Page 68 of Married with Mayhem

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, Ihave. 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.

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