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Stella

“H ow are you feeling today?” Annie Stokes, my therapist asks as we take our seats in the usual places in her small but comfortable office.

I slump down onto the beige sofa, hugging one of the blue throw pillows while she sits across from me in a gray armchair and crosses her legs. The soothing rock fountain on the end table next to me is one of my favorite things about our appointments. It relaxes me even when I’m stressing the fuck out.

But not even the trickling water can calm me down today.

“Not great,” I tell her. “My brother just informed me this morning I’m getting married.”

Her brow furrows, aging the thirty-something year old blonde. She studies me from behind her burgundy cat-eye glasses, which match her sweater. “Your brother told you you’re getting married?”

“Yes. I mean, he’s not forcing me or anything. I guess I should’ve said he’s guilting me into getting married.”

“How did your brother guilt you into doing something so drastic?”

“Because it’s for the good of the family. It’s what my father wanted.”

Annie nods, swishing her ponytail before scribbling notes onto her notepad with her blue ink pen. “Is it? What your father wanted, I mean?”

“Yes. Daddy mentioned it before he…died or was killed.”

“You still believe your father was killed? That he didn’t take his own life?”

“My father was a mean son of a bitch, but he wasn’t one to bail on us. On my mom. And Izaiah’s drug problem wasn’t Daddy’s fault, so that part of his note doesn’t make sense.”

Looking up at me again, Annie asks, “Would you like to talk more about your father’s death or the wedding?”

“Ugh, they’re both equally traumatizing,” I groan and lean my head back on the sofa, wanting to scream into the pillow on my lap.

“Why is a wedding traumatizing to you, Stella?”

“Because it’s…it feels like I’m being caged. Trapped.”

“Like you’re no longer in control of your life?” she asks.

“Yes. Exactly.”

“But you’re determined to go through with the wedding?”

“Well, I can’t refuse,” I explain to her. “I mean, I won’t refuse now. I told my brother I’d go through with it. So, there’s no escaping.”

“It’s difficult for you, and yet you’re still going to endure it?”

“My brother has his reasons.” I pick at my fingernails, which are in desperate need of a manicure, refusing to elaborate because I can’t. The first rule of the mafia is you don’t talk about family business to strangers. Not even your therapist. “I have my reasons too.”

“And what are your reasons for going through with this marriage even though you’re struggling with the idea?”

“Because I know it’ll make my mom happy. She could really use something good right now, you know?” And it’ll give me a chance to prove to my brother Creed Ferraro killed our brother and father.

Nodding in understanding and giving me a sad smile, Annie asks, “Is she still receiving medical care at home?”

“Yes. End of life care to keep her comfortable is what they call it.”

“That must be incredibly hard, to see her so sick and have her medical care, her life expectancy out of your control.”

I shake my head. “I hate it. I wish…I’d do anything to help her, but she’s given up.”

“Given up on the cancer treatments?”

“Yes! She’d stopped them before my brother and dad…before we lost them. I know she’s in pain, that she’s been sick for a long time. I just wish she wouldn’t give up yet.”

“Because you don’t want to lose her?”

I nod, knowing without Annie telling me that I’m being selfish. “I just wish I had more time with her.”

Tapping her pen on her notepad, she says, “You remember what we discussed about wishes, Stella?”

Rolling my eyes, I mutter, “I know. They’re a waste of time when I should be focusing on the things I can do, things I can actually make happen.”

“Right. So, what can you do to help your mother?”

Sighing, I consider her question for a long moment. “I can try to keep her comfortable and…I can get married to a man I barely know so she’ll get to see at least one of her children happy before she...you know.”

“Do you think you’ll be happy on your wedding day, in this marriage?”

“God no,” I practically snort. “But I can pretend for her.”

“And your fiancé?”

“What about him?”

“Will he be pretending to be happy as well?” she asks.

“Oh. I guess…shit, I’ll have to convince him to go along with it all.”

“You don’t think he’s happy about marrying you?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. He’s asked me out plenty of times, but I haven’t spoken to him since my brother told me I had marry him.”

Frowning, she questions softly, “Are you sure this is a good idea? Pretending? Even if you think it’s for a good cause?”

With a bark of laughter, I tell her the truth. “No, it’s a horrible idea! I know that. But it’s the best I’ve got right now. My mom barely made it through my father’s funeral. She still worries Izaiah is out there somewhere in pain or dying and there’s nothing she can do about it.”

“Do you think that’s true?”

I shake my head, swallowing around the knot in my throat. “No. My brother is dead. If it wasn’t drugs, then it was probably something else that got him into trouble. He stepped on the wrong toes or whatever, I guess. My mom, I think deep down she knows that, too, but she prefers to be…optimistic, if you can call it that. It’s more like denial.”

“Do you blame her?”

“No, I guess denial is better than accepting the truth in this situation.”

“Okay. Well, I have one more question for you before our time is up.”

“What’s that?”

“Do you think you could find a way to take back control?”

“Take back control?” I repeat.

“It’s possible doing so will help you feel better about the marriage arrangement.”

“I guess I could try.”

“Great. Now, would you like to schedule another appointment for this week?”

“Yes, please,” I quickly reply with a smirk.

Annie says, “I thought you could use the extra session, especially since we will need to discuss the intimacy concerns within a marriage. I’ll move some things around and fit you in. Is it okay if I send you a text?”

“That’s fine,” I agree. “Thank you.”

“Until next time, I want you to think of some things you can do to take back control, given this unexpected twist in your life. And if you can’t, then perhaps this situation is one you should reconsider being ‘guilted’ into doing for your family.”

“Okay,” I say, even though I know without a doubt I can’t reconsider.

* * *

Saint texted to tell me Andre Ferraro is on his way over, so I rush home to get changed.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’re getting married?” Cami asks with a huge grin as soon as I walk into the house, my hands full of shopping bags.

None of my family know I’m seeing a therapist. I tell them I’m going shopping when I leave for appointments, taking private cars and no guards. Since Saint doesn’t believe Creed Ferraro is the bad guy, he doesn’t think my sister and I need guards in Manhattan. Apparently, Aiden Sanna would have to be an idiot to attack us in Ferraro’s borough.

“It’s no cause for celebration,” I tell my sister when I set the bags on the floor and remove my long leather coat. “It’s an arrangement. And I barely know anything about the man other than his infamous family name.”

“I think it’s romantic.”

“Romantic? Marrying someone I don’t know out of obligation? Seriously?” I start to tell her if she thinks it’s so damn romantic then maybe she should marry Andre Ferraro.

But I don’t, because I wouldn’t wish him or his family on my worst enemy.

Which also happens to be the Ferarros.

“I can’t wait to start planning! Mom is going to be so happy!”

“Yes, she will,” I agree with a heavy sigh as I tuck my hair behind my ear. “I haven’t told her yet, so give me a chance to do it first. And don’t tell her it’s an arranged marriage either.”

“Sure, yeah. And I’ll go ahead and start searching for dresses and caterers online. Oh, and florists!”

“You do that.” I don’t really care about any of the wedding shit.

“We don’t have much time to get everything done if you’re getting hitched in a few weeks. I bet I could convince the bridal boutiques to bring dresses here for you to try on so Mom can see them.” That’s not a horrible idea. “Size eight, right?”

“I think wedding dresses run small, so maybe ask for sizes eight, ten, and twelve. Just to cover all the bases.”

I can’t believe I’m standing in the hallway, talking about wedding dresses sizes with my sister. I’m really going through with this wedding.

Once Saint has the money from Creed Ferraro and my mom passes away, well, you better believe I’ll be on the phone with a damn good divorce attorney. There won’t be any reason to continue the charade afterward.

For now, though, the wedding is for the good of our family. Remembering what Saint said about our father’s debt, I tell my overeager sister, “Go easy on the budget, okay? Seriously, Cami. The ceremony doesn’t have to be anything too fancy. I just want the basics covered.”

“If you say so,” she agrees. “It’s going to be so fun, but I’m going to miss you.” She throws her arms around me in a choking hug.

“I’m going to miss you too,” I admit while my face is buried in her shoulder-length hair. I’ll have to leave the only home I’ve ever known to go live with a mobster lawyer in his place. Damn. I didn’t think about that.

If I refuse, our family risks losing our house. I can always come back after the divorce. “I don’t even know where he lives,” I admit to Cami. “What if it’s a shithole?”

Pulling back from our embrace, she frowns. “I doubt he lives in a shithole, but I could do some research on that. Andre Ferraro, right?”

“That’s the one.”

“I don’t know much about him except he’s crazy hot.”

I scoff and ignore the pinch of jealousy in my stomach. “Looks don’t make up for everything.”

“Oh, well, I’m sure he’ll be good to you. Daddy and Saint wouldn’t have agreed to this marriage if they didn’t think you’d be happy and safe with him.”

“Right, I’m sure my safety and happiness were their top priority when they agreed to this union,” I mutter, rolling my eyes.

“Okay, then, I’m off to start my research. I’ll let you know what I find.”

“Thanks, Cami. I’ll check on Mom, then I better get ready since my fiancé is on his way over.” It’ll help me get through the next few weeks if I don’t have to fool with all the specific plans and can just focus on ensuring our Mom makes it to the wedding day. “What if Mom’s too sick to attend the ceremony? It’s outside on a fucking rooftop for christ’s sake,” I tell Cami before she heads up the stairs. What was our father thinking when he set the date?

“If Mom can’t attend, then we’ll figure something out,” she declares when she grips the mahogany banister. “Like a live video feed.”

“That’s not the same. I don’t know why we can’t have the ceremony here.”

“The rooftop will be perfect, so let’s hope she holds on until then. I wasn’t sure if she’d make it through Daddy’s funeral.” Neither was I.

Cami rushes up to get to work while I trudge behind her to get ready. I’m not sure why I even care about how I look for Andre Ferraro, but I do. I guess I want to show him what he’ll never have.