Page 44 of Marry Me Not
“Stay.” Then after a beat, he added, “Please.”
“I wish I’d recorded that. I bet there are a lot of people out there who’d pay good money to hear you say the word please.”
“Funny. My dad’s funeral is a great occasion for your comedy debut.”
Crap. Guilt ballooned inside my chest. “Sorry. That was really insensitive of me.”
“Jesus, Fabiana. I was joking.” His elbow brushed against my own. “Relax.”
“Oh.” I let out a pent-up breath. “Right.”
“Dad would’ve loved a comedy show to round out tonight. He wouldn’t want this to be a depressing affair. Although I doubt you have enough material in you to deliver a full set.”
A smile tugged on my lips. “Whatever.”
I heard a low laugh.
Something inside me fluttered, but I did my best to ignore it. “Did you see the email the wedding planner sent last night?”
“I did. Looks like everything is on track.”
“Yeah, but you’ve got some bills to pay. Most of the vendors and the venue were definitely not thrilled about us blowing up months of planning.”
“I’ll handle it.”
“The planner has been extremely stressed due to all the changes. I was thinking about giving her a bonus.”
“I’m not paying her a bonus just for doing her job.”
“I had a feeling you’d say that.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Between your whole speech about disliking frivolous spending and the fact that you seemed personally offended by my brother so smartly investing his money in a private art collection, I can just tell you’re a Scrooge.”
He scoffed. “I’ve been called worse. By the way, I saw you talking to Anthony. I’m warning you right now, don’t buy into his sob story. He’s been a money pit ever since he opened that fucking atelier.”
“He seems passionate about his work.”
“If he designed things that were practical, he might be successful. But so far, all his experiments are too fucking weird for anyone to be interested in them.”
Now I was really curious. “Until I see his designs, I’m just going to assume you’re being unfair. After all, we’ve already established you don’t understand art.”
“I understand it perfectly. It’s a racket, that’s what it?—”
We were interrupted by a heavyset man barreling toward us. “Look at you, my boy! How long has it been? Five years?” He slapped Cosimo’s back. I could smell the alcohol wafting off him.
“Peter,” Cosimo said coolly as he shook the man’s hand.
“Came all the way from Vegas to pay my respects. You know, your father and I were supposed to meet up a few months ago, but we had to cancel. Shame.” His unfocused gaze slid my way. “And who’s this?”
“This is my fiancée, Fabiana Messero.”
“Well, would you look at this.” Peter pivoted toward me, and his gaze slid over me in a way that made my skin feel sticky. “Your father picked her out for you himself? Good man. Took care of you, didn’t he?” He inched closer. “God, look at you. How’s a man supposed to get any work done with that waiting at home?” Moving faster than a man this inebriated should be able to, he grabbed my chin.
I gasped. Cold fingers dug into my skin hard enough to hurt.
Then they were gone. Cosimo stood in front of me, his body completely blocking my view.
