Page 11 of Bellini Bound

Matteo cocked his head as he watched her walk away. “She looks . . . different.”

I knew what he meant—she carried herself with more confidence since leaving this world behind—but I was in a pissy mood, so instead, I took itupon myself to share her news. “Maybe it’s because she’s got a bun in the oven.”

Choked laughter came from my cousin. “No shit. Really?”

“Mmm.” I wrinkled my nose, recalling what my brother-in-law had called their unborn child.

“Never thought I’d see the day,” Matteo mused.

“Seems to be a lot of that going on these days.” I referred to my imminent nuptials.

“Is the whining going to become a regular thing? Because if so, I might need to keep my distance.”

I buttoned my suit jacket. “Works just fine for me. You’re not exactly my favorite person at the moment.”

Matteo pressed a palm to his chest, pretending to be wounded by my words. “Is that any way to speak to your best man?”

“Seems pointless to have a best man when I don’t see a maid of honor floating around anywhere.”

“Maybe, but you’re forgetting that we always have each other’s backs,” he countered.

I couldn’t argue with that. Even though we were five years apart in age—with me being older—we grew up close, the four Bellini cousins raised together as a pack by nannies.

Our fathers, identical twins Dominic and Dario, believed that women served a single purpose: producing sons to carry on the family legacy. So our mothers had been sent away once they’d popped out a couple of kids each, three out of the four of them being boys.

Blowing out a heavy breath, I agreed, “Fine. You can stand up there with me.”

A chuckle sounded from my cousin. “Wasn’t really giving you a choice. I’m going to be stuck to you like glue at the altar, just in case you get the urge to run.”

Damn, he knew me too well. That thought had crossed my mind more than once.

“Gentlemen?” A voice drew my attention away from Matteo. A priest stood with his hands clasped over his rounded middle. “If you could take your places, we are ready to begin.”

Matteo nudged me forward, and with my feet dragging as if they were weighed down by lead blocks, I managed to make it up the three steps to stand to the right of the priest.

To my best man, I said, “You paid extra for the quick version of this, right?”

The fool was busy blowing a kiss to his wife seated in the front pew. His smile never slipping, he replied, “Of course. Do you really think Serafina has it in her to sit through an entire mass?”

While I’d gotten the answer I was hoping for, my annoyance shot through the roof. Go figure, in this scenario, Matteo was more concerned about his seventeen-month-old daughter than me, the guy getting married against his will.

Music blared through the organ so loudly that I winced, and then there was the tell-tale rustling of fabric as those few who had gathered to witness this debacle rose from their seats.

With my back to the aisle, I kept my gaze firmly fixed forward. Sweat rose to the surface as reality sank in that this was really happening, and I rubbed a palm over my buzzed head.

Beside me, Matteo let out a low whistle.

My head whipped to the side. “What?”

He jerked his chin toward where my bride assumedly made the trek toward where I stood.

I spun around so fast my vision swam, and it took a minute for my eyes to focus. When they finally did, I did a visual sweep of the woman as she came closer, starting at her feet and moving upward. There was a sea of white fabric. So much of it that she practically drowned in it, and it was impossible to make out the shape of her figure beneath. But I could tell one thing for sure: she wasn’t a tiny little thing.

Reflex had my fingers twitching. I liked a girl with a bit of meat on her bones.

Stop imagining how good it’ll feel to dig into that soft flesh. You’re not sleeping with her!

Shaking my head to clear it of those thoughts, I lifted my gaze to her face, and recognition lit up in her green eyes at the exact same moment it slammed into me hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs.