I wish I could have met her,” she said softly.
“She had her . . . issues.” An addiction to coke I couldn’t judge her for; she’d been in Antonio’s orbit, after all. “But she tried hard to be a good person and mother. She gave me a Willow Tree—you know, those porcelain angels—every year for my birthday.” My smile fell. “If she only knew I would eventually marry her husband . . .”
Shame was a sinkhole I never knew when I’d fall in.
“Oh, Gianna . . . it’s not like you had a choice. I’m sure she would have understood.”
“No, I went into that marriage willingly”—anything to get far away from Chicago—“with an open mind and heart. Let’s just say, I realized it wouldn’t be what I had fantasized it to be the night of my wedding.” I laughed lightly. “Anyway, one of those Willow Trees is yours. Come get one whenever you like.”
“Thank you, Gianna. I would love that.” Her gaze found Nico’s across the room. He was talking to his uncle Jimmy. If I stepped between that look, I was sure my dress would catch fire.
If love were visible, it couldn’t be far from the soft heat in their eyes.
“Gosh.” I fanned my face. “It’s getting so sweet in here I feel like I’m in the middle of a Hallmark moment.”
She laughed, pulled her gaze away. “Sure, minus the tension and guns.”
We both looked around the ballroom of the hotel hosting the reception. The Abellis stayed on one side of the room, while the Russos congregated on the other. The most enthusiastic pair was Luca, who leaned against the wall, chewing on a toothpick and staring at the other famiglia, while Nadia Abelli, the party police, flipped through a Vogue magazine. Even the kids watched each other like the others weren’t vaccinated.
“Lively bunch, aren’t they?” I said.
“Honestly, I’m just glad they’re being cordial. For a while, I was sure Papà and Nico would end up killing each other before the wedding.”
“Ohmygod!” The shriek came from behind us.
Elena closed her eyes before pasting on a smile and turning around to greet Jenny, her brother’s cheating girlfriend and one of Ace’s ex-flings.
“Oh no, I’ve just remembered I’m parched,” I dead-panned.
“Of course you have,” Elena muttered through her smile.
I drifted toward the beverage table, not the bar. If I couldn’t even remember who had taken me home the other night, I needed to stay clear of alcohol. As for my growing suspicion that it had been a certain Russian, and considering the way he’d taken care of me . . . well, I didn’t even want to think about it. Especially since less than two weeks ago, he’d insinuated I was easy, a boring lay, and had low self-esteem in one hit.
My gaze unwillingly searched him out for mere self-protection. Everyone knows where their enemy is in the room. He was either schmoozing some socialite in a dark corner or he wasn’t here.
“Gianna! I thought that was you.”
I turned to see Samantha Delacorte, AKA the Most Superficial Woman in New York City, beelining straight to me.
I forced a smile. “Samantha, how nice to see you.”
She air-hugged me, leaving a cloud of sensual perfume I could hardly see through when she pulled back.
“I’m not wedding-crashing, I swear,” she said. “I saw you from the lobby and wanted to say hello. Honestly, Gianna, it’s been too long. Are you . . .” She looked me up and down, grimacing at my blue halter tutu dress. “All right?”
I copied the sickly-sweet tone of her voice. “Honestly, I’ve been so busy—charities, weddings, tickets to the race tomorrow—I must have forgotten to keep in touch. I am so sorry.”
“Oh no . . .” she started.
I blinked.
“I sure hope Vincent didn’t forget to invite you to our trip tomorrow. The end-of-the-summer Bahama trip on his yacht?” She put a hand on my arm, fake pity shining in her eyes. “I’m sure it was just a mistake. I’ll talk to him—”
“No worries, Samantha,” I said blandly, sizing up the room. “I’ve found I’m allergic to the sea.”
“Bummer.” She pouted.
My gaze stopped on the bar, and I stared longingly.
“Well, Vincent, a few others, and I are up in the penthouse suite watching the game. Go, Yanks! You should stop by after this . . . eventful little party. I’m sure Vincent wants to see you, no matter what he says.” The sympathy in her eyes barely concealed her satisfaction.
To be honest, I was a little stung Vincent hadn’t reached out to me at all. But I knew it was for the best—there could never be anything between us like he wanted. I did miss his friendship, however.
“I’m not going to be able to make it.” I pouted. “I made plans with my cat weeks ago.”
“Shame. Well, don’t be afraid to stay in touch. We all go through periods of depression, you know.”
She air-kissed me on the cheeks and then drifted away.
I sighed.
Took a sip of the punch only the kids were drinking.
Tapped my heel on the floor.
This no-alcohol-and-drugs vow was working out just fine—
Val stopped nearby and shook a pack of cigarettes at me with a raised brow.
“Oh, thank God.”
I set my punch on a random table and followed her out the door.