Page 70 of Married with Mayhem

He’s both dashing and devilish in a crisp black tux with his face bruised from this morning’s scuffle with Vittorio’s men. Definitely a switch from his typical dress code of casual jeans. Yet he wears the tux with no hint of discomfort. Monte looks beyond excellent and at any other time I’d be ogling him and committing the sight to memory.

When I adjust my dress to drag the hem from underneath my shoes, I falter a little. Monte’s hand shoots out to take my elbow and steady me. I glance up, hoping to meet his eyes andfind sympathy and an understanding that we’re in this together. I want him to know that if I need to endure a forced marriage to anyone, I’m so very glad it’s him.

Monte might not feel the same way. He barely meets my gaze before looking away and facing the priest.

The priest, a small man who is perspiring heavily while shooting nervous glances at my uncle, has a heavy Spanish accent. I can only imagine what was said to the poor guy before he was dragged here to perform a spontaneous wedding. His voice quavers and he speaks very rapidly, obviously eager to get this business over with.

He’s not the only one. Every second I stand here, a spectacle in my excessively sexy wedding dress, is pure torment. The air conditioning must have been cranked up to maximum volume and the room is practically glacial. Any second now my teeth will start to chatter.

“Hold on,” Monte barks, sharply cutting the priest off just as he reaches the marriage vow portion of the ceremony.

Murmurs of surprise ripple through the room. It seems Monte can’t go through with this after all. Maybe he’s come up with a brilliant excuse. Or maybe he’s just going to dare my uncle to do his worst.

I’m both relieved and extremely fearful as I await Monte’s next words.

But he has none. Monte simply shrugs out of his tuxedo blazer and carefully drapes it over my shoulders. The jacket is warm and huge enough to cover most of my exposed skin.

Struggling not to cry, I give him a look of gratitude. He answers with a wink.

We have to do this. At least we’re doing it with each other. That takes most of the sting out.

I forgot about rings but naturally Vittorio did not. A rather gaudy diamond is placed on my finger and my hands shake onlya little when I slide a thick band on Monte’s finger. I’m told to repeat words of an eternal promise and I do.

“I do,” Monte says when his turn comes and that’s that.

The priest wipes his sweaty forehead with a folded handkerchief. “You may now kiss your bride.”

Forgot about this part too. It’s not as if there’s anything distasteful about kissing Monte. I just never envisioned doing it before a room full of people right after we were ordered to say marriage vows.

Monte tips my chin up and lowers his head. I don’t even have time to react before he fleetingly brushes his lips over mine. It's barely a kiss. More like a chaste skim of our mouths while I’m heavily distracted.

But the deed is done. We are married.

My mother snaps photos of us on her phone. She embraces Monte and kisses his cheek. Trays of food are brought in and set up buffet-style at the back of the room. Vittorio’s men descend on the food with all the energy of a hyena pack. Monte is pulled away by Vittorio, which sucks because I really need to have a private chat with my new husband.

In the meantime, I’m keeping his jacket. I push my arms through the sleeves, pleased at how it’s roomy enough to shield my boobs from public scrutiny.

Some round dining tables are brought in and my uncle’s men plunk themselves down to stuff their faces like they might not see food again for a week. A rolling liquor cart also arrives and wine begins flowing freely.

There are occasional distant pops from outside. Fireworks. I’ve completely forgotten it’s the Fourth of July. At least that will make it easier to remember my wedding date.

My mother glowers at the men and stays glued to my side. She does her best to prod me into eating. I finally take a few bites to make her happy but all the while I’m waiting for Monteto return. The longer he’s alone with my uncle, the more anxious I get. I can’t even call him because my phone was left up in the room.

I want to take this stupid dress off. I want to take a nap. I want it to be yesterday.

“Here.” My mother abruptly shoves her phone up to my ear. “Luca and Anni want to congratulate you.”

Oh, boy.

“Hello?” I say with caution, expecting to hear my sister going ballistic.

Luckily, it’s her husband on the other end for now.

“Well,” Luca says, “if it isn’t the blushing bride. Your sister had to step outside to calm down.”

I groan. “How mad is she, on a scale of one to ten?”

“Catatonic with rage,” he says. “I’m not sure if she’s planning to strangle Monte or Vittorio first. Toss up.”

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