Page 27 of Precious Hazard (Perfectly Imperfect #11)

“So?” I adjust my veil and do a quick pirouette in front of the wall mirror. “What do you think?”

The horrified look on Sienna’s face is outright comical. She’s frozen in the middle of my room, her frantic eyes roving up and down as she gapes at my wedding dress.

“Arturo is going to lose his shit,” she whispers.

“I don’t see why. I’ve followed each of his specified parameters.”

My dress is floor-length, covering me from my neck to the tips of my pointy shoes.

The matte satin skirt falls in a graceful A-line.

An empire waist and modest chapel train exude timeless sophistication and create a flattering silhouette.

The fitted long sleeves and body-hugging bodice are a fusion of draped panel detail and lacy fabric, and a delicate belt and a beautiful pearl-encrusted brooch cinch just below the bust. A stunning blooming motif adds a hint of intrigue to the hidden décolletage.

For additional drama, a waterfall sash flows from the raised waistline down the front of the gown.

I smile at my reflection in the mirror. The dress is elegant and a thousand times better than I ever imagined it could be.

“It’s black, Tara!”

“It’s not my fault your brother didn’t specify the color in the prenup.

That meant I was free to choose whichever shade I wanted on my own.

He set the rules, and I merely exploited a loophole, so he doesn’t have anyone but himself to blame.

At least the dress isn’t as depressing as what I initially requested.

Originally, I just asked Zahara Spada for something suitable to wear to a funeral.

This is gorgeous, no?” My cleavage is not on display.

The regal high neckline completely takes care of that, actually.

Granted, there is a little peekaboo action happening through the elaborate three-dimensional floral pattern.

But that’s lace! No slits means no one is in danger of seeing my unmentionables.

’Cause God forbid an old Italian man gets a glimpse of my backside.

Jeez! “And look, it comes with a vintage-inspired beaded fishnet headpiece.” I slide the headband on and arrange the edge of the short veil over the upper part of my face. “Perfect.”

“You can’t show up to your wedding dressed in black! It will cause an epic scandal.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it.”

Sienna grabs my shoulders, spinning me around to face her, and pulls the hair band with the veil off my head.

“Listen, I get it. You want to stick it to Arturo for making you marry him. But, the two of you did come to an understanding, didn’t you? It’s just for a year. Why not try to make it as painless as possible, for both your sakes?”

“I wasn’t given a choice, Sienna. He backed me into a corner, and I can’t let him get away with it.

I might have agreed, but I’ll never be who he expects me to be.

So yeah, I intend to exploit every loophole, every ambiguity in that prenup filled with insulting clauses that he made me sign.

I’ll be more than happy to deal with your brother’s wrath if it means I get my own chance to fuck with him. ”

“Arturo would never hurt you. I know him.”

“The man you know is your brother. Arturo. The man who raised you, cared for you, loved you above all else. But he is that man for you and your sister alone. To everyone else, he is Arturo DeVille, Salvatore Ajello’s right hand.

The underboss of the New York Cosa Nostra.

Ruthless. Cruel. Incapable of unselfish feelings, just as his boss is.

Trust me on that.” I put my veil back in place, then grab my black clutch off the bed.

“And I’ll make sure that for the rest of his life, he curses the day he decided to mess with mine. ”

The sharp tap of my heels on the wooden floor breaks the abnormal silence in the mansion.

As I rush down the wide stairwell, an echo from Sienna’s shimmering yellow pumps follows close behind.

Almost everyone is already at the wedding venue, with only Drago and Keva remaining in the house.

Both are waiting by the front door, with their faces tilted up, gaping at me as I descend.

“Tara!” Keva exclaims when I stop before them. “What in hell is this?”

“Artie and I wanted to match our outfits for our big day.” I grin. “So cute, isn’t it?”

“That’s hardly appropriate. Black is for mourning, girl, not something to be married in. Drago, please knock some sense into her and make her go change this instant.”

I steal a look at my brother, expecting him to start questioning my choice of outfit. Or, more specifically, my reasons behind it. Until this moment, I didn’t even consider that it might clue him in that something isn’t as it seems. Shit.

Drago looks me over through narrowed eyes for what feels like an eternity, then dips his head until we’re face-to-face. “Do you have something you want to tell me, sis?”

“Well”—I bite my lower lip—“I asked the guys to disassemble and pack my bookshelves, and have them moved to my new home. I hope that’s okay?”

“Of course. Anything else you want to share?” The look in his eyes grows more intense as his gaze focuses on my black veil.

“Um… I think I might have killed Norbert.”

One of his thick eyebrows shoots up.

“The peace lily you gave me. He’s down to only a handful of leaves, but I’m taking him with me anyway.

With everything going on, I forgot to water him regularly.

And, you know, plants need water. But I’m sure he’ll bounce back real quick.

A new beginning, for the both of us.” I’m babbling like an idiot, but Drago makes me nervous as hell when he looks at me like that. As if he sees through each of my lies.

“Mm-hmm. I hope both you and the plant enjoy the change of scenery. Love the dress, by the way.” He straightens and opens the front door. “Time to go, then. Can’t have Artie worried that you’re not coming, can we?”

“Yeah. Sure.” I force a smile and quickly dash past him.

“Oh, just one thing, Tara.”

I stop in my tracks. “Yes?”

Gravel crunches under the soles of his shoes as Drago comes up behind me. His gait is unhurried and measured. He stops right next to me and leans over to whisper in my ear.

“I love you, Tara. And I will always be here for you. No matter what happens, I’ll listen and help if you need it.

Even if it’s something really bad. I know you want to do things on your own, but hopefully, you realize that you don’t have to.

All you need to do is ask. Never be afraid to do that. Okay?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Also… If I ever find out that Italian schmuck has hurt you in any way… any way at all… I’m going to kill him.”

A cold shudder races down my spine. That. That’s the exact thing I was afraid of. Gathering every ounce of resolve left within me, I turn on my heel and tilt my chin up.

“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind. But rest assured, what I feel toward him, I’ve never felt for any other man. Trust me on that.”

***

The car door swings open.

“We’re here.”

I stare at my brother’s extended hand, unable to move.

It started raining when we were halfway to the wedding venue.

The sound of raindrops smashing on the roof of the car echoed inside my head, making it feel as if someone was banging a hammer against my temple.

Or maybe that was just my heartbeat. My pulse skyrocketed with every mile we drew nearer.

“Tara?”

“Sorry.” I grab Drago’s hand, imagining it as a lifeline, and step out of the vehicle. “Just um… excited. And… ah… nervous, too.”

“Hey. I know there’ll be a ton of people there you won’t know. If you don’t think you can handle that, say the word. I’ll get rid of them faster than you can blink, and we can have a more intimate ceremony.”

“I’m fine, Drago. But thank you. You’re the best brother a girl could have.”

The tightness in my chest increases as I approach the building, and it feels as if something huge and heavy is pressing on me, making breathing almost impossible.

My legs have turned to stone, weighing me down while I climb the slippery granite steps.

Would the wedding be delayed if I accidentally slipped and broke a leg?

Probably not. Satan would likely demand we complete the ceremony before he’d consider rushing me to the ER.

At the top of the grand stairs, two valets in red and gold uniforms are holding open the glass double doors.

The lobby of the luxury resort chosen as the location for the nuptials is overflowing with white and sage flowers.

They are everywhere. Along the walls, suspended from the high ceiling, arrayed in tall overflowing pots set up at the base of the chiffon-draped pergola.

More arrangements create a tunnel-like structure of beautiful blooms that leads toward another set of doors.

Beyond them, the conference hall that’s been turned into a wedding venue.

An epic, flower-framed aisle bisects row upon row of white seats, where at least five hundred people have gathered.

All of them, staring at me.

If I weren’t holding on to Drago’s arm, I’d have undoubtedly stumbled walking in. I school my features to hide the panic threatening to consume me and take careful steps toward the altar and the table covered in white satin on the far wall.

Every set of wide eyes I meet is gawking at me in curiosity, disbelief, and outrage.

All of them, except one.

Dressed in an impeccable black suit, Arturo DeVille is waiting for me at the end of my path.

His dark gaze follows my every step. Despite appearing to be a dignified groom, I recognize the tightly controlled expression on his face.

There’s no surprise, no shock concealed in his features.

It’s pure, savage rage. Hidden behind the mask of a polite smile meant to fool all these people.