Page 111 of The Woman in the Garage

“I did explain my limited plant skills, so she said she would pop in now and then to check on it.”

“Don’t let her fool you. That’s just an excuse for her to stop in and ask you when we’re going to be getting married.”

“I mean, it would have to be a spring wedding, wouldn’t it?” she asked, eyes going dreamy, and I just knew she was picturing the flowers, the table linens, the rustic barn venue she learned that Matteo ran.

“Spring sounds good to me,” I agreed, taking the plant as she passed it to me.

“I have to go help make the garlic knots.”

With that, she was gone, leaving Dante and Massimo smirking at me.

“Spring, huh?” Mass asked. “Guess you better start looking for a ring then.”

Dasha - 1 year

“Thank you so much for this,” I said as I approached Antony at the end of the hallway.

I’d spent the whole morning in the bridal suite with all of the Grassi women. It had been loud and full of laughter and so, so perfect.

We’d sipped champagne, pinned flowers to the hair of the flower girls and to the chests of the ring bearers. We put them in our own hair.

They helped me zip up my gown—white, of course, but it had a pretty pastel flower pattern as well.

When I’d mentioned to Santo roughly a year ago that I was picturing a spring wedding, I hadn’t exactly expected for it to be the very next spring. But now that it was here, it felt so right.

There was no reason to wait.

We’d both known our road was going to lead here eventually. Almost from the moment we’d met.

“Oh, sweetheart, you have nothing to thank me for,” Anthony said, offering me his arm. I slid mine into his and his free hand came up to hold my arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I never got to have a little girl of my own. Nothing makes me happier than to get to walk you down the aisle.”

I shot him a smile, my eyes watering.

My own family, small as it was, decided not to make the international trip for the wedding. And while I wasn’t surprised, I had to admit it stung. But the love of Santo’s family—soon to be called my own—was a balm. Soothing and healing.

I would never again have to worry about there not being someone there for me. I had dozens of new loved ones to lean on, to rely on to be there for important moments.

“Hey, none of that.” Antony reached into his pocket for a handkerchief, dabbing under my eyes. “At least not until Santo gets to see how beautiful you look.”

I blinked the rest of the tears away.

“Let’s officially go make you my niece,” he said, giving my arm another squeeze, then leading me up toward where the Grassi bridesmaids were waiting to start down the aisle.

I expected to feel nerves when the music signaled our turn to make our way to the altar.

But all I felt was a marrow-deep sort ofrightness.

Everything in this life—my early losses, my lonely childhood, my disappointing family life, my bad choices in men, my move across the country, and all of that fear and uncertainty and nail-biting scenarios that came with—had been nudging me here.

Right here.

To this very moment.

As I looked down the aisle to see Santo standing there in his tux, looking as emotional as I felt.

My heart doubled in my chest as Antony led me down toward my future husband, pausing to kiss my cheek as he gave me away.

“Last chance to run away,” Santo teased, eyes watery as he took my hands.

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