Page 51 of Mafia Bride
My stomach churns and Gia nearly falls to pieces giggling. She waggles her eyebrows at me. Looks knowingly.
The only way to stave the vomit threatening to explode all over this very expensive store is to remind myself that I have power here, and even without my rings, I can escape. All I have to do is not puke.
Gia starts assembling outfits before my clothes are off. She hands me piece after piece, playing dress up like I’m her doll. Another piece of tangible furniture for Re Santino. But I really like Gia, so I let her.
“So, you’re Santino’s cousin.”
“His mother’s sister is my mom. I think you need that skirt in a smaller size.” She knocks on the door. “Stella!”
“Are they close? Your parents and Santino?” Armando may avoid me, but Gia seems all too eager to talk.
“I don’t know. My parents are still in Napoli. I haven’t seen Santino in years...since he moved here. Then boom.” She takes the skirt I just shimmied out of and hangs it on top of the door. “He’s just the same. Tough guy but super sweet.”
Super sweet?
Santino DiLustro?
Sweet?
Like fucking hell.
“This skirt?” Stella hoists one over the top. “Size or color? It comes in a lovely pink.”
“Una 42, per favore,” Gia calls back. “I stay with my father’s family over in Everlee Square. I was so mad when they said there was a wedding with no party. Everyone was mad. But once they all meet you, you will be one of us.”
While she’s chatting, I slip on the next item on the hanger. I barely looked at it, just tugged it on, and imagined being surrounded by a dozen new family members who look and act exactly like a hybrid of Gia and Santino.
“Wow.” Gia stops talking and gasps. “You have to get that.”
The dress is a floor-length red number with an open back. It hugs every curve and makes me feel like Marilyn fucking Monroe. Gia’s right. I have to get it. My heart almost stops when I see the price tag. Four thousand dollars. Where the hell am I?
“You sure it’s nothing a whore would wear?” I ask Gia, who’s staring at me like IamMarilyn fucking Monroe.
“Only one way to find out.” She waggles her brows at me again and opens the door.
Santino is sitting there on a blue velvet couch in front of the bank of mirrors, massive legs crossed in bored anticipation. His foot bounces against his calf.
I purposefully avoid looking at him and instead stand before the mirrors. This moment is something I want to treasure. I don’t want it sullied by him. I can’t believe I’m in this dress...or that I look likethat. I turn to the side to check out the low back and catch a glimpse of Santino in the mirror.
Gia and Stella are gushing in the corner. I turn a little more to join in the conversation about the dress, but I can’t focus on anything other than Santino.
No man has ever looked at me like that. I feel his stare on the bare skin of my back, touching places under the fabric with a bone-melting heat. He averts his gaze, finding my eyes in a different mirror, and there our eyes lock together. His intention is clear and his intention speaks clearly without making a sound.
It says,I am going to fuck you.
For a moment, I’m totally disarmed. My body cries out, begs for, what he promises. Yes. He is going to fuck me. He’s going to wait until I offer myself and then he’s going to take everything.
Will I be ready? Am I already in over my head, thinking I’ll be the one in control of a man like him? Every time I think I’ve gained some footing, this happens and I go sliding back.
A man like my husband is known for destroying girls like me.
Escaping him is half the reason I have to run. I need to escape my own desire.
“What do you think?” I find myself asking him as if I’m standing outside myself.
“I think you’re beautiful.” He says it as if stating a flat fact.
“Of the dress.” I ignore my pounding heart and the heat radiating from between my legs. It’s a lie, but I try.
