Page 19 of Enzo
I sure as fuck hoped it would be.
“Don’t forget, Luca, Pen knows her way around a gun,” Mama reminded him. “She’s more than capable of protecting herself. It was the main reason we sent her to D’Arc.”
“You remember the self-defense techniques you learned?” Papà questioned, searching my eyes.
“I do,” I assured him, squeezing him a final time. “You raised a fighter, not a damsel in distress. I can handle him and the Marchettis.”
Papà’s hand came to rest on my head. “It’s less about what I know you can handle and more about your papà feeling like a failure.” He sighed. “I should have protected you better.”
“You did.” My voice caught on a sob. I hated seeing him so dejected. “You kept them away for as long as you could. Now, let me deal with them, and let’s focus on Amara.”
“I love you, princess.”
“I know, Papà,” I murmured, emotions clogging my throat. “I love you, too. All of you.”
8
PENELOPE
Amara and I stared at the altered wedding dress hanging in the protective case. It was the same dress that my nonna wore when she married Nonno—and the one my mama wore when she wed Papà—but you’d never guess, considering the impeccable state it was in.
“I can’t believe you’re getting married next week,” my sister said from her position on the couch, her feet folded under her small frame. “It was only announced two weeks ago.”
Three, but who’s counting?
Flicking a glance Amara’s way, I noticed goose bumps on her arms and her pale expression that had nothing to do with my wedding and everything to do with the chemicals flowing through her. She’d endured a round of chemo yesterday and would feel the effects for days, but despite her fatigue, she couldn’t contain her excitement for my wedding.
“I know,” I grumbled.
She practically buzzed with excitement; I felt like I was being dragged to a firing squad.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” I said, hesitating. “Will you be my maid of honor?”
She squealed, then suddenly sobered. “Wait… are you only asking me because it’s a family-only wedding?”
I laughed, shaking my head. “No. I’m asking you because you’re my sister and because there’s no one else I’d rather have by my side. Family only or not. Sham or not.”
Her eyes lit up again.
“Oh my gosh!” she squealed. “Yes! Of course, I will! I have no idea what I’m doing, but don’t worry, I’ll figure it out. I’ll make it the best fake wedding anyone’s ever seen!”
I reached for another throw blanket to lay over her, tsking as I tucked it tightly around her shoulders. “You seem more excited about that wedding than anyone else. Maybeyoushould marry Enzo Marchetti.”
She smiled, although it didn’t quite reach her eyes. They seemed to have a lasting dullness these days, and I knew the change spoke of the pain she tried to hide. “If he’s willing to wait until I turn twenty-one, I’m game.”
“If I see him before the actual wedding day, I’ll be sure to ask him,” I remarked wryly. “The eager fiancé doesn’t even seem bothered to meet me.”
For someone so determined to make our marriage official, Enzo sure seems hell-bent on avoiding me. He had the engagement ring couriered. Ahalf-million-dollar ringdelivered, like it was some postcard sent from Disneyland.
So, naturally, I flushed it down the toilet.
Of course, the official story was that the prominent diamond had slipped off my finger and into the sink drain.
She tilted her chin at the wedding dress. “Do you like it?”
“I do.”
Although unbeknownst to my darling baby sister or anyone else, for that matter, I wouldn’t be wearing it. There was no way I’d sully the memory of what it represented. Instead, I planned on an entirely different outfit for my “big day.” Somethingthat screamed “Fuck you” to my future husband and his entire family.
