Page 36 of Mine Again (Mafia Bride #2)

Chapter Thirty-Five

Isabella

“ A nother?” Dario asks, lifting the champagne bottle with dramatic flair, like it’s a magic wand sent to rescue me.

No, wait.

Is it Dario? Or Derek? Donald?

I’m pretty sure his name starts with a D.

Whatever. At this point, he could be called Donatello, and I wouldn’t care.

The important thing is that he’s holding out that bottle like he knows it’s the solution to the gnawing, hollow ache in my chest. And maybe it is.

I really shouldn’t drink any more. I already had two glasses with dinner and another when I arrived here in the back room of the plush chapel Sebastian picked for us to get married in.

Still, my hand shoots out before I can stop it, my fingers wrapping around the cool glass.

“Yes,” I say, a little too eager.

I’m past tipsy, teetering on the edge of drunk, but I can’t seem to stop myself.

Dario—let’s go with that—giggles as he pours, his bracelets jingling with the movement.

He’s been fussing over my hair for what seems like forever, winding it into rollers and promising me extra-luscious curls worthy of any bride. Now, as the curls set, he’s laying out his brushes, ready to paint my face with what he calls my bridal glow .

“Why are you nervous, babe?” he asks as I down the champagne like it’s water. His voice is playful, and his eyes are kind.

“I’ve seen your man,” he goes on, fanning himself with one perfectly manicured hand. “Oh, he’s a hunk. And those eyes! Dio mio, they could cut steel. If only he weren’t straight, I would snatch him from you without an ounce of guilt.”

I try to laugh, but it comes out like a strangled hyena squeak, and I slap a hand over my mouth. The alcohol. Definitely the alcohol.

Vegas. We arrived last night, swept in on a tide of money and secrets.

Sebastian and I spent the day on wedding errands, finalizing the ceremony details, choosing a dress and a tux—separately, of course—collecting the marriage license, and wandering the city hand in hand.

That part was fun. I’d never left Sicily before, and everything here is loud, glittering, and unreal.

But then dinner came, and with it the nerves. The sinking feeling. The weight.

Sebastian, for his part, had been all easy smiles and calm confidence. Like getting married tonight is no bigger decision than what to order off a menu. Like this is merely another step in a well-laid plan.

And perhaps for him, it is.

But for me?

For me, it’s like standing at the edge of a cliff and not knowing if I’m about to fly or fall.

“This is a mistake,” I mutter, staring at my reflection, the room starting to blur at the edges.

Dario freezes, eyeliner pencil poised beneath my lash line. “Wait. The makeup? I promise you it won’t be over the top—”

“The wedding,” I interrupt him.

“Oh.” His eyes widen for a beat before softening. “It’s just cold feet, babe. I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve played counselor before the ceremony. It’s totally normal.”

Is it?

Needing to move, I push up from the chair, my skin buzzing with too much energy. The room spins, and I clutch his arm to stay upright.

“Babe. You need food.”

“No. I just got up too fast,” I insist, though the room keeps tilting.

I sink back down. Dario starts loosening the rollers, unwinding each curl as if it were spun from gold. He fluffs one and hums in approval before moving on to the next.

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Fair,” he says, fluffing another curl. “But you are marrying that man today?”

“Yes.”

“Do you love him?”

“No… not yet… but I could. I hope.”

“Great. Love that journey for you.” His tone is light, but I can see the flicker of worry in his eyes as he smooths a strand into place.

“I don’t really know Sebastian.” That hit me yesterday the second he picked me up.

“Can you ever really know anyone?”

I thought I knew Luca… and he understood me better than I did myself. That makes me pause.

That couldn’t have been healthy, for me anyway. I was too codependent.

But with everything that’s happened, I know myself better now. Don’t I?

I recognize who I am. And I’ve been choosing my own path, at least within the limits of my life.

“I’m here because that’s what I want,” I whisper to myself.

“What was that, gorgeous?”

“Nothing,” I say, letting out a shaky breath.

I stare down at my empty glass, my engagement ring glinting under the lights. That sinking sensation in my stomach churns harder.

Screw it.

I need more alcohol. It helps me forget, keeps me from falling apart.

Heart thudding, I hold out my glass wordlessly. Dario eyes the bottle in the ice bucket, then looks at me.

“You don’t need more champagne. Talk to me.” His tone is half concerned, half coaxing, like he’s ready to play therapist if he has to. “What’s the problem?”

Me. Luca not being here. Not knowing what I’m getting myself into with Sebastian.

“I thought I had a good feel for Sebastian—”

“God, I hope you had a good feel of him,” Dario cuts in, giggling and fanning himself with one hand. “That man is so delicious. I’d climb him like a tree.”

I almost smile. “I haven’t slept with him yet. He probably thinks I’m a virgin.”

Dario’s eyes widen in the mirror as he unwinds another curl and fluffs it into place. “Okay. I take it you’re not?”

“No. Though I haven’t had sex in years. Five, to be precise.”

“Is that why he assumes you’re a virgin?”

“No. I told him my family is traditional. They expected me to wait until my wedding night. They might not even realize… though they’d have to suspect, right?”

Dario snorts as he shakes out another curl. “Babe. You’re gorgeous. You’re not fifteen. People have sex lives. Even in traditional families.”

“I should have told him. Do you think he’ll be mad when he finds out?”

“Why would he be mad? He doesn’t exactly give off choirboy energy. You two never talked about it?”

I shake my head. “We never talked about sex. Or exes.”

“Well,” Dario says, pinning a curl behind my ear, “it sounds like you two have a lot of fun conversations ahead. You’ve got a lifetime to catch up on that.”

I’m still shaking my head, the room tilting. “But see, that’s what I mean. I don’t really know him. Like, at all.”

I stare at my reflection, my words tumbling out faster now, champagne courage fueling me.

“I suspected his family had wealth. You can tell from the clothes, the car, the estate. But I wasn’t ready for the sleek jet waiting for us at a private airstrip. Ever heard of Hale Enterprises? That was written all across it in silver letters.”

Dario shakes his head, still working my curls into what can only be described as a work of art. “No, but tell me why this is a problem. Most girls would kill for that.”

I wave him off, or I think I do. “Sebastian said it was his cousin’s jet. Said they’re close. But he never even mentioned a cousin before.”

Dario clucks his tongue. “And?”

“Don’t get me wrong, flying in luxury was great. But it didn’t stop there. We’re staying in a huge two-bedroom suite at the Waldorf. And there’s no casino. This is Vegas. Why is there no casino?”

Dario whistles and gives me a look in the mirror like I’ve grown a second head.

“Lucky bitch. The Waldorf doesn’t need a casino. That’s where rich people go to be invisible in plain sight. Privacy, babe. Exclusivity. It’s not like every other hotel on the Strip.”

He goes back to adjusting my curls. “Did Sebastian insist on separate rooms?”

I nod, my head so damn heavy.

“He said it was important to him that we wait. That our wedding night should be the start of something, not a continuation.” I should be touched. Maybe I am. Mostly I’m just… unsettled.

“Oh babe, he sounds like a dream. So sweet. And honestly, no way a man like that is a dud in bed.”

I blink at him. “I hadn’t even considered that. Is that why he hasn’t pushed for more?”

“I refuse to believe that’s even a possibility. He’s being respectful. Trust me. Your wedding night is going to be spectacular.”

My wedding night .

I tap my glass against the vanity. This time, Dario just sighs and tops it up. The champagne fizzes like it’s judging me.

I down it in one go.

It burns now. That’s probably not a good sign.

My tongue seems numb. Or is it my head? Hard to tell.

“This isn’t how I imagined it,” I whisper, blinking at the mirror as if it might morph into a portal and pull me out of this room.

“What? Running off to Vegas? Babe, it’s fabulous. Daring. Romantic. Especially with that man and that wallet.”

I snort, which turns into a hiccup, then laughter, then another hiccup until tears blur my vision.

“I feel like I’m betraying someone.”

And there it is. The crux of the matter.