Page 149 of Ache for You (Slow Burn 3)
Now that’s what I’d call a silver lining.
“Are you ready?” I ask.
“I’m ready.”
“Chin up. Back straight. Tits out.”
“God, you’ve got a memory like an elephant,” he says with affection.
We walk arm in arm from the room, headed toward the staircase.
Over the past few months, all the rooms on the second floor of Il Sogno that had been closed for so many years have been opened and redecorated. The exterior of the house, along with the gardens, has been given a face-lift, too, and even the fountain of Aphrodite and her lover has been restored to working order.
Thanks to the recent success of DiSanto Couture, there’s money for that sort of thing.
As Jenner and I pass through the living room on the way to the backyard, the strains of a classical violin trio grow louder. Pachelbel’s “Canon in D.” When I snort, remembering it was the exact song playing as I walked down the aisle toward Brad, Jenner murmurs, “That ghastly song. We can never get away from it, can we?”
“If I ever get married again, I’ll strangle the musician who dares to play it.”
Jenner glances at me, a knowing look in his eye, but doesn’t comment. He knows I’m not in a rush to walk down the aisle again—present occasion excepted, of course—though things between Matteo and me are about as perfect as they could possibly be. I’ve learned that happily ever after doesn’t have to include a wedding.
All it requires is the right person at your side.
We walk through the open French doors and out onto the lawn. It’s a gorgeous day, sunny and clear, idyllic. The guests rise from their chairs as we approach. Matteo is in the front row, smiling, devastatingly handsome in a blue suit and tie. The marchesa is two seats down from him, holding Beans in her arms. When the dog spots me, she bares her teeth.
Toni’s waiting for us at the end of the aisle, grinning like mad when he sees Jenner.
The ceremony is simple, moving, and utterly beautiful. I sit beside Matteo and try not to cry, but he keeps handing me tissues for my leaking eyes. Brad and Gio are in the row behind us, and at one point, Brad reaches out and squeezes my shoulder.
They had their civil union ceremony two months ago. The senator and Mrs. Wingate didn’t attend, but from what I understand, the blow of their son being gay was mitigated by Gio’s family’s vast fortune in real estate.
I’ll never understand some people’s priorities.
When it’s all over and we’re showering Jenner and Toni in rose petals as they make their way back down the aisle toward the house and the party about to begin inside, Matteo pulls me against his side and kisses my hair. Into my ear, he whispers, “How soon can we get you out of this dress?”
I smile. “Weddings make you horny, do they?”
“You make me horny.” He presses a kiss to the side of my neck, then says something in Italian. I know for sure it includes the words “lick” and “forever” because I’ve been studying the language in my spare time.
What little spare time I have. Matteo’s show last year rocketed the DiSanto Couture name from obscurity to massive popularity so fast my head is still spinning.
The only downside is that Papa isn’t here to see it. He would’ve been so proud.
“You’ll have to keep it in your pants until after the toasts, hot stuff. I’ve got the best man speech to give. Maybe we can have a quickie in the bathroom between that and the first dance.”
“You know I don’t do quickies,” he says huskily, his eyes burning.
I smile at him and wind my arms around his neck. Yes. That I know.
“Hey, lovebirds, are you coming inside or what?”
Along with the marchesa, Brad stands with Gio at the end of the rows of chairs. The two of them are holding hands, smiling at us, a
nd God, life is bizarre. Unexpected, wonderful, and bizarre. I can’t wait to see what other twists it’s got up its sleeve for me.
“Yes, we’re coming.”
We follow them in, laughing when Cornelia bounds out from inside and starts to run around us in circles, barking.
