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GLORIA

S ome days are just unreal.

Some days are just unbearable.

Some days I feel like I can maybe handle what’s going on in my life. But then there’s days like today.

Devastatingly, unbelievably … defeating.

Or maybe it’s the entire week I’ve been through since the insanity at the club in the Hamptons.

I file another account away, altering the heading, swapping the invoice. Routine. It’s just doing my job.

Not criminal money laundering or anything.

Nope.

Just another item on the list of two hundred things I have left to do on my desk at the end of another day. Holding the phone against my cheek, I almost forget it’s there until the voice on the other end chirps again.

“Gloria?” Sonya’s accent is light, adorable really. Despite the fact that I grew up in France too, my mother’s English taught me to speak without the lilt.

“Sorry, I got distracted. What were you saying?”

“Just chattering on about nothing. Jean bought me roses, again .”

“Are you ever going to give him another chance?”

“ Non ! Well, maybe. He must fight for eet! Vous savez !”

“Oh, I know. You are such a diva.”

“And you are still on my sheetleest, Glow. Sudden job offer in New York? You are hiding something from moi , I just know eet.”

“I…it was sudden. I know. But it was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up.”

“ Oui, oui. Finding out you had family, I understand. Still…there is more, non ? Un amant ?”

“ Maybe . I…am sort of seeing someone? I don’t know what it is yet.” Liar. I know exactly what it is . Engaged. Soon to be married.

But I don’t know if it’s real.

Not since Adriano and I got hot and heavy at the club.

And then he basically disappeared for a week.

“As soon as you figure eet out, you had better spill.”

“I will. I miss you Sonya.”

“ Et moi toi, mon cher . Me too.”

“I promise, I’ll text you tomorrow. I have so much left to get done today.”

“Alright, Glow, just know that I love you, and you must come home to visit soon, or I will be forced to come to New York and make you take me on ze town, oui ?”

“ Oui, mon chéri !” I giggle, sighing. “Thanks for still being my friend, even though I vanished.”

“Always. Just don’t stay a stranger. Bonne nuit !”

“ Bonne nuit. ” Goodnight indeed. Staring at my phone for a moment I debate calling Anna, but I know it’s too late in Paris. And too risky to do in my office.

It never feels right.

The diploma on the wall. The master’s degree I never finished.

Not officially. With one semester to go, I get by well enough.

And Dom paid for this trophy.

According to New Hampshire University records I graduated with honors.

From a place I’ve never even visited.

Rising, I stretch, eyeing the clock. If I leave now, I can beat rush hour.

The stack of files on my desk can wait until tomorrow. Especially with the grand event looming ever closer. I haven’t planned anything yet.

Not that I don’t have a good reason.

Okay, I’ve just been procrastinating.

Rescheduling the appointments.

Dodging the vapid, obnoxious women that Dom has tried to thrust on me as “friends.” Every one of them has been showing up unannounced to take me out for a drink, to take me shopping. Fortunately, it’s easy enough to find plenty of work to do, but I am running out of excuses.

“Gloria, darling, are you heading to the wedding planner?” my father’s voice echoes down the stairs when I’m two steps from the bottom.

“I was …”

“Not going to make another excuse to keep dodging this. I want results. The date is set. The venue is paid for. Get it done. Or I will!” His tone shifts, like his moods, from paternal, to commanding, to chastising, to patronizing, and then finally, cheerful and light.

Why do I need to get it done?

Why do I need to get married?

The questions rattle around in my head and it takes every effort not to shout them at him, to demand to know what his infuriating plans are for.

“It’ll be easier if you have company. I’ll have Francesca come pick you up—” Another one of his crony’s wives, likely just paid to spend time with me, to watch me.

“Dad, I?—”

“Already blew off Natasha and Vicky when they so graciously tried to help you earlier this week.”

“They showed up in the middle of a phone meeting with the IRS and tried to ambush me. Forgive me if I kept doing my job in the middle of the workday.”

“Fair. But being the boss’s daughter has perks. If you want to leave early?—”

“No, I really don’t. I just want to?—”

“Do everything yourself. I get it. But I insist. Do I need to come with you?”

I’m opening my mouth to argue, watching the storm cloud form behind my father’s dark eyes when a deep voice fills the lobby, making my heart pound for a very different reason.

“I’ll take her.” That voice is smooth, soothing, calming my nerves immediately, before I even realize that it’s him.

Sweet, sweet Adriano, to the rescue.

At least I think he’s rescuing me. A glance back at him tells me nothing about his mood, his expression unreadable, that cool visage and casual stance revealing nothing.

“Really. You want to go to the wedding planner?” Dom mocks, already preparing another scathing tirade.

“Yes, actually. It’s my wedding too, right? I don’t want to wind up wearing a pink sequin suit, do I?”

“How did you know what I was going to pick?” I snap back, hiding my smile.

“Ugh. Maybe the two of you can try on dresses together while you’re at it. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you two actually like each other.” His eyes narrow slightly.

“Dom, do you really want to bore yourself with a whole afternoon of flowers, cakes, frills?”

My dad’s eyes widen slightly at the idea, his lips twisting in a disgusted grimace.

“When you put it that way. Have fun, girls.” Dom rolls his eyes, waving over his shoulder and disappearing from view.

Thank goodness he’s in a decent mood today.

Or at least not interested in micromanaging me.

“Shall we?” Adriano gestures for me to lead the way.

The drive is pleasant. Albeit a little quiet.

“Look, I know you probably would rather do this with your friends, but?—”

“No. I…would rather do this with you. Dom’s choice of girlfriends for me have been?—”

“Domineering, gaudy, mob wives and daughters?”

“To put it nicely.”

“Except they’re not, most of them.”

“And why are you being so nice all of a sudden?”

“When was I not nice?”

“When were you home or at the office or anywhere near me this week to be nice or not?”

“So the absence of me equals the absence of nice?” He smirks. “It wasn’t exactly my choice. And I figured you’d want time to?—”

“Think about how I don’t like being told what to do with my time?”

Adriano gives me a look, somewhere between surprise and amusement. “That was…”

“Not nice?”

As if on cue, we both burst out laughing, breaking the tension.

Then, to top it off, he reaches over as he looks back at the road, resting his hand on mine, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Parking is always a disaster in the city, but Adriano, and being with him…

He makes it look easy.

Inside, the place is an explosion of fabric, flowers, samples, mannequins in bridesmaid dresses. Basically, the most overwhelming shop I possibly could have picked.

Instant. Stress.

“So, this is the place?” Adri muses.

“I really just picked the first place I could find online near our apartment that had good reviews.”

“Solid thought process.”

“Thanks, it’s a talent of mine, waiting until the last minute and?—”

“Pulling out a miracle?”

“How’d you know?”

“Careful deduction.”

“Well, Sherlock, what does your deduction tell you I’m thinking now?”

“That you’d rather run screaming out the door and go get ice cream?”

“Damn. You’re good.”

“And you’re going to be fine. This place has that New York charm. Let’s just see what the lady…”

“Peggy,” a loud, gum smacking, nasal voice interrupts. “Come on, let’s get this over with, huh?”

She’s like someone out of a bad TV show. Leopard print tights, pink high heels, and hair halfway to the ceiling. Her desk is a disaster, scattered with photos, albums, swatches.

Adriano side-eyes me as he falls in behind the woman, mocking her put-out expression.

“Sit down and tell me how many people, where, etc.”

“Um, sorry, but your last name wouldn’t happen to be Bundy, would it?” Adriano asks offhandedly.

“No. Monagan. Why?”

“No reason.” I can see him bite the inside of his lip until his eyes water. This man is going to make me crack.

He’s also going to make this tolerable.

If I don’t totally insult the woman by laughing in her face.

“So? I ain’t got all day…” She tips one shoulder, fake smiling like she’s just teasing us.

New York charm, huh?

“Well, the venue is?—”

The phone rings at the counter. Then again before I can finish my sentence. No one appears to get it by the fourth ring. “Are you going to?—”

“Ugh. Aunt Gina, phone! What the hell?” Peggy heads into the back room, ignoring the phone.

So, we sit there for a few moments, awkwardly looking around.

Adriano shrugs at me.

“Maybe we should just?—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” a grumbling, muffled voice chimes in, shouldering the door open and rushing to the front counter. “Sandra’s Bridal Boutique, this is Sandra. I know, I apologize, I was out to lun?—”

The dark-haired woman, pretty in her mid-twenties stops, her expression souring suddenly. “Listen here bucko, you canceled on me last minute, no warning. My people showed up to an empty lot in the Bronx because you—what did you say?! How about this, you signed the contract, fuck-stick. No refunds!”

She slams the receiver down, her chest heaving.

Right before turning to us and smiling sweetly. “Hi! You must be Gloria Abate! I’m Sandra. You two look like you could use some help.”

“We need so much help,” I admit, smiling despite my nerves.

“Good. But first, would you like some champagne?”

Something about her, the way she carries herself, despite the wild antics, instantly endears her to me. She’s vibrant. Honest. Pretty.

And savage as fuck.

Just the kind of planner I need to help me make the hard calls.

The next hour flies by, the three of us chatting, laughing, drinking.

And actually making good decisions.

“Peggy? She’s my cousin’s wife. Unbearable bitch.” Sandra explains after Peggy makes another appearance, throwing a fit about Sandra “stealing her customers.”

“I heard that!”

“Go home Peggy!”

“I’m tellin’ your mother about this!” Peggy shouts, slamming out through the back door. Sandra just rolls her eyes and makes a gesture of strangling someone.

“See, I got guilt-tripped into giving her a job. She’s only supposed to answer the phone and make reservations. My momma Gina makes a lot of the dresses, does the fittings. She’s the best designer I’ve ever seen, no joke.”

“I can…see that,” I marvel, flipping through their catalog of dresses. Pausing on one in particular, my eyes trace the lace, the bodice, the train. “Gorgeous…”

And the signature at the bottom.

Sandra Holcom.

“You designed this?”

“I dabble. Studied fashion and design in Paris, actually.”

Instantly I snap to meet her gaze, my eyes lighting up. “ Non! Où avez-vous étudié? Where did you study?!”

“ Je suis dipl?mé de l’institut Francois de la mode, et toi? ” Sandra grins, sitting up at my question and leaning over the desk.

“New Hampshire University,” I say blandly, “But I did the majority of my education at HEC in Paris.”

“ Je suis ravi ! It’s so nice to meet someone else that I can?—”

“ Exprimez-vous ?”

“ Oui ! Yes, someone I can express myself with!”

Adriano clears his throat, grinning lightly. “ Excusez-moi , but my French isn’t quite that good.”

“Sorry,” I giggle, blushing as Sandra and I catch eyes again. It’s stupid. Getting so excited over nothing.

“Don’t apologize. And correct me if I’m wrong, but we’ve gotten so much done already, and the two of you really seem like you would get even more done without me here.”

“Cop out!” I tease, nudging him with my shoulder.

“Walk me out?” he asks, standing.

“Yes, my darling.” I follow him to the entry, waving my hands for him to stop. “What are you doing?”

“Uh, playing wingman for you with your new friend. This is right about the time I would move along when my brothers no longer needed my services…”

“What if I still need your services …”

Halfway out the door, Adri pulls me close suddenly, my heart skipping a beat as his powerful arm encircles my waist. The kiss he lays on me has my head whirling, exploding into stars behind my eyes.

“Take all the time you want. I’ll see you at home later.” His grin is real. Full. And he’s right. I’m having a blast with Sandra.

“What if she … it’s her job.”

“No, her job is to sell you the moon. Not fly over it with you gushing about France and everything else you have in common.”

Maybe …

“Gloria.”

“Yeah?”

“Have. Fun.”

And just like that I feel a weight lifted, like I’m not being forced to be married. Like I have a real fiancé who’s looking out for my interests. Who gets me.

Turning back to the table, I take a breath. Sandra has my color samples lined up, my flower arrangements laid out, and the dress that I am almost certain I must have pinned and noted with changes to suit me. It’s perfect. It’s starting to become real.

Best of all, the woman smiling at me over her glass of bubbly, wagging her eyebrows at our display of affection, might actually be, dare I say it, a new friend?