Page 45 of One of Them

For the rest of the afternoon, we lounged around, enjoying the sun, the sea, and the drinks the host provided. Perhaps the company, too. Though the men still participated in the occasional battle of stares.

I understood the hesitation; there might never be trust between them. But it wasn’t above me to put them all on timeout if they dared ruin this weekend for Alisa.

When the sun dipped, casting a golden glow over the horizon, I realized the afternoon had slipped by unnoticed. The bride-to-be and I retreated to our rooms shortly before dinner. She wanted some pampering and a “girls’ get-ready” moment. I was prepared for it, taking the role seriously. These were the things I could get behind. I knew the wedding meant the world to her, so making every moment count felt important.

Excitement filled me at the simple thought of having someone to share these things with. Ridiculous, maybe, but I’d long dreamed about this day.

More when I was growing up, but even now. To have a female friend. To have someone who didn’t seem to judge or envy, unlike the vipers in the Bratva.

Naturally, we took our time getting ready. When my phone connected to the central system, the entire house had no choice but to listen to the playlist. We danced and paraded around in different outfits, laughing and joking about the most likely pissed members of the group, wherever they were.

When the room seemed to explode, with hangers, clothes, and makeup everywhere, we were finally ready.

Confident in our choices, we headed for the door. Before shutting the room behind me, I looked back and laughed at the state of my temporary bedroom. But I made no move to change anything.

It was perfect.

Down the hall, we followed the clinking of dishes that resonated through the house.

Italians and their late-night dinners. By eight p.m., the chef had finished cooking the last dish, and with the sounds of crickets and crashing waves as our backdrop, we gathered on the patio for a family-style dinner. The setup, however, was anything but casual.

A massive circular wooden table, brimming with food, awaited us. Enzo, ever the gentleman, held out chairs for Alisa and me before seating himself.

Maxim lingered by the beach, finishing his cigarette, his watchful gaze trailing our every move. Luka, always the early one, had already claimed his spot at the table before anyone else arrived.

The smell was heavenly. Having survived on little more than wine and air, my stomach growled in protest. With the host preoccupied, instructing the staff on wine pairings, we all turned our attention to the menu. By thetime the wine and bread arrived, I was ready to eat off the floor if it meant getting food faster.

Enzo thanked the staff for their efforts and dismissed them for the night.

The moment they left, we dug in, busily passing sides around the table.

“This feels… very domestic,” I said between bites, savoring the moment.

Enzo held up a serving bowl of greens, carefully passing it to Alisa. “The chef made some salads for you,” he said with an air of politeness.

The gesture didn’t go unnoticed. Maxim, ever sharp, immediately reacted. “Are you suggesting my sister needs to lose weight?”

“Maxim!” Alisa shot him a scolding glare, clearly mortified.

In a calm, measured tone, Enzo clarified, “I’m simply accommodating the requests of my guests.”

“Requests?” Maxim’s eyes narrowed, locking on his sister. “Alisa, what’s this nonsense?”

Luka leaned back, gesturing lazily with his fork. “Seriously, since when do you care about that stuff?”

Enzo didn’t intervene further, though the napkin in his hand twisted tighter.

Alisa accepted the bowl gracefully, offering Enzo a small smile before serving herself. “I’m just watching my weight before the wedding,” she explained, keeping her tone casual. “The dress was custom-made, so I can’t afford to gain anything.”

Her words left a bitter taste even in my mouth. Judging by their reactions, this wasn’t normal for her.

Then again, Alisa had never planned a wedding before. I wasn’t sure any of them fully realized the pressure she was putting on herself to make everything perfect.

Maxim’s voice broke through, sharper now. “Since when do you restrict yourself?”

Alisa sighed, pushing her plate slightly forward. “I want to look perfect on my wedding day, alright? Can we please just drop it? My weekend, my rules.”

“And what are those rules?” the host asked.

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