Page 11

11

Andre

“A re you ready for this?” Creed asks. He and Zara find me standing in front of a floor-length mirror in the dressing room of the wedding venue, tugging on my bow tie. I’m certain the damn thing is trying to strangle me.

“As ready as I’m going to be.” I’m certainly eager for my night alone with Stella. The rest of it — the marriage, being a husband, making her happy, continuing to lie to her — I’m not so sure. “This is going to be a disaster. We all know it.”

Creed slams the door shut behind him and glares at me as if in warning to watch my mouth.

“Well, at least it’ll be a beautiful wedding.” Zara smiles, trying to cut the tension. Her hands rest protectively over the small bump protruding from her light blue dress, which matches Creed’s tie. “We’ve already been up to the rooftop. It’s going to be a stunning view of the sunset, and the flowers are so lovely.”

“At least there’s that,” I mutter. “Oh, and there’ll be an open bar.”

She narrows her eyes at her husband. “This is all more than Creed and I had for our abrupt wedding.”

“I’m still pissed you two didn’t invite me to the clerk’s office,” I tell them.

“What’s done is done,” Creed says with a sigh. “Remember that.” I know he means more than just their wedding vows are done and over with.

Izaiah and Emilio Rovina are both dead. There’s nothing I can do to change that. The truth won’t help the family grieve easier. It’ll only cause more problems, more bloodshed. So, I tell myself to let it go, to forget what happened and start over with a clean slate marrying Stella.

The world is a better place without those two fuckers in it, anyway.

“Where’s Tristan?” Creed inquires.

“He’s not on the rooftop?” I ask, my hands braced on my hips.

He shakes his head. “No. We didn’t see him.”

“Well, fuck. I better call him,” I grumble, since my cousin is my best man. It was a tough decision between him and Creed, but since Creed got hitched without even telling me, something a best friend should never do, I tapped Tristan for the position instead.

Which may have been a grave mistake if he doesn’t show with the wedding bands he’s supposed to be picking up from the jewelry store.

Pulling my phone from my pants pocket, I call him.

“Hey, man. What’s up?” he answers, voice annoyingly calm.

I scoff. “What’s up?! Seriously? Where the hell are you?”

“Hanging out. Why?”

“Because I’m getting married in ten minutes, and you’re my best man!” I yell.

His response to my outburst is to laugh in my ear. “Calm your tits. I’m leaving my car with the valet right now.”

My lungs deflate in relief. “That was a dick move, man. Do you have the rings?”

“That’s why I’m running late. They couldn’t find the damn things at first. Took forever for them to get their shit together at the jewelry store. Anyway, I’m coming in now.”

“Head on up to the rooftop. I’ll meet you up there.”

“You’re even crankier than usual today,” Creed remarks after I end the call and put my phone away. “How bad can it be to marry a beautiful woman — ow !” he huffs when Zara jabs her elbow into his ribs. “Sorry, micetta mia . What I meant to say was this is the woman Andre has wanted for years, right? Shouldn’t you be happier?”

“I wanted it to be her choice.”

“It is her choice,” Creed says. “If she stands in front of everyone and says the vows, then it’s her decision. That woman doesn’t seem like someone who can be forced to do a damn thing she doesn’t want to do.”

That’s not true. While mia dolce vipera might show others her fangs, I know she has a soft spot for her family. That’s why she agreed to this marriage. To get the money they needed for the loan, and to make her dying mother happy.

It’s only for a year, though. Maybe less if I get convicted on the gun charges. Then Stella can have the rest of her life to be free of me and her family.

“Fine. Let’s fucking go,” I mutter.

Upstairs on the cold rooftop, I’m surprised to see Stella’s mom in the front row. I’m happy she’s able to make it but feel a sting of sadness my own parents aren’t alive for this day. Although, I’m not sure how my conservative Baptist mother who fell in love with my Catholic father would’ve felt about Stella. I doubt they would’ve gotten along. It would’ve been fun to see, though. Too bad she died from the Ferraro curse when I was only eight years old.

At least, that’s not something Stella will have to worry about since she’s full-blooded Italian.

Pushing aside thoughts of my dead parents, I stand on the raised platform with Tristan and the minister. A harpist begins to play a soft melody nearby, initiating the ceremony. I barely notice when Stella’s sister comes down the aisle, because Stella is right behind her.

My bow tie no longer feels like it’s suffocating. If anything, I’m enjoying the appreciative gaze my soon-to-be wife is giving me, thanks to the tux.

As for her, tonight, the woman everyone calls the viper bitch looks like an angel in the glow of the setting sun. She’s even more gorgeous than usual, since she’s making an effort not to glare at me in front of her sick mother.

Despite everything, knowing she’s about to be mine on a piece of paper, even if it’s temporary, means the world to me.

I nod to Saint when he offers me her hand as they reach the platform. Stella doesn’t flinch when I take her fingers in mine. From that moment on, I barely hear the minister’s words until he gets to the vows.

“Andre, repeat after me.” I snap out of my daze. “ I take you, Stella, to be my partner for life .”

“I take you, Stella, to be my partner for life.” The first words are so easy I’m overly confident with the rest. In fact, the next vow he recites nearly drops me.

“ I promise above all else to live in truth with you. ”

To live in truth? That’s the one thing I can never have with Stella. Shaking myself out of the stupor, I decide I’ll live in truth with her, starting today, in order for the words to leave my mouth.

The rest are a cakewalk after that one.

I give you my hand and my heart.

As a sanctuary of warmth and peace.

And pledge my love, devotion, faith, and honor.

As I join my life to yours .

Then it’s Stella’s turn to repeat the words. I’m relieved when she hesitates over living in truth as well.

But I can’t help wonder — what is she hiding from me?

Whatever it is, it can’t be worse than the shit I’m keeping from her, so I tell myself to let it go.

Our rings are exchanged along with more sweet sentiments. “ With this ring, two become one. Let it be a symbol of my promise to you and a reminder of my devotion to you .” Those words easily pass my lips and surprisingly enough, Stella’s too.

Then, the minister says, “Now the rain will not dampen your skin, for you can each shelter one another. The cold shall not chill you, for your love can offer each other warmth. Now you will no longer feel loneliness, for your two bodies will walk one path in life together. While your time together in this world will one day end, may you find each other in your next life. And now, by the power vested in me by the State of New York, I pronounce you husband and wife.” To me, he says the words I’ve been waiting for. “Andre, you may kiss your bride.”

I reach forward to cup Stella’s face in my palms, and thankfully, she doesn’t recoil. And as I press my lips to hers for the very first time, she gives in to me.

It may be our first kiss, but it feels right. Perfect. Like we’ve done it a thousand times.

I press my luck by swiping my tongue along the crease of her lips, which taste like home. And once our tongues tangle, the promise of more quickly begins to grow.

I wasn’t sure if Stella would back out of our deal tonight. I would have understood, even if I’d have been disappointed.

But based on her receptiveness to the kiss, deepening it all on her own, I think she may even be looking forward to it.

* * *

Stella

Unfortunately, Andre kisses just as good as he looks, which is to say magnificently.

Not that I’d ever tell him that.

He holds my face hostage, keeping me where he wants me. He doesn’t have anything to worry about, since I’m clutching the lapels of his tux like I’m about to rip the material off his body.

My new husband tastes like fresh spearmint, and there’s just enough tongue that the kiss is provocative but not slobbery.

It feels natural. Like I could do this, tease him this way, all day and not tire of his mouth joining mine.

But once I hear the catcalls and whistling in the crowd, I remember where we are and that we have a huge audience.

Later. There will be time for kissing and more tonight.

With a little bit of liquid courage in my system, I may even enjoy myself if Andre isn’t a completely selfish lover.

While I wish that were the case so I could keep hating him, I’m thinking he’ll be so great in bed, that the smug bastard won’t ever let me forget it.

As I force my fingers to release the tux fabric and pull back, Andre lowers his hands and grasps one of mine. We face our guests who applaud as we make our way back down the aisle as husband and wife. Since it’s so cold, we head right down to the huge reception room with a dance floor, where we’ll have dinner and cake after greeting our guests.

“Well, it’s done,” Andre says as we take the stairs. He keeps his hand in mine to help me make the trek in my heels.

“It’s done,” I agree.

“How long do we have to stay at the reception?”

“There’s the receiving line, and then we’ll have to take some photos while dinner is served. After that, we’ll have some cake, share a few dances, and then talk to all the guests.”

“How long do we have to stay?” Andre asks again.

“Until the very last person leaves.”

He groans as if the dancing and chitchat will be sheer torture. “I made us reservations at the nearby Soho Grand Hotel for the night.”

“Oh really?” I say in surprise.

“It’s closer than my apartment.”

“Of course it is,” I remark as we continue to trek down the steps. “And I bet there’s only one bed.”

Andre’s step falters before he continues down and we reach the bottom. Pulling me to him by the hand, he looks down at me and says, “After that kiss, I don’t think you’ll mind sharing one bed tonight.”

“It’s part of our agreement. Not only does my mom believe this is real, but she was also well enough to come today.”

“That’s great,” he replies then grins. “For her and for me.” Leaning forward, I think he’s going to try to kiss me again, but he only places his lips against my cheek. “I promise you won’t regret it.”

I don’t bother to respond to his guarantee and couldn’t if I wanted to, since Cami and Tristan Ferraro, his best man, have made it down the stairs.

“Congratulations!” my sister squeals as she throws her arms around my neck.

“Thank you,” I tell her, while Andre and his cousin Tristan clap each other on the shoulder.

Then, the two switch places, and I watch my sister hug my husband as if he’s family. Or maybe a little overly friendly, like he’s not related to us.

I’m not jealous or anything. I don’t think Andre is my sister’s type, even though I’m not entirely sure what that is. And besides, I have my own hands full as Tristan’s arms encircle and actually lift me off my feet.

“Tristan!” Andre chides him. “Get your hands off my wife!”

“Welcome to the family.” His cousin grins when he puts me back down on the floor. With a wink he adds, “That was one hot kiss. Warmed up all the guests.”

Tristan strides off toward the bar and Andre says, “Sorry. I should’ve known he would try something.”

“It’s fine.” His cousin’s gesture hadn’t been repulsive. He was just celebrating, not trying to grope me.

“It won’t happen again,” my new husband asserts.

Next in line is Creed and his wife who are, thankfully, less enthusiastic in their congratulations and only hug Andre.

It takes a while for Saint to get my mom down the elevator in her wheelchair, but when I see them, I abandon the receiving line to hug her.

“What a beautiful wedding. This place looks magical,” she says as she eyes the tables and flowers around the room. I gently wrap my arms around her thin shoulders. “And you are a gorgeous bride.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Are you happy?” she asks as I pull back, catching me off-guard.

“Of course I’m happy,” I lie with a smile. Part of me is a little excited but mostly nervous about tonight. I try to push those thoughts away, to focus on the here and now. I need to get a few drinks in me, and then everything will be fine. I probably won’t even remember the details of the night when I wake up tomorrow.

But then it will be like reliving my nightmare.

I want to remember every second with Andre, so I’ll need just the right amount of alcohol to loosen me up but not too much to make me pass out.

Changing the subject, I ask Mom, “Are you warm enough in here? Saint can get you a blanket. The venue has a stack of them.”

I don’t bother to hug my brother. I just point and tell him, “The blankets are over there near the gift table.”

With a nod, he strolls off to get one.

“Don’t fuss over me. Go greet your guests with your husband,” Mom orders.

“I will, once Saint gets back,” I tell her just as Cami comes over and grabs the handles of her wheelchair.

“I’ll get Mom to her table. You have a line waiting.” My sister nods toward the people waiting on the stairs. I barely know most of them. They’re friends with my father, the family, or the Ferraros. In fact, there are a lot of mobsters here tonight.

Here’s hoping everyone behaves themselves.

When I return to Andre’s side, he takes my hand again, and we continue accepting congratulations from everyone while I hold my breath, praying nobody has been sick with a cold or the flu.

God, that’s one thing I miss about the pandemic. People kept their distance and wore masks. I can’t risk catching anything and giving it to my mom or having her catch something from one of our guests.

I make do, trying not to let my concern show, when a tall, older man approaches. It’s Lorenzo, the asshole who has been an advisor and fixer for the Ferraros for decades. He may not be an actual “made man” in the family, but he’s just as bad, maybe even worse.

I refuse to lift my eyes to his face, preferring to eye the guests behind him. He leans in to give Andre a pat on the back, and my fingers clench his hand tighter.

“You okay, baby?” he asks.

Before I can nod, Lorenzo says, “Congratulations, Stella. I know your father would be proud of you. Here’s hoping you both have a long, happy marriage.” Then he opens his arms as if to hug me.

I quickly yank my hand from Andre’s, causing him to turn to me, the crease between his brows more prominent. “I, um, I need to go check on my mom,” I tell him before walking away.

On the way over to my family’s table, I grab a glass of champagne and chug it.

It’s going to be a long night.

* * *

Andre

After watching Stella not only hurry off but throw back an entire glass of champagne like it was a shot, I glance down at the nail marks she left in my hand before facing Lorenzo.

“What was that about?”

“What was what about?” He blinks at me as if he’s just as clueless to the reason why Stella ran off. And I know for certain it wasn’t to check on her mom, whom she’d just spoken to less than ten minutes ago.

“Nothing,” I say as the people waiting behind Lorenzo start shuffling their feet, getting impatient. “Thanks for coming.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” the man, who has been like a father to me, Creed, and Tristan since we lost our own, replies before he wanders off.

I continue greeting our guests alone until the very last one.

Finally free, I grab a glass of champagne of my own from the tower, then join Stella where she’s hovering over her mother.

“I don’t appreciate being left to talk to all those people alone,” I whisper. “I’m pretty sure I have old lady lipstick on both of my cheeks.”

She looks at me and bites her lip to keep from laughing. Grabbing a cloth napkin from the table, she wipes away the marks.

“Thank you. Why did you run off?” I ask quietly.

“Because I wanted to check on my mom,” she says simply, and I know it’s a lie.

“Well, now that you’ve checked on her, could you try to pretend you like your husband and not abandon him again?”

“Fine,” she huffs, as if I’m asking her for the moon.

For the next hour or so, Stella not only keeps me close but lets me hold her hand and even snuggles up to my side like she’s cold. I offer her my suit jacket, but she refuses multiple times.

When it’s time for our first dance, a love song begins to play, and a woman in the band sings with a sultry voice. I take Stella by the hand to the middle of the empty dance floor. Placing my arms around her waist, I press my palms to her back and pull her close.

She gently rests her hands on my shoulders, surrounding me in her floral and apple scent. “What song is this?”

“‘Sea of Love,’” I answer.

“I don’t know it.”

“This version is more like Cat Power’s rendition.”

“Oh. Did Cami choose it?”

“No. I did.”

“Oh really?” Stella smiles at me, and it lights up the entire room.

“Really.” I nod. “Cami wanted our first dance to be to Adele’s version of ‘Make You Feel My Love.’”

“Oh wow. That’s a great song, but…a little too much on the restraining order side for a wedding dance.”

“My thoughts exactly,” I agree with a soft chuckle. “The lyrics in this song are less commanding and more of a strong urging.”

“Right,” Stella agrees as we sway quietly. “It’s not…bad,” she eventually admits.

“Do you remember when you and I met?” I ask her, referencing the beginning of the song.

“No. Not particularly.”

“Well, I do. And I’ve wanted you since that day, so…”

“What day was it?” she asks curtly as if she’s confident I don’t remember.

Reaching up, I take one of her long black curls between my finger and thumb and drape it over her shoulder. “We may have met as kids at some point, but as adults, well, I was twenty-eight, and you were probably about twenty-four or twenty-five. After serving my four years in the army and then going to college and law school, I was finally home, settling back into the city that summer. Your father had a big Fourth of July bash out in the Hamptons. Creed dragged me along with him and Tristan.”

Stella shakes her head. “I wasn’t at that party. I refused to attend any of my father’s events during that time.”

“Oh, I know you weren’t at the party,” I assure her. “But you were there, walking down the beach near the house. I went and sat out there to get away from the crowd for a little while, and I saw you walking alone in the dark. You were wearing this long, sheer, white floral dress thing…”

“A bathing suit cover-up?”

“Maybe. But it was blowing in the wind and so was your hair. You looked like a sad angel.”

“Oh my god, you are the biggest bullshitter I have ever met,” she replies with a bark of laugh. “No wonder you became an attorney.”

“I am a great bullshitter,” I admit. “But I’m not lying about this. I took your picture and zoomed in on your face because I needed to know who you were. When I showed the photo to Creed, he told me I was being a creep, but he recognized you. The next time I saw you in New York, it was at the Sixth Street Community Center fundraiser. I asked you out for the first time, and you turned me down.”

She shrugs. “You were a Ferraro.”

“What does that mean? Our families have always been close.”

Stella’s quiet for so long, I assume she’s not going to answer. But her arms wind around my neck tighter, and she presses a soft kiss to my cheek. It doesn’t answer my question, but I’ll gladly take it anyway, even if it’s just part of her act.

Eventually, she says, “There’s one problem with your sappy little story.”

“What’s that?”

“We didn’t actually meet that night on the beach.”

“Yes, we did,” I tell her confidently.

Her eyes widen in surprise. “We did?”

“You came to the steps leading to your parents’ house, and I said hi. You startled, apparently not noticing me sitting on them before I spoke. Then you said, ‘Whoops, wrong house,’ and walked off.”

“Oh. I don’t remember,” she says, and I’m not sure if it’s a lie or not. She doesn’t offer an explanation for why she lied about it not being her beach house.

I think the woman might be a damn good liar, just like she’s a great actress.

“You know,” I say next to her ear. “I have to commend you on your performance today. Our guests probably believe you actually like me.”

“It’s for my mom.”

“I know. But it’s a relief. Even if I do occasionally like prodding the viper.”

“Right,” she replies with a disbelieving snort.

“So, you know that’s what some people call you?”

“Yes.”

“How did you get that nickname exactly?”

“It was a long time ago.”

“In a galaxy far, far away?” I tease.

“Nope. In Central Park.”

I consider that piece of information for a second, putting it together. “So, the rumor about how you rubbed poison ivy on a guy’s dick when you were a teenager is true?”

“It’s true. He deserved it. I told him I wasn’t interested. He thought I was playing hard to get. He followed me when I was hanging out with some friends, grabbed me, and hauled me behind the bushes to kiss me. When he put my hand on his dick, I saw the plant on the ground.”

“How’d you get to it?”

“I got on my knees,” she says simply. “He was so busy pulling down his pants he didn’t notice me grabbing the greenery. Then I gave him a hand job he’ll never forget.”

Jesus. The thought of Stella being forced to touch some bastard’s dick at her current age pisses me the fuck off. Imagining a younger, more vulnerable teenage Stella having the same encounter makes me want to find the prick and fill him with lead.

“He deserved it. But you had the shit all over your hands afterward.”

“Life requires sacrifices, right? That’s what I made. Nobody tried any shit on me for years after that day…”

I don’t miss her underlying, unsaid words about how our wedding is a sacrifice she’s making too.

“Listen,” I start. “Tonight, we can just forget your offer.”

“A deal is a deal,” she replies while glancing over my shoulder, avoiding my eyes.

“Right, but I’d rather not end up with poison ivy dick.”

“There won’t be any plants going near your dick. One fuck with you isn’t the end of the world or anything.”

“That’s the way to a man’s heart — tell him about how sleeping with him could be worse.”

“Are you trying to talk me out of tonight?” she asks, pulling back to see my face. “You’re not nervous about your performance, are you?”

“Hell no, I’m not worried about my performance,” I assure her. “I’ll perform just fine, multiple times if requested.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But I won’t deny I’m nervous.”

“What? Why?” she asks with a furrowed brow.

“Because I’ve thought about being with you for years. I’m not sure if you can live up to all that hype.”

“Oh, you are such a dick,” Stella says, slapping me on the chest.

I smile down at her. “You’re not nervous, are you?”

“I never get my hopes up about sex. This time won’t be any different.”

“That’s just…sad. I’d tell you that you need to raise your expectations, but now I’m the only man you’re going to be screwing.”

“Or so, you think…”

I know she’s teasing, but the thought of Stella with another man enrages me. But rather than hype up our night, I decide to let it go and just dance with her.

The love song changes into something more upbeat. Before she knows what’s hit her, I take Stella’s hand in mine and pull her around the floor, spinning her out and back to me before the big move — dipping her and pressing a kiss to her stunned, parted lips.

“You can dance?” Stella asks as I pull her against my body again.

“Your husband is just full of surprises.” I smirk.