Page 49 of One Naughty Night (Single in South Beach)

Esmerelda Cesare admired the lace tulle of her vintage wedding gown and wondered how she’d ever managed so much good luck.

Twirling in front of the mirror in the ladies lounge just outside of Club Paradise’s biggest ballroom where her wedding reception was now in progress, she admitted the heirloom gown had been the perfect wardrobe choice for her big day. She’d been incredibly fortunate to find a man who loved her to distraction, and thanks to her wealth of generous new family members, she had also lucked into wearing the dress Renzo’s mother had worn when she married his father thirty-six years before. The garment had not only been a perfect fit, it also struck her as incredibly romantic and made her feel like part of the family.

“You look like a dream!” Renzo’s sister Giselle appeared in the mirror behind her. An exotic, dark-eyed beauty with olive skin and scads of long brown hair, Giselle looked amazing in a simple, icy pink sheath dress. “My father would have loved to see one of his sons’ brides wear my mother’s dress. He would have nearly burst with pride.”

“I just hated to steal it out from under you, Giselle.” Esme had fretted about that from the start. “It seemed like you should be the one walking down the aisle in it.”

“Bite your tongue.” Giselle batted Esme’s arms with her pink satin purse. “Not only would this body fail to fit in a tiny size, like negative two, under any conditions, I also have every intention of remaining single.”

She fished in her purse for her shiny coral lipstick and slicked on a new coat while Esme monitored her upswept hairdo for stray pieces.

“I never thought I would marry either.” Until her orderly life had swerved out of control and she’d met Renzo, Esme had been perfectly content to bury herself in work and insulate herself from the emotional highs and lows inevitable in relationships. Now she would never trade passion for predictability again. “But when you meet the right person, all bets are off.”

Giselle stuffed her lipstick back in her bag and then fluffed Esme’s short train.

“Marriage is fine for you lovey-dovey types, but I plan to play the field once I can wriggle out from under my brother’s thumbs. In fact,” she lowered her voice as if for dramatic effect. “I predict lots of sensual mayhem while you two are on your honeymoon.”

Esme smiled to herself as she practically floated back out to the packed reception hall of family and friends. Giselle’s fellow Club Paradise co-owners partied at their own table along with a prominent state attorney who was somewhat of a local celebrity. Only the Club Paradise CEO Lainie Reynolds was absent. She apparently had some sort of old beef with Giselle and had taken a business trip in order to politely bow out of the happy event.

Finally, Esme spied Renzo who stood with his back to her, surrounded by his bevy of brothers and some hundred and twenty guests. Immediately, her body responded to the sight of her new husband in a tuxedo and tie, the crisp black lines of his jacket accentuating the breadth of his shoulders and the V of his back down to lean hips. Yum.

Although it had been four months since they got engaged and they’d gotten to know one another very intimately on a regular basis since then, they’d decided to turn abstinent for ten days before the wedding so they would appreciate their first night as husband and wife all the more.

Five days into the experiment, she’d decided they were never spending ten days apart again. Ever.

He turned as she approached, perhaps picking up on her deluge of sexy thoughts. “Are you ready to cut the cake? Nico here is going to start drooling in it if we don’t feed him a piece soon.”

Sure enough, all three of Renzo’s brothers hovered about the table where Giselle’s gorgeous confection resided. Vito, the oldest Cesare who had raised his siblings after their father died, was already wielding the wedding knife and a silver spatula decorated with orange blossoms. Quieter than his rowdy brothers, Vito possessed a hungry intensity that seemed to fit a man intent on winning every trophy the European racing circuit had to offer.

Nico seemed to be using his skills from his hockey days to elbow back the competition from the cake table. Plate in hand, he nudged Marco—the youngest who was home from Harvard on spring break—out of the running.

And no wonder. The cake was pure fairy tale with its four tiered layers of white frosted perfection. Real pansy petals decorated the plate while tiny purple frosted flowers decorated the tiers.

“Maybe it’s just me,” Renzo whispered for her ears alone as he drew her close. His family was distracted for the moment as they tried to keep Marco and Nico from wrestling. “But don’t those flowers look sort of provocative? The way the petals fold make me think of--”

“Don’t say it.” She knew exactly what he was thinking because she’d thought it too when she’d first seen the cake. “I’m sure Giselle would never plant erotic images on our wedding cake. It’s just because we’ve got sex on the brain.”

Renzo shot his sister a dark glare that fell short of being ominous because her new husband was so obviously happy. Giselle winked back, all innocent smiles while she poured herself another glass of champagne from the decorative mountain of elegant green bottles on the cake table.

Maybe Giselle hadn’t been kidding about a week of sensual mayhem while Renzo was out of town on his honeymoon.

Vito finally held up a quieting hand to rein in the crowd. “Show a little respect for the bride,” he ordered his brothers, passing Esme the wedding knife with a flourish. “This is her show, not ours.”

Amid much flashbulb popping and laughter, Esme and Renzo managed to cut their cake and feed one another bites of the vanilla and almond flavored confection. Esme’s heart caught in her throat as Renzo wiped the frosting from her lips with the pad of his thumb, his eyes devouring hers. Goosebumps shivered over her skin, tingling nerves inside and out.

The big band style musicians kicked up again as Giselle skillfully cut cake and passed plates to the small army of Cesare family relatives who had attended the wedding. Esme claimed only her mother, a few school friends and museum staffers, including her assistant with the grinning Brody on her arm. Mrs. Wolcott played mother of the bride whenever Esme’s mom felt too shy, easily making sure the guests were seated in the right places and that the band played at the right times.

She’d been too busy to take note of all the Italian uncles, but maybe later…

“Want to dance?” Renzo’s voice broke through her contented reverie, his deep rumble igniting all the little butterflies of anticipation again.

Esme set aside the remnants of her cake to find her way into his arms.

“I can’t believe we’re married.” She stared up into his eyes, twining one hand around his shoulder while the chandelier lights glinted on his dark hair. How had everything happened so fast?

“You’re going to love the new house.” He’d had a construction crew working on their small plot of land in Coral Gables non-stop for months. Luckily, now that their antique reproduction business was flourishing, they’d been able to afford some overtime to pay the guys who were putting everything together in time for when they returned from an extended honeymoon in Rome.

“Definitely. Although I might love having you at my beck and call for the next month even more.” She allowed her fingers to stray down his chest, to smooth his lapel and dip onto the cotton of his shirt.

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