Page 50 of On Her Terms

“Limo is here,” Cara says. It’s not far to walk to the outdoor gazebo, but it’s hot and sticky and we want to look our best when we arrive. We all pile into the elevator and go quiet, an excited, nervous energy about us. We reach the lobby, and outside, the long stretch limo is waiting, the driver holding the door open for us. We all slide in, and my stomach feels like I’m about to go skydiving. I’m not sure what I’m more excited about: the wedding or setting eyes on Luca in his tux.

After a short drive, we step from the car, and inside the glassed-in gazebo, I search the gathering crowd for Luca and find him standing with Tate and talking to the minister. My heart misses a beat as I admire him from afar. As if feeling my eyes on him, he angles his head and our gazes lock. His eyes narrow, and he scrubs a hand over his clean-shaven chin. I take in his stance, the tightness in his body. I know that look. He was acting the same way at last night’s cocktail party. He’s agitated about something, that much I know. Is he nervous about standing up there in front of the guests? I know I’m anxious about walking down the aisle and doing a face-plant. Or is something else entirely bothering him?

I don’t currently have time to think about it, as we’re all arranged, ready to walk down the aisle. A couple of guests stop to take a picture of us as we head inside, and we all slowly make our way to the altar. I smile and concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. Tate smiles at me, and I return it and then look to Luca, who is staring at me with heat in his eyes. For a minute I envision I’m the bride and he’s waiting up there for me. My heart rushes a little faster, and I’m certain my cheeks have turned a deeper shade of pink.

I take my place, and Cara stands beside me. Amber comes down next, and after she positions herself, the music changes and everyone stands. I glance at Tate and hear an audible gasp as his beautiful bride makes her way toward him. With a tight throat, and tears threatening, I gaze at Summer in her gown, her arm on Granddad’s. With no family of her own, she asked my grandfather to walk her down the aisle, and as I look at him now, a huge smile on his face, I’m so happy she did. Will he give me away to Luca someday? With that thought pinging around inside my brain, I turn my head and find Luca staring at me. I draw my bottom lip between my teeth and turn to the minister when Summer takes her position.

The guests sit, and the minister begins the ceremony. I hold my flowers tighter, the sweet scent teasing my senses as the vows and rings are exchanged. Tate leans in for a kiss, and we all clap. The newlyweds turn, huge smiles on their faces as they walk out, and we all follow. The next hour races by in a blur as we get pictures taken in the gardens. I need to talk to Luca, but now is not the time or place. It will have to wait until the reception later on.

Soon enough we’re all back in the Raydolins’ ballroom, seated around the head table, with our meals being served. I make small talk to Cara and Amber, and nibble on my food even though I don’t have much of an appetite. I’m both excited and nervous to talk to Luca, to find out where we go from here.

After the cake is served and the dishes are cleared, the lights dim, and Summer and Tate make their way to the dance floor. I sniff back the tears as the newlyweds hold one another, begin their new life to a beautiful song. The waltz ends, and Summer calls everyone to the dance floor. I sit back for a second, and when Summer and Tate come my way, I give them both a big hug.

“I need to change,” Summer says.

“I can help,” I say.

“That would be great.” She gives Tate a kiss.

“Hurry back,” he says. “I have plans for us.”

“I can’t wait,” Summer says.

“Get a room already,” I tease, and Tate laughs.

“That’s the plan,” he says.

I help Summer with her train as we head to our rooms, and once we get inside, I work all the tiny buttons free on the back of her dress. She slides out of it, and I hang it for her as she slips into her going-away dress.

“You look beautiful,” I say.

“So do you. I can’t believe Luca hasn’t torn that dress off you by now.”

I laugh at that and catch my reflection in the mirror.

“You go on down. I’m going to freshen up a bit,” I say, wanting to look my best for when I talk to Luca. I go through the adjoining door and reach for my makeup case on the dresser, but when I do I notice the little piece of white paper sticking out of Luca’s jacket pocket. The jacket Summer had been meaning to give him.

Excited and thinking he left me a note last night—since I’ve left a couple for him—I pull it out, but the bottom drops out of my world when I read the plea scribbled on the page. I back up until my knees hit the bed, and I fall onto the mattress. Tears prick my eyes, and I try to breathe but can’t seem to fill my lungs. I swipe at my face, sure I’m misreading this, sure that Luca doesn’t have to return to Italy, to his fiancée, and marry before his thirtieth birthday, taking his rightful position as duke—or his father’s conglomerates will go to his cousin.

What. The. Hell.

I lift my head, gaze around the room, recalling the way he came to me last night, making sweet love to me on this very bed. Could I have been so wrong about him? Could he still be that same selfish, arrogant guy I met at Oxford? I shake the letter in my hand and read it for the third time. Is this some kind of joke?

Desperate for answers, I run to the bathroom, fix my face and grab Luca’s suit jacket before heading back down to the dance, determined to find Luca and get to the bottom of matters. I tap a restless foot, but the elevator seems slower than usual, and when I finally reach the main lobby, I step off. My footsteps slow when off in a corner—like he doesn’t want to be seen—I catch a glimpse of Luca and a man who looks familiar. Why do I feel like I know him? I blink once, twice and then suddenly the tumblers fall into place. Holy shit! It’s the man from the newspaper. The elderly gentleman escorting Marco L. Marino to his car. They must all be related.

My heart leaps into my throat and a noise beside me draws my attention. I turn to find Granddad coming my way, his cane hitting the ground with a monstrous thud with each hurried step.

“Brianna,” he says, deep concern edging his cloudy eyes.

“Granddad,” I say and turn back to see Luca, take in the concern etched on his face. His head lifts, and he goes stiff when he sees me with his jacket draped over my arm, his letter in my hand.

He stands, and so does the man with him, and I don’t even realize my feet are moving, cr

ossing the wide expanse of marble, until we’re face-to-face.

I open my mouth to speak but stop when he says, “I can explain.” He takes the letter from me. “My father, his will—” he begins, but the man with him cuts him off.

“Luca, I’ll be in the rental outside, waiting,” the elderly gentleman says. He nods at me, turns to say something in Italian to Luca and then walks off, his gait tired, crooked, much like Granddad’s.

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