ONE YEAR LATER
No matter how plump, plain, or poor a man is, the right tuxedo can make him look more dashing than any fairy-tale prince.
Right about now, I’m thinking Prince Charming can kiss Jenner’s dashing ass.
Not that he’s any of those other P words, but the general idea stands.
He steps out from behind the dressing room door in a fantastic midnight-blue silk tux that took me two months to make, and spins in a circle, waiting for my reaction. He’s immaculate, the picture of perfection, right down to his gleaming patent leather DiSanto loafers.
I’ve recently expanded into menswear. You wouldn’t believe the profit margin in men’s shoes.
“Winston Churchill’s hairy balls!” I shout, leaping from the divan I’ve been sitting on as I’ve waited for him to get ready.
Jenner shakes his head, chuckling. “You’re always stealing my best lines.”
“I’ve been saving that one for a special occasion. Today seemed particularly apropos.”
He smiles and holds out his arms. “Come give us a hug.”
I cross the short distance between us and nestle into his arms, resting my head on his shoulder, being careful not to smudge my makeup on his jacket. We stand in silence for a long moment until he gives me a light squeeze and pulls away.
“Isn’t it strange?” he murmurs, toying with the lace on one of the cap sleeves of my dress.
“What?”
He meets my eyes, and I’m surprised to find his misty. “Life. I never would’ve thought in a million years I’d be here, now, getting ready to walk down the aisle toward the man of my dreams to take vows that aren’t recognized by the legal system of this country. If you’d told me a year ago any of it would be happening, I’d have laughed you out of the room.”
“You would have scorned me out of the room, with withering disdain that would’ve left permanent scars.”
He brightens, as if I’ve paid him a great compliment. “Yes, I would have. But here we are.”
“Here we are.” I smile at him, tapping his chest. “Who knew you had a real heart hidden away under all that tin?”
“Tundra,” he corrects sourly. “And don’t get cheeky with me, darling. It’s my wedding day.”
“I’ll get as cheeky as I want, my friend, considering if I’d never broken three-quarters of the bones in my limbs, you’d never have met the man of your dreams.”
“True.” He fakes a groan. “But a nurse. I couldn’t even land a doctor?”
“The heart wants what it wants,” I tease, grinning at him.
“Indeed it does.” He swallows, blinking back tears. “Oh, Poppins. This is the happiest day of my life.” He pauses for a moment, then says forcefully, “If Toni stops the ceremony to announce he’s straight, I expect you to break his nose!”
I burst into laughter, and Jenner joins in. We both know Toni isn’t about to have a change of heart, on either his gender preference or his choice of partner. He’s been gaga over Jenner since they first locked eyes over my pathetic cast-covered body in the hospital a year ago. Jenner has been equally gaga over him.
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, and 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.
The rest of the afternoon is a blur of dancing, speeches, food, and champagne. At one point, late into the evening when everyone is soused and the band is playing a slow song, I see Dominic and the marchesa quietly conferring in a corner. I nudge Matteo with my elbow and lift my chin in their direction.
“You’re a better person than I am,” says Matteo, watching Dominic with narrowed eyes. “I never would’ve forgiven him for taking money from your father.”
I lean against his shoulder, and he drapes his arm around me. “Though it’s my personal specialty, grudges aren’t something Papa believed in. I know he would’ve wanted me to work it out. And Dominic did apologize and offer to pay the money back, so he got credit for making an effort.”
Matteo says stiffly, “Until he apologizes to my mother for the way he’s treated her, he’ll always be on my shit list.”
I smile at the man I love. “Why do you think I invited him, Count?”
He slants me a sour look. “What is it you have against my title?”
My smile is brilliant. I turn and wind my arms around his waist. “Nothing at all. I just love how much it annoys you when I call you Count.”
“So it’s not that you’d rather be a countess than Marchesa Moretti.” Wrapping his arms around my back, he gazes down at me with love shining in his gorgeous blue eyes.
I laugh, glancing over at his mother. “I think someone already has dibs on that title.”
“And I think it’s time we had another marchesa in the family,” he says softly.
Startled, I look at him. His lips curve up as I stare at him in shock. Is he saying what I think he’s saying?
“Uh . . . I, uh . . .”
“You ‘uh’ what?” he teases, brushing his lips against my cheek. “You ‘uh’ want to see the ring before you decide?”
“The ring?” I say breathlessly. My heart is pounding so hard I can barely hear my own voice over it. My knees are made of rubber.
Matteo turns nonchalant. “Unless you’d rather not. I know you’re not that keen about matrimony.” He pauses. “It’s pretty nice, though. Big.”
His lips press together as he watches my expression. He’s trying not to laugh, the bastard.
Oh, it’s on.
I compose myself, thoughtfully pursing my lips as I fiddle with his lapel. “How big?”
“Massive.” He pretends to be thoughtful. “Now that I think about it, it’s completely gaudy. You wouldn’t want to wear it anyway. Diamonds that large only attract the wrong kind of attention. People will think you’re showing off.”
He sighs, looking away. “You’d probably be a target for muggers. You wouldn’t be able to wear it in public, that’s for sure. Just around the house. No, maybe not even there—the servants would talk, someone would plan a theft. I suppose you’d have to keep the thing locked up in a safe where the light of all those flawless carats can shine without the threat of being stolen. Hey, should we dance?”
“Where is this horrible, gaudy ring?” I shout, breaking. I take him by his lapels and shake him. “Show it to me now or I’ll kill you!”
He starts to laugh, loudly, grabbing me and pulling me against his chest so hard I lose my breath.
“It’s in my pocket, bella.”
I start to laugh, too. “And here I thought all this time you were just happy to see me.” I shove my hand into the left pocket of his trousers and come up with a small black velvet box. I stare at it, my hands shaking, my lungs constricting, all the blood draining from my head.
Matteo gently takes it from me and cracks it open.
He has to catch me before I fall.
“Jesus,” I say, clinging to him as he laughs. “That is gaudy. Tell me it’s cubic zirconia, I don’t want to think you had to put the castle in hock to buy that awful thing.”
“I love you,” he says, sliding the ring onto my finger. “Will you marry me?”
It is very, very hard to breathe. “I can hardly say no after you bought me the world’s biggest diamond.”
“My plan exactly,” he says, nodding. “But that wasn’t officially a yes.”
I gaze up into his eyes, blinking a few times to clear my vision from tears. Everything I’ve ever needed is gazing back at me. “Yes,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “Officially, yes. I love you with all my heart.”
“Shut up and kiss me.”
“God, you’re bossy.”
“No, I’m just really good at digging in my heels.”
We share a grin. Then he kisses me to the sound of applause and champagne corks popping as Beans sinks her teeth into the hem of my dress.