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13

SAbrINA

M y mother insists on combing the tangles out of my wet hair as if I’m five. I’m a little preoccupied, so I let her.

“He’s so handsome,” she says with a dreamy smile. “I see the way he looks at you. He loves you. Monte will be a good husband.”

She can be forgiven for being a trifle simplistic when it comes to relationships. After all, my mother wasn’t even out of her teens when her own father shipped her off to marry American mafia boss Albie Barone. Marriage to my toad of a father was all she knew. It’s truly amazing that she still clings to any romantic notions at all but she does.

Now I feel guilty. I’m not excited to see the way her bubble of happiness will burst when she hears that Monte and I are not getting married today.

And I’m pissed at myself. This wouldn’t be the first time my big, impulsive mouth has caused trouble.

“We’re engaged!”

Leave it to me to panic and blurt out something stupid. Couldn’t I have come up with a better reason why I was sharing a motel room with my half naked bodyguard?

Maybe I should have anticipated that the minute the planes were flying again my uncle would immediately jet across thousands of miles to please my nervous mother. And why didn’t I just let Monte pay for the room? I made it way too easy for Vittorio to trace my exact location.

What’s more, as luck (bad luck, but still luck) would have it, there’s a regional airport less than five miles from here. My uncle’s private jet, containing my mother and more than a dozen of his favorite malevolent mob enforcers, landed an hour ago.

The least they could have done is call with a heads up that they were on their way over here. That would have saved us all from a lot of distress. I feel sick every time I think about the bruises on Monte’s face after my uncle’s men roughed him up. And then I feel sicker when I realize how much worse the situation could have been.

“Maybe we should check on them,” I say, more than a little nervous that Monte has been abducted to a private conference with my uncle.

But my mother isn’t even listening. She’s humming and smiling. She plants a kiss on my cheek and smiles at our reflection in the mirror.

“ La mia bambina ,” she whispers and gets a little misty-eyed.

I’m used to being babied by my mother and sisters. And I’ve given them a lot of reasons to worry. I’ve broken my ankle on a yacht, crashed into the wall of the garage and suffered an appendicitis attack on the day of Anni’s wedding. I’m a magnet for mayhem.

These days my resumé has some new bullet points. Thanks to the card game, I ignited a New York mafia brawl, which forced me to go on the run with Monte, who I’m now accidentally engaged to.

But I created this mess and I need to fix it.

“We should call the girls,” I say, struck with inspiration. “I haven’t told them the news.”

Daisy won’t be much help. She’ll probably just gush and tell me that I’ll be a beautiful bride. But Annalisa will hit the freaking roof. Anni will put a stop to the madness by sheer force of her iron will. And Luca is a lawyer. My smooth-talking charmer of a brother-in-law might have a real shot at talking some sense into Vittorio.

“Sure, we will call them,” says my mother and kisses my cheek again.

When she steps out of the bathroom, I hastily shed my bath towel in exchange for the plaid skirt and pink top I’d left beside the sink right before stepping into the shower. Life was simpler back then. I wasn’t someone’s fiancée.

Back in the room, my mother is busy making the beds for some reason. She’s humming again. I’m searching for my phone so I can discreetly fire off a 911 text to Anni when the door opens and a new chapter in the wedding saga begins.

After spending twenty minutes with my uncle, Monte has experienced a transformation. While I’ve been feverishly composing a hundred-and-one reasons why it’s an absurd idea for us to get married today, he saunters in with Vittorio, claps his hands together and announces, “Looks like a great day to have a wedding.”

Stunned, I check the area to see if there’s a gun pointed at his head again. There isn’t.

Perhaps he suffered a concussion when those jerks beat him up. However, aside from the discolored swelling on his right cheek, he doesn’t appear to be under any duress at all.

Vittorio stands beside him and checks his phone. “Everything is being taken care of.”

“We’ll need a priest,” my mother points out. She’s smiling so much she might crack her face.

“And you’ll have one,” my uncle assures her in a gentle tone that he doesn’t use with anyone else. “The marriage license is being procured. A selection of dresses and rings will arrive shortly. The ceremony will take place right here in the conference room. A local Italian restaurant has been persuaded to cater. I’m not sure what passes for decent food out here but we will work with what we have.”

I’m looking at Monte, expecting him to erupt with objections. He just stands there and listens, calm as a mannequin, while our imminent nuptials are planned.

My uncle finally remembers that I’m here. “Sabrina, do you have any requests for the wedding menu?”

“Make sure you add some manicotti,” my mother suggests. “It’s her favorite.”

Yes it is, however I’m not exactly hungry right now.

“Oh, Monte dear,” I say in a tone that I hope sounds fiancée-ish, “can we go have a talk?”

He responds with a placid stare. “Afraid not,” he says. “I shouldn’t even be in here. It’s bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony. Anyway, I need to go with Vittorio to hunt down a tux.”

For a second, I’m so baffled I’m about to run across the room and shake him until he snaps out of this trance.

Then a chilling certainty hits me.

Vittorio must have made one hell of a terrifying threat for Monte to go along with this sham. That’s the only explanation that makes sense. Knowing Vittorio, he probably extended the threat to Monte’s family.

If I refuse to participate, or if I admit that the whole engagement thing was a lie, what will happen to Monte? And to Nico and Sal? My uncle is not an understanding man. To cross him would be a death wish.

Oh Monte, I’m so sorry I got you into this.

I try to catch his eye and somehow communicate that I will never put his life at risk. I have no doubt Vittorio would drag me back to Sicily if I don’t cooperate but that seems like a small matter compared to Monte’s safety. If the only way to save him is to go through with this phony marriage arrangement for a little while then I can do that.

Just the thought of Monte being harmed steals all the breath from my lungs. I want to vomit. Or faint. My knees have become watery and I sink down on the corner of the nearest bed.

Mama is now shooing the menfolk out of the room. “We have lots to do,” she says. “No more looking at the bride.”

“See you at the altar, babe,” Monte says on his way out the door.

It takes me a moment to realize he’s talking to me. He must be furious. If I were him, I’d be furious.

A week ago, Monte was living a nice, uncomplicated New York life. But then Hurricane Sabrina came to town and he had to give up his bed, tangle with Lenny The Mobster and then flee halfway across the country. Now he’s being forced to get married somewhere in Kansas. What a shitshow.

To be fair, no one could have predicted this chain of events. I hope he can forgive me.

Once we’re alone again, Mama kneels down in front of me and takes my hands, looking up anxiously into my face. “You’ve already been with Monte, haven’t you?”

“Of course,” I reply without thinking. “I’ve been with him for days.”

Her eyes widen. “Are you feeling all right?”

Not really. I’m having trouble adjusting to my change in status and to the threat that Monte will be killed if I don’t agree to be his wife.

But now I see my mother’s dismayed expression and realize she meant something quite different.

“Wait. No, Mama, I haven’t…”

Well, I have . But not lately and not with Monte. She doesn’t need to know that.

“Monte and I haven’t had sex,” I confirm with my cheeks burning. “Notice how the two beds look like they’ve both been slept in. There’s a reason for that.”

She takes a look around, nods with satisfaction, and moves to sit beside me on the bed. “Then your wedding night will be extra special.”

She leans in to kiss my forehead, unaware that I’ve discovered a brand new reason to panic.

It’s one thing to use a fantasy version of Monte to get myself off. The prospect of those fantasies coming true is something quite different. Because Monte would discover very quickly that my clumsy incompetence extends to the bedroom.

Of all the things to be stressed out about right now, the prospect of sexually disappointing my pretend husband should be low on the list. I’ll have to worry about it later.

There’s no getting out of this. Calling Anni and Luca will only make the situation more chaotic. What matters the most for today is making sure Monte is safe. Once Vittorio sees us get married he’ll fly back to Sicily and then we can deal with fixing the marriage situation.

Vittorio turns out to be something of an underworld Santa Claus and his grim gunmen are his helper elves. Between the lot of them, they get shit done. In no time, a bevy of bridal dresses have been delivered for me to choose from. A piece of paper is brandished and I’m required to add my signature. The words ‘Marriage License’ are stamped in bold script across the top of the page and I gulp but I also sign it, noting with surprise that Monte signed it first.

Alas, nobody bothered to ask what size I am before going shopping. After a frenzied fitting session, only one dress will both fit over my hips and contain my boobs and I’m pushing my luck there. There are no strapless bras in my suitcase but with a rack like mine, going braless isn’t a realistic option. Mama cuts the straps from an ordinary white bra and it’ll have to do. A long mirror has been brought into the room and Mama pushes me to stand in front of it.

“ Bellissima ,” she clucks and starts fussing with my hair.

The dress isn’t my style at all. Too glamorous and too revealing. The off-the-shoulder lacy short sleeves leave me feeling exposed and there’s an eye-popping amount of cleavage on display. If I sneeze, there’s a fifty percent chance a boob will pop out. The length was not designed for a short person and the gown puddles around my feet. Heels are out of the question. Mama frowns when I pull on my pink Converse sneakers but I’m not willing to risk another broken ankle.

A tray of fruit and cheese is delivered by one of Vittorio’s men and Mama orders me to eat a few bites. While my stomach is feeling very uncertain about food, I don’t want her to get upset so I choke down a few grapes and two cheese cubes.

Next, a woman named Trixie shows up with six pounds of yellow hair piled atop her head and two giant pastel cosmetic cases in her manicured hands. She speaks about three decibels louder than necessary but she’s nice enough.

“The groom is one lucky guy,” she says with a cluck of her tongue. “Honey, with a body like that you could make a killing on Only Girls.”

Mama stands in the doorway of the bathroom and watches Trixie use a curling iron on my hair. “What does this mean?”

“It’s a video game,” I tell my mother because that’s simpler than the truth.

Trixie smiles and unfurls another long curl from the wand.

Half an hour later, my transformation is complete. My long brown hair has been turned into a cascade of spiral curls. There’s about eight times more makeup on my face than I’ve ever worn before. Technically, this clingy bridal gown covers everything and yet I’ve never felt more exposed.

Trixie is pleased with her work. “Stunning. Wait until your future husband sees you. He’ll fall right over.”

Yes, he might fall over, but not for the reasons she thinks.

My mother gets briefly distracted when Trixie insists on adding some glamour to the mother of the bride. I grab my phone and fire off a text to Monte.

Are you okay????

Four hours have passed since he left the room with my uncle. I’ve been stuck in here getting primped the entire time and I’m deeply uneasy that I have no clue what’s going on with him.

Three dots appear on the screen to indicate he’s texting back. I hold my breath.

Never better.

More dots appear.

See you soon.

He must not be free to talk. I can picture Vittorio looking over his shoulder.

“Look at your beautiful mother,” Trixie says.

Even with a layer of makeup on, I can see that Mama is blushing. Her dark hair shows streaks of grey and she usually wears it tied up but now it curls softly past her shoulders.

I’ve always known my mother is beautiful in the way that all children think their mothers are beautiful. She’s beautiful to me because she’s my mother. But now for the first time I see a glimpse of the hopeful, lovely girl she must have been nearly three decades ago before my father broke her down.

If there’s one silver lining in today’s madness, it’s that I’ve made my mother happy. She thinks I’m in love and she believes Monte loves me.

“You really do look very pretty, Mama,” I say.

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m old.”

“You’re not,” I insist and take her hands. “You’re not old at all.”

Back at the villa, there’s a gardener named Cesar who comes around once a week. He’s good looking, widowed, and always brings her flowers. I’ve seen her watching him and she blushes over his flirty manner but she never reciprocates. I think she’s afraid to. She might be surprised to hear how much I can relate.

A sudden sharp knock on the door makes my stomach flip over. Trixie answers and Vittorio stands on the other side. Behind him are two of his men.

“Everyone is waiting,” Vittorio says and jerks his head at one of his men, who steps forward with a bouquet of peach-colored flowers.

With the bouquet in one hand and a fistful of my long wedding gown in the other, I follow my uncle to the first floor conference room. Somewhere along the way, it was decided that my uncle would be the one to walk me down the aisle. Mama kisses my cheek before Vittorio’s men escort her into the room and I’m briefly left alone with my uncle.

He holds his arm out and waits until I take it. “I hope this will be a joyous day for you, Sabrina.”

I’d love to mash my flower bouquet in his smug face. He’s allergic to pollen. The big bad mafia boss is sensitive to flowers. But I can do no such thing while Monte’s life is on the line.

I need to unlock my clenched jaw before saying, “Thank you, Uncle Vittorio. I’m so grateful for everything you’ve done for me. No girl has ever had a better wedding day.”

His dark chuckle seems to indicate that he finds my phony enthusiasm amusing. What a creep.

The double doors to the conference room are opened and my uncle lightly tugs on my arm until I start to move. The room isn’t very big but it’s not as if there’s a huge audience. Aside from Mama, the only guests are the members of my uncle’s entourage.

I’m suddenly extremely aware just how much this dress shows off my body. I want to run when I notice all the eyes discreetly raking me over. These men would never openly disrespect Vittorio’s niece but they are still men and when men see boobs, they stare.

This has to be the most awkward march down the aisle that ever lived. While Vittorio keeps his arm looped through mine in case I’m tempted to make a break for it, I’m stuck juggling the bouquet and holding up a wad of satin dress fabric so I don’t trip. The room gets a glimpse of my pink sneakers but that can’t be helped. At least I had time to shave my legs this morning before my room was raided.

Vittorio deposits me at the end of the aisle beside Monte. I was so distracted by my quest to avoid tripping that I haven’t yet taken a good look at the man I’m supposed to marry.

He’s both dashing and devilish in a crisp black tux with his face bruised from this morning’s scuffle with Vittorio’s men. Definitely a switch from his typical dress code of casual jeans. Yet he wears the tux with no hint of discomfort. Monte looks beyond excellent and at any other time I’d be ogling him and committing the sight to memory.

When I adjust my dress to drag the hem from underneath my shoes, I falter a little. Monte’s hand shoots out to take my elbow and steady me. I glance up, hoping to meet his eyes and find sympathy and an understanding that we’re in this together. I want him to know that if I need to endure a forced marriage to anyone, I’m so very glad it’s him.

Monte might not feel the same way. He barely meets my gaze before looking away and facing the priest.

The priest, a small man who is perspiring heavily while shooting nervous glances at my uncle, has a heavy Spanish accent. I can only imagine what was said to the poor guy before he was dragged here to perform a spontaneous wedding. His voice quavers and he speaks very rapidly, obviously eager to get this business over with.

He’s not the only one. Every second I stand here, a spectacle in my excessively sexy wedding dress, is pure torment. The air conditioning must have been cranked up to maximum volume and the room is practically glacial. Any second now my teeth will start to chatter.

“Hold on,” Monte barks, sharply cutting the priest off just as he reaches the marriage vow portion of the ceremony.

Murmurs of surprise ripple through the room. It seems Monte can’t go through with this after all. Maybe he’s come up with a brilliant excuse. Or maybe he’s just going to dare my uncle to do his worst.

I’m both relieved and extremely fearful as I await Monte’s next words.

But he has none. Monte simply shrugs out of his tuxedo blazer and carefully drapes it over my shoulders. The jacket is warm and huge enough to cover most of my exposed skin.

Struggling not to cry, I give him a look of gratitude. He answers with a wink.

We have to do this. At least we’re doing it with each other. That takes most of the sting out.

I forgot about rings but naturally Vittorio did not. A rather gaudy diamond is placed on my finger and my hands shake only a little when I slide a thick band on Monte’s finger. I’m told to repeat words of an eternal promise and I do.

“I do,” Monte says when his turn comes and that’s that.

The priest wipes his sweaty forehead with a folded handkerchief. “You may now kiss your bride.”

Forgot about this part too. It’s not as if there’s anything distasteful about kissing Monte. I just never envisioned doing it before a room full of people right after we were ordered to say marriage vows.

Monte tips my chin up and lowers his head. I don’t even have time to react before he fleetingly brushes his lips over mine. It's barely a kiss. More like a chaste skim of our mouths while I’m heavily distracted.

But the deed is done. We are married.

My mother snaps photos of us on her phone. She embraces Monte and kisses his cheek. Trays of food are brought in and set up buffet-style at the back of the room. Vittorio’s men descend on the food with all the energy of a hyena pack. Monte is pulled away by Vittorio, which sucks because I really need to have a private chat with my new husband.

In the meantime, I’m keeping his jacket. I push my arms through the sleeves, pleased at how it’s roomy enough to shield my boobs from public scrutiny.

Some round dining tables are brought in and my uncle’s men plunk themselves down to stuff their faces like they might not see food again for a week. A rolling liquor cart also arrives and wine begins flowing freely.

There are occasional distant pops from outside. Fireworks. I’ve completely forgotten it’s the Fourth of July. At least that will make it easier to remember my wedding date.

My mother glowers at the men and stays glued to my side. She does her best to prod me into eating. I finally take a few bites to make her happy but all the while I’m waiting for Monte to return. The longer he’s alone with my uncle, the more anxious I get. I can’t even call him because my phone was left up in the room.

I want to take this stupid dress off. I want to take a nap. I want it to be yesterday.

“Here.” My mother abruptly shoves her phone up to my ear. “Luca and Anni want to congratulate you.”

Oh, boy.

“Hello?” I say with caution, expecting to hear my sister going ballistic.

Luckily, it’s her husband on the other end for now.

“Well,” Luca says, “if it isn’t the blushing bride. Your sister had to step outside to calm down.”

I groan. “How mad is she, on a scale of one to ten?”

“Catatonic with rage,” he says. “I’m not sure if she’s planning to strangle Monte or Vittorio first. Toss up.”

For the moment, my mother has drifted away and is scolding the men for eating like pigs.

“This wasn’t Monte’s fault,” I tell Luca, speaking just above a whisper. “I’ll explain when we get to Colorado but please don’t be angry with him.”

“I’m not,” Luca sighs. “How are you doing?”

“I’m sitting here in a wedding dress that’s cutting off my circulation and trying not to throw up the manicotti I just ate. I’m fabulous. But don’t say a word to Mama. She’s on some romance fantasy cloud right now and thinks I’ve found my true love.”

Luca snorts. “You and Monte. The way I remember it, you two could barely say hello without a verbal warzone breaking out.”

“Haha. Go take care of my baby niece and hide all the guns and knives from my sister.”

“Good idea. Enjoy your wedding night, Mrs. Castelli.” He starts cackling so I hang up on him.

Mama insists on accompanying me when I visit the restroom. Two of Vittorio’s men follow us.

“Go away,” I hiss at them because at this point I’m awfully cranky. Plus, the henchman on the left is the one who hit Monte so he’s not my favorite person. The men stare blankly back because I’m not nearly as scary as Vittorio. At least they don’t stand inside the bathroom while I’m peeing.

I was hoping to catch a glimpse of Monte while I was walking around outside the conference room but he’s nowhere in sight and neither is Vittorio. Another hour passes before they show up.

When Monte finally walks into the room he immediately searches me out, looking relieved to find me sitting at a table while Mama tries to cram more food into my mouth.

Of course I’m still here. Where the hell does he think I’d go? I’m not even allowed to visit the restroom without being trailed by mafia thugs.

His sleeves are rolled up past his elbows, his tie is gone and a few shirt buttons are undone. He’s so absurdly sexy that for a moment an odd sense of pride surges, as if he truly is my husband.

Monte and Vittorio have grown a lot more chummy in the past few hours. They stand at the buffet table together, chatting and piling their plates with food before walking this way to take seats at our table.

“Where have you been?” I say to Monte and then cringe over the way I sound like an actual wife.

Monte brought a wine bottle with him. He fills a glass and passes it to me. “We had a few things to discuss.”

I try to detect any sign that he’s already drunk. Nope, his eyes are sharp and his movements precise. All signs point to the fact that he’s stone cold sober.

Vittorio makes savage cuts to the veal on his plate. “Sabrina, do you remember that little problem you two had in New York?”

If he’s not talking about Lenny Lombardo then I have no idea what else it could be. “Um, I think so.”

“This problem no longer exists.” My uncle takes the wine bottle and pours himself a glass. “Consider it a wedding present.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, wondering about the correct etiquette when a mob hit is presented to you as a gift. I sneak a discreet glance at Monte. He’s completely calm while rolling spaghetti around his fork. Being forced into marriage sure hasn’t affected his appetite.

My uncle stands and raises his glass. “To my lovely niece Sabrina and her new husband. Salute .”

Every man in the room raises his glass. “ Salute .”

A three tier wedding cake arrives and I can’t imagine where it would have come from on such short notice. Apparently there are no limits to what Vittorio Messina can procure on demand. Weddings. Dead mobsters. Gourmet cakes. All in a day’s work.

I’m still pushing my slice of cake around on my plate when I hear Vittorio say that his whole crew will be spending the night at the motel and flying out early tomorrow. The quilting convention is over so there’s no shortage of rooms here in town now.

However, I’ll still be sharing a room with Monte because there’s no way to explain why I wouldn’t want to spend my wedding night with my new husband.

Mama isn’t returning to Sicily yet. She’ll be accompanying us to Colorado in order to visit Anni and meet little Jane. I wonder if Monte realizes that with my mother around, we’ll need to pretend to be married until she leaves. He doesn’t seem to be especially worried about this topic so maybe not.

Speaking of being married, we can’t linger here in the conference room forever. Mama notes the time and inches closer to me.

“I’m sure you can’t wait to be alone with your husband,” she says with a meaningful smile. “You and Monte don’t need to stay.”

Unfortunately, Vittorio has eavesdropped and decides to add his two cents. “Excellent. I think it’s time we all said good night to the happy couple.”

Monte pushes his chair back and for a second his polite mask disappears, replaced with fiery hatred. His cooperation is an act. He despises my uncle and I can’t blame him. Vittorio has almost certainly threatened everyone he loves.

Monte stands and extends a hand to me. All the cold fury has disappeared from his face as he gently helps me up. We haven’t had a chance to speak privately all day. I need to tell him that I’m sorry and that I’ll do whatever it takes to keep him and his family safe.

In a few minutes I’ll be able to tell him anything I want because we’ll finally be alone together. In our room. On our wedding night.

He’s quiet on the walk up to the room but scowls when he notices two of Vittorio’s men following us.

“What the fuck are they gonna do?” he grumbles. “Listen at the door?”

I turn around long enough to glimpse the two bulky, unsmiling men trailing us and feel nauseous at the idea. But Monte might not be too far off from the truth and I’m reminded of a very critical fact.

Everyone else expects us to have a real wedding night.

Which leaves me to consider a very relevant and troubling question.

Does Monte expect this too?