Page 21 of His Vow
“Can I invite Rose to the wedding?” she asks before pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. My gaze drops to her mouth.Fuck, I wish she wouldn’t do that.It fills my head with sexy thoughts that have no place being there.
“Of course.”
Rose is Lucia’s closest friend from school. We’ve met several times over the years, and it’ll be good for her to have someone other than me for support.
“And Dante?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “No. He really isn’t happy about any of this. If he was there, at best, he’d try to stop us. And at worse, he’d punch you. He really doesn’t need to know anything about our plans.”
“Good call, then.” I stand and pick up the empty glasses and plates.
When Luce offers help, I take the plate she’s holding too. “Cleanup is something Icando in the kitchen.”
She giggles. “One day I’m going to teach you to cook.”
“One day I might even let you,” I reply, and with a wave, she turns and walks to her room.
Finally, we’ve got a date. And the heavy weight that’s been pressing on my chest eases just a little.
Chapter eight
Lucia
Three Months Later, Las Vegas
My hands shake and my stomach churns. It’s been like this for days—no, make that months. I give the man sitting beside me a sideways glance. How the hell did we end up here? My fingers curl around the armrest of the private jet’s buttery-soft leather seat.
Antonio’s cologne wafts over to me, and I take a moment to breathe in the rich scent. It’s the one I gave him for his last birthday, and that he’s worn ever since. Bergamot mixed with exotic spices, and on him, it conjures memories of a fresh Capri breeze whipping in from the sea.
It’s not only his scent that teases my senses; everything about him feels different today. It’s like I’m back to being the giddy teenage girl with a massive crush on the cute American boy. My same childhood friend who is about to become my husband, and it’s flipped my world upside down. My breath hitches.
I’ve railed against following my father’s commands all my life, yet here I am doing exactly what he wanted. Well, maybe not exactly, but I’m going to become Lucia Barbieri, and that was hisgoal all along. I doubt he’ll care which brother I’ve married when he had no regard for my opinion on the matter.
“What time is Rose arriving?” Antonio asks, making me jump in my seat at the suddenness of the question. We’ve been traveling for hours, and throughout that whole time, we’ve only exchanged a few sentences. Each of us lost in our own thoughts. For me, that’s been a wander through some dusty childhood memories. Like a visit to the National Central Library of Florence, each moment with Antonio is a volume steeped in history and full of treasure.
With a glance to the side, I see he’s waiting for me to answer. “Umm, she should already be there.” I tap the screen of my cell to check for messages. “Sì, she’s at the hotel.”
“So are my brothers,” he says in a flat tone, like he’s reporting the latest weather forecast.
“Okay,” I mumble, floundering in the stilted conversation. My head spins with a million thoughts, none of them turning into words, and I dip my head back to my cell and start scrolling through my social media accounts. It’s times like this when I’m grateful for the distraction it brings. Cake decorating videos capture my attention, and I happily dive down that rabbit hole of nothingness to occupy me for the remainder of the flight. Avoiding tough conversations is becoming my new superpower.
“This is Captain Rossi speaking. We are about to start our descent into Las Vegas. Please return to your seats and fasten your seat belts for landing.” The metallic voice fills the cabin as we begin our approach to the airport.
Already?I would have been happy with our jet circling overhead for a few more hours. But that wish is crushed when a few bumps later, we’ve landed, everything after whizzing by in a blur of frenetic activity.
Customs, baggage claim, and then we’re in the back seat of a limousine, being driven to the Clark County Marriage LicenseBureau. Antonio says something about it being necessary for us to collect the license in person, but I’m not really listening.
At the bureau, I speak when spoken to and smile at the lady behind the counter, hoping it looks more genuine than it feels pasted on my face. Ant tucks the paperwork into his suit pocket, and then we’re back in the car on our way to the hotel.
It’s like somebody has pressed the fast-forward button, and I’m incapable of hitting pause. One foot in front of the other, I once again follow Ant’s broad shoulders as he cuts a path through the casino crowds to the hotel reception. The lady behind the counter hands him the key cards to our suite, and we’re off again. The countdown clock is running, and with each passing second, my heart freezes a little more. I’m overwhelmed by so many conflicting emotions that it’s the only way for me to keep going.
A snick of the lock as Ant swipes the key card over the panel, and we’re in our suite. The air whooshes from my lungs for the first time since I descended the steps of the jet. Another few steps forward, and I’m standing in the center of the shared living space between the two en suite bedrooms. It’s similar in layout to the suite in Florence, with only the decor and furniture setting it apart.
The room is nice, a calming cream and dusky-pink color scheme, with white Carrera marble floors and a large plush rug that I want to curl my toes into in the living area. Anything to tether me to what otherwise feels like an unbelievable scenario. I’m marrying Antonio Barbieri in a few hours, and the understated luxury and expansive view of Vegas out the floor-to-ceiling window is doing nothing to relieve the rock-hard ball of panic in my belly.
“Do you want me to ask Rose to come?” Ant asks in a gentle tone. It’s the same low voice he was using on the plane, like a few decibels higher will shatter me.
“No, I’ve got it.”
