Page 21 of Gilded Saint

Long-buried guilt threatens to erupt. If he knew me for who I am, Nick, known in my covert communications as Falcon, would have me killed in the most inhumane and excruciatingly painful manner known to assassins.

“Unless she’s a hag.” His nose crinkles in disgust. “Is she ghastly?”

“Nick.” My tone is meant as a warning, but he cackles.

“My money says she’s–”

I glare at him, and he wisely shuts the fuck up.

Silence mixes with the dust as I dress, and Nick feigns interest in the clergy’s papers. I fumble with the buttons, and he pushes my hands away and finishes buttoning my shirt and ties the bow tie. There’s no mirror in the room, but I trust his skill. I don’t need a mirror to know he’s tied it better than I could.

“You, my mate, look like a man about to shackle his ball sack.”

“Thanks for that.”

There’s a knock at the door, and Willow’s cousin, the redhead, peers in. “Are you ready?”

“I am.”

“No, you’re not.” Nick says and shifts his coat, withdrawing a velvet bag. “Rings.”

“I’m sure the Gaglianos?—”

“They don’t know your ring size. And you don’t want a bride with some tasteless ring on her finger.” His gaze travels to the redhead, and, for once, Nick appears apologetic. “No offense, love.”

“None taken,” she says. “My name is Scarlet.” She holds the door open, waiting for us to exit.

“How do you know my ring size?” Inside the velvet bag there are indeed two rings.

Nick’s transfixed on Scarlet, but casually says, “I know everything about you, mate.”

If that were true, I wouldn’t be alive.

“Let’s go.” Scarlet, tired of waiting, returns to the church with long strides, leaving us to catch up. She completely disregarded Nick.

That might be the first time I’ve ever seen a woman ignore Nick. He’s flustered by it, too, looking at me as if he wants to ask if I saw that.

“She married?” he asks.

“Don’t believe so.”

“Fascinating.”

“Are you two coming?” she calls, halfway to the church.

All I can do is grin and rush to catch up.

Grinning like a lunatic has never been a more apt fit. My alias is marrying an Italian mafia princess, and a leader in an international criminal syndicate will stand by my side as my best man. And he’s eye-fucking my bride’s cousin as if she’s a woman he can select from a menu board. If I live to tell the tale, no one will ever believe me.

Chapter9

Willow

As a child, I daydreamed of a wedding in the Collegiate Church of Santa Maria Maddalena, a historic church with views of the coast. In my dream, I wore a splendid, ornate gown with a long train befitting royalty. In my childhood fantasy, friends and family packed the pews.

Five family members are present for our nuptials. My father, mother, brother, Scarlet, and my aunt. One person is present for my groom, a man I’ve never met.

When I pitched Orlando’s crazy idea, desperation drove me. I believed the arrangement would be mutually beneficial. But what if there is no benefit for my groom? He claims he’s straight. He’s not a politician. No one cares that he’s not married. And if he wanted to marry for love, he’s handsome. He could easily find someone to marry for love, which begs the question: At his age, why is he single? Has he been married before? I don’t have any idea. I didn’t even think of asking when we walked along the beach because “have you ever been married before” isn’t something my friends and I ask each other.

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