Page 53 of My Wedding Mafia Style
“Exactly. You see the pattern.”
He opens the door. I do not move.
A soft bell chimes inside, and a woman behind the counter looks up with a welcoming smile that is far too unsurprised to be comforting.
“Luca,” I whisper. “Why does she look like she expected us?”
“Because she did.”
My mouth falls open. “You called ahead?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“This afternoon.”
“This afternoon? During the barbecue?”
“After the water.”
“After the water,” I repeat, because apparently I am now speaking in the tone of a woman narrating evidence at trial. “You kissed me in the ocean and then called a jeweler?”
He pauses. “Not immediately.”
“That is not the defense you think it is.”
His hand tightens gently around mine. “Come inside.”
“That phrase has ruined my life at least three times in twenty-four hours.”
“Improved,” he says.
“Under review.”
But I go inside, because I can’t help myself.
The air-conditioning kisses my sun-warmed skin, and the shop smells faintly of polished wood, vanilla, and something floral. Glass cases line the walls, each one filled with things so bright and delicate they make me afraid to breathe too hard near them. The woman behind the counter steps forward, elegant and smiling.
“Mr. Moretti. Welcome.”
“Thank you, Elena,” Luca says. “This is Lucy.”
Elena’s smile turns to me. “A pleasure.”
“Hi,” I say, because apparently when confronted with diamonds and destiny, I become incapable of vocabulary.
Luca guides me toward a private seating area near the back. There is champagne waiting on a small table.
I stare at it.
“No.”
Luca follows my gaze. “No champagne?”
“No more champagne around life decisions.”
Elena’s smile deepens like she approves of me.
