Page 7
O livia
T his week is going by too quickly. I haven’t come to terms with the idea of becoming Mrs. Piotr Reznov.
I can’t imagine what my life will be like.
Piotr spends a lot of time in Europe. Will he expect me to travel with him or will he tuck me away in some apartment on the Upper East Side and leave me to my own devices?
I have no clue what he wants from a wife.
He hasn’t spoken to me since he shoved me into Damiano’s car four nights ago and I sure as hell don’t intend to call him up and ask.
My cousin gave me Piotr’s number, but I won’t use it.
As old-fashioned as it sounds, I expect him to be the one to chase after me.
Though there’s nothing romantic about our union, I still want the wedding to be special.
After all, the chances of me ever marrying again are slim.
Divorce just doesn’t happen in our world, and Piotr’s too careful to ever get taken out by one of his enemies.
The only person who’s likely to get close enough to slit his throat is me, and I don’t have the stomach for that.
I’ll just have to suck it up and make the best of a bad situation.
After I had dinner with the Russian asshole in Florence, Antonio ordered me to get my ass home.
Damiano and Lorenzo came with me. Their brother, Gabriele, won’t be coming for the wedding, but that’s no surprise.
He’s locked himself away in his mansion in Rome and refuses to see anyone.
He conducts what business he can remotely and delegates the rest to his brothers.
Thankfully, my overbearing cousins are staying at The Vicente, my sister-in-law Emilia’s hotel.
Having them underfoot in my family home would be more than I could bear right now.
It’s bad enough that my brothers keep dropping in to make sure I’m behaving myself.
Well, three of my brothers. Matteo hasn’t spoken to me since my return to the States, but his silence sends a clear message.
He doesn’t care if I want to marry Reznov or not.
Even if I told him Piotr spanked me, he wouldn’t give a shit.
As I recall how I felt when Piotr’s palm hit my bare butt cheeks, a shiver runs down my spine.
I shouldn’t have liked it when he did that, but it stirred something deep inside me, that primal desire I already knew existed.
I want a man like Piotr to dominate me in the bedroom, to bend me to his will.
He’ll open my eyes to a world of pleasure.
I thought I’d found a man who could do that once before, but he turned out to be a creep.
Piotr won’t disappoint me sexually, but I’m afraid he’ll carry his need for control into every aspect of our lives. That I can’t allow.
“Livvy.” My sister-in-law’s voice breaks into my thoughts. “We’re here.”
“Oh.” I was so distracted I didn’t notice we’d pulled up at the bridal boutique.
Emilia studies me closely, her brow furrowed in concern. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, of course.”
As Dante Parisi, Antonio’s right-hand man and my shadow for the day, opens the door, I hop out onto the sidewalk and wait for Emilia to follow.
With so little time to organize a wedding, the only way to get everything done is to divide and conquer.
My mother has gone up to Connecticut to get our Westport mansion ready.
It’s where I wanted to hold the wedding.
Piotr and I will exchange vows in the library with sixty carefully selected guests to witness the formalities.
Then a party for our extended family, friends, and business associates will be held in a marquee on the lawn.
The most important members of the Volante and Reznov organizations will be there.
After missing out on Alessandro’s, Leo’s, and Matteo’s weddings, it’s essential that Antonio’s men are included in mine.
It’s important to foster a sense of unity.
Many felt snubbed when my brothers robbed them of the opportunity to witness their marriages.
My brother Leo and his wife Vinnie have also gone to Connecticut. Leo will oversee security arrangements and Vinnie’s taking care of the catering. Her best friend, Beniamino, is an incredible chef, so he’ll do the actual cooking.
My other sister-in-law, Isabella, is dealing with the flowers, cake, photographer, and anything else she can think of. I believe she’s roped Giulia in to help, but I haven’t spoken to Matteo’s wife since I returned either.
With everyone else occupied, Emilia volunteered to help me find a dress.
I’m glad to have her with me. Of all my brothers’ wives, she’s the one I like best. She’s closest to my age and is possibly the sweetest person on Earth.
Life has thrown a lot of shit at her in the past year, but she never complains.
She’s the walking embodiment of the idea of counting your blessings, focusing on all she’s built and not what she’s lost. It’s why I’ve asked her to be a bridesmaid, along with my cousin Alessia, who’ll be joining us any minute when she’s done with her early morning class at NYU.
“This is exciting,” Emilia says as we walk past Dante into the boutique. “Alessandro chose my dress for me, so I didn’t get the chance to go shopping.”
“I know.” My brother may be a controlling asshole, but I can’t fault his taste.
He chose the perfect dress for Emilia before he even met her.
He openly admits now that he was smitten with the pretty Italian from the moment he first saw a photo of her.
Their marriage resulted from an arrangement between her grandfather and our family.
Poor Emilia knew nothing about it, or her family’s mafia ties, until Alessandro swept into her life.
“Do you regret not picking your own dress?”
Emilia shakes her head and smiles fondly. “No. He chose exactly what I’d have picked.”
She has a dreamy look in her eyes, and I can’t help wondering if I’ll ever get like that over Piotr. It would be nice to think we could grow to love each other, but I won’t hold my breath.
“Miss Volante?” An older, gray-haired woman rushes to greet us. “I’m Clare Maxwell. I’m honored you’ve chosen my little store. May I get you some champagne?”
I grimace at Clare’s ingratiating tone. There was a time when I reveled in having people bowing and scraping to me, but now it pisses me off. I’ve done nothing to earn such reverence, apart from being born into the Volante family.
“Please,” Emilia answers when the silence drags on.
Clare sweeps her arm out toward a seating area with a sofa and two chairs. “Make yourselves comfortable. My head stylist will come and assist you in a moment.”
“No.” My tone is so abrupt, Emilia shoots me an admonishing glare. I try to tamp down my irritation. “That won’t be necessary, thank you. We’d like to look around by ourselves.”
From the glower on her face, it’s clear this isn’t how Clare usually deals with the brides who come into her store, but the last thing I want is someone fussing over me.
I don’t feel like answering a thousand questions about the wedding plans and my husband-to-be.
It’s going to be hard enough to pick a dress while wrestling with my mixed emotions over marrying Piotr.
Listening to some overly enthusiastic assistant twittering in my ear about how lucky I am would be unbearable.
“Very well,” she says tightly. “I’ll have some champagne brought out.”
As we walk farther into the store, my heels sinking into the plush lilac carpet, the door opens behind us and Alessia breezes in. The grin on her face spells trouble.
“What’s that look for?” I ask.
“Ran into that asshole Dante outside.” Alessia and Dante seem to love pissing each other off. “Didn’t know he was babysitting today. Bit below his paygrade, isn’t it?”
I snort derisively. “Antonio called in the big guns to make sure I don’t skip town.”
I exchange a kiss on each cheek with my cousin and then step back.
“Is that a possibility?” Alessia’s grin slides away to be replaced by concern.
“No, I’m resigned to my fate.” Realizing I’m standing between my two bridesmaids, I move to the side. “Do you know Emilia?”
“Yes, we met at Aunt Ava’s, I think.”
“That’s right.” Emilia accepts a kiss from my cousin. “You’re a student, yes?”
Alessia’s chest puffs up a little. She’s justifiably proud of her academic achievements. “I’m doing my Masters in International Relations.”
“You want to be a diplomat?” Emilia asks.
“Not really.” Alessia’s long, dark ponytail swishes as she shakes her head. “I want to work for Antonio. I thought learning about complex relationships would be useful.”
“Good luck getting the sexist asshole to give you a job,” I grumble.
“Antonio’s not the dinosaur you think he is,” Alessia protests. “He’s been asking when the course is finished. He seems interested in my progress.”
“Perhaps he wants to marry you off to one of his associates and needs you to be done with college first.” I can’t stop myself from taking a jab at her.
“Nah.” Alessia brushes off my comment. “One of the benefits of being related on your mom’s side is that Antonio doesn’t interfere in our personal lives.”
That’s true. Alessia’s father, Robert, doesn’t come from a Mafia background. He’s of English, rather than Italian heritage. When he married my aunt Angela, he made it clear he intended to stay well out of our family’s business.
“Shouldn’t we start looking?” Emilia asks as a young woman comes over, carrying two glasses of champagne. “We don’t have much time.”
“I guess so.” I take a glass from the assistant, and she hands the other to Emilia. “Could we have another for my cousin, please?”
“Yes, of course, Miss Volante. Right away.”
As she scurries off to do my bidding, Emilia waves a hand toward the sea of white satin and lace before us. “So, what sort of dress are you looking for?”
Sipping my champagne, I drop onto the white leather sofa in the center of the room.
“I have absolutely no idea.”