End of the Innocence (23 page)

“How are the wedding RSVPs coming along? Will there be a large turn out?” She tossed out the question innocently, spearing an olive and popping it into her mouth.

I swallowed a sigh, pasting a smile on my face. “I’m not really sure. We’re still waiting on a group of RSVPs from your family.”

She frowned, her eyes drinking me in with the same insight that Brad possessed. “My father’s group?”

“Yeah.”

She gave me a tight smile. “It’s a wedding. Italians view weddings on the same level as Easter. It’d be sacrilegious not to attend. I’m sure they will get over any ill feelings and show their support. Besides, the gossip mill has been buzzing about you. It was pretty much expected that Brad would never remarry.”

“Why is that?”

She shrugged. “He seemed to enjoy his life as a bachelor. And his marriage with Hillary seemed so ... unnatural. He just never seemed to fall into the role of husband well. It was like he was a wild horse, unhappy about being broken.” She shot me a crooked grin. “He is completely different with you. He seems so at peace, happy. I am so excited for you both.” She reached across the table and gripped my arm, her face shining with genuine affection. “I know you’ve got to be less than enthusiastic about joining our family, but I am so happy to have you in Brad’s life. I hope you can overlook my bloodlines, and we can become friends.”

I blushed, hating the fact that my emotions regarding the Magianos were so transparent. “I’d like that. Brad adores you, for good reason.”

“He was always the best member of our family. Which,” she added, “is why the boys have always been so hard on him. I’m proud of him for separating from the family.”

“Are you estranged as well?” It was a dangerous question to ask, but she seemed to be an open book in regards to discussing the family business.

She laughed, leaning forward and lowering her voice. “Being female places me in a completely different position in the family. From the moment my sex was discovered, I was a non-issue, a body to be ignored. I was never included in the business, handed off to nannies once Mother left. There has been no point to me disowning the family; it would be a dramatic act that would be regarded as attention-seeking and childish.” She shrugged, and I saw a moment of vulnerability that matched a side of Brad. They were both still, even as adults, missing the love and approval of their mother. She continued speaking, her gaze regaining confidence. “We have a strong support system through the women in the family. I am a part of that. We, as women, don’t often have much control over the men who our hearts pick. It is difficult to be married to the men in this family, to be a small part of what they do. We need each other, and for that aspect of the family, I am grateful.” She smiled, the expression not reaching her eyes.

I played with the straw of my drink. “Your father ... when I met him ... he mentioned the danger that faces me from other families. Is that a real concern?”

She glanced down, silent for a moment. Then she looked up, and I saw Brad’s strength in her eyes. “The same thing I hate about our family, the strength and brutality of its members, I appreciate when it comes to my safety. In the Italian crime culture, women and children are protected, off limits. We are supposed to be untouchable. But that rule applies more to inner-family violence than wars between families. The threat to our lives is present, and concerns me more as a mother than as an individual. I am fighting to keep my sons safe, but worry constantly. My boys, they see the family business as glamorous, my brothers as role models. In that way, we are never really safe.” She shot me a sympathetic look. “But it is a world I grew up in. I didn’t have a choice but to accept the danger, to do what I can to protect my family. For you, it must be difficult. I can only tell you that Brad has more strength than all of them combined. His strength will help to keep you safe.”

Then the waitress arrived, and our conversation switched to lighter subjects. We moved through the appetizers, discussing unimportant topics, and I fought to keep my voice light and face relaxed. But inside, I felt weighted down by her words, the tug of them pulling me into a place of doubts and fears.

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G
roan
. I loved the sound when it rumbled out of his chest. I lifted up my ass, then set it back down, my hands gripping the back of the couch, the scrape of his shadow against my neck as he buried his face in my shoulder and breathed my name. “Fuck me, baby.”

My knees sunk deeper into the leather as I moved, the muted sounds of baseball disappearing as my senses abandoned their notice of anything but this.

Heat. Hot as it thrust in and out of me.

Bite. His hands on my ass set the pace. Pushing and pulling me off his cock.

Scrape. Every turn of his head, his five o’clock shadow burned its way over my ear, my neck, my chest, his gentle mouth following its path.

Sigh. The sounds of my love as he got closer. Whispers. Orders. Grunts. Worships.

Explosion. I broke in his arms, his hands moving from my ass as he wrapped them around my body and hugged me to his chest, his hips taking over the motion, carrying me as I fell apart, waves of pleasure that stretched out as I heard the change in his voice and knew that he was following suit.

Tumble. Both of us sideways, stretched out on the couch, my back turned to the television, spooned against his chest, his hand in my hair, eyes on my face.

“I love you,” he whispered.

And in that moment, with graduation and finals and my family and his, wedding plans stacking up mountains of stress around us... nothing else mattered.

This.

Us.

It was all that mattered.

––––––––

A
UGUST

Days until graduation: 5

Days until wedding: 11

––––––––

D
ress
. Simple and elegant, with a long train that made me feel glamorous.

Ring
. Two-point-five carats of perfection in Brad’s custom setting, small diamonds off-setting the large stone.

Something Borrowed
. Brad’s mother’s earrings—emeralds and diamonds shining from my earlobes.

Something Blue
. Pale blue lace panties that matched my bra. Humorously virginal in their innocence and delicate structure.

Something Old
. My husband, who would certainly be in attendance. Oops, shit. Ignore my adolescent humor. Hmmm ... something old. My practically vintage Jimmy Choos, bought at an estate sale Brad and I stumbled upon when driving through his neighborhood one day.

Something New
. Everything else. My mind spun with the exorbitant bill this wedding must be racking up. Brad had forbid Rebecca to share any details with me regarding cost, but my eyes could easily pick up the details:

• Two wedding planners.
  
• The diamond-encrusted ballroom at Fleur De Lis, the only location in town big enough to hold our enormous guest list, while still providing charm and elegance.
  
• A four-tiered wedding cake with custom Tiffany & Co Bride and Groom figurines.
  
• A twelve-piece orchestra for the wedding, two bands for the reception.
  
• A five-course plated dinner with wine pairings for over three hundred guests.
  
• Custom invitations, many sent by tuxedoed courier, to the elite of the elite in the city.
  
• The Favors—mini bottles of Dom Perignon accompanied by gold-leaf boxes of chocolate-covered strawberries.
  

It had wandered into the land of ridiculous, an opulent show of wealth that would be performed for individuals I barely knew. It would have been, if you subtracted Brad’s family from the equation, my dream wedding. Instead, it felt like I was anchoring myself to Dom Magiano, forever tying my life to his, a partnership with Satan sealed with a kiss and a platinum setting.

Everything had become a countdown, my graduation one small blip in the jewel-encrusted timeline leading up the big day. Little did we know, I would never walk down that rose-covered aisle, that Lohengrin’s wedding march would start, the couture-clad guests would turn, and be met by an empty aisle, no bride in sight. It would be a countdown to disappointment.

♦♦♦

M
om and Dad arrived again, their car loaded to the gills with whoknewwhat, checking back into the Holiday Inn that had held them at Christmas. In between classes and studying, I spent as much time as possible with them. I shopped with Mom, picking out bathing suits and cover-ups for my honeymoon, the location of which only he and Rebecca knew. In the evening, I took walks with Dad through downtown, ducking into odd shops and ice cream parlors, while he did little talking, and I chattered away.

It was refreshing to have a final act in the role of daughter, before the title of wife put me fully in the role of grown up. I sucked up their love, their proud smiles and congratulatory words, and pretended, for a few days, that I wasn’t hiding a hundred secrets under the gorgeous sweep of my wedding gown.

Still, it loomed. The wedding day, the church divided. The thirty-nine wedding invites that still had outstanding RSVPS. A possible collision of suited gangsters and country bumpkins. I dreaded the casual conversations over finger food, the progression into drinking and dancing, the drinking which would loosen tongues, incite tempers, the potential for violence increasing in the midst of elegance. If something could go wrong, it would. There were too many hidden bombs for one not to explode.

––––––––

A
UGUST

Graduation day

Days until wedding: 6

I changed upstairs, selecting simple clothing to wear underneath the robes, and was aware, while pulling on a camisole, that I was exhausted, the last five days of double duty between my parents and finals taking its toll on me. Rebecca had become a full-time stalker, bombarding me constantly with wedding details and reminders. Her follow-through had no bounds—if I was in the shower, using the restroom, or studying for finals, she was there, with a question or demand—just the sight of her causing me anxiety.

I had, during the last week, escaped when I could, to the theatre room with Ben or to the pool or bedroom with Brad. They had both been quiet, allowing me to work out my frustration in silence. Or, in the case of Brad, with moans and gasps.

I picked up pearls, looping them around my neck, watching my face in the mirror, willing my tight face to relax. Wondering, as I did, what was going on downstairs. What my mother was saying to Brad, what pitfalls he was no doubt dodging with ease.

Dealing with the men in my life was so much easier. They were all behaving, content in their roles. It was the women who were being difficult. My mother and Rebecca, who had, after getting along perfectly for eleven months, suddenly found something to argue about. Rebecca, who was now bitching about my mother, bitching about the caterers, bitching about everything and everyone to anyone in earshot. Olivia, who seemed increasingly pissed that I was getting married at all, and Becca, whose sole goal was suddenly the need to create a synchronized dance routine for the wedding party to enter with—a burst of passionate creativity that
no one
else was on board with.

Somehow, in this last week, the wedding, the joining of our souls, had become about everyone else. Maybe it had been building that way for a while. Maybe that was how everyone’s weddings were . But now, on graduation day, the wedding still six days away, I was ready for everyone to leave. For my parents to pack their bags and head back to Georgia, for Rebecca to return to her office at the firm, for Olivia to get over herself and accept my marriage. Oh, and for Becca to stop breaking into improvised dance numbers, complete with jazz hands and cheery-ass smiles.

I closed the bedroom door, and took a deep breath, willing peace into my body. I lifted the heavy robe, sliding into it and buttoning the front clasps. I pulled on my cords, blue ropes that signified my ranking on the Dean’s List. Then the cap was put on, the archaic indicator of graduation, not improved or fashionized in the last three decades. I smiled in the mirror, an image of peace and academia, proof that reflections could be far from the truth.

There was a knock on the door and my mother’s voice, muffled, came through. “Sweetheart, Becca and Olivia just pulled in.”

“Okay, I’m coming,” I called out. Grabbing my purse, I pasted a smile on my face and opened the door.

♥♥♥

G
raduation. I could feel the sweat underneath my knees. The guy to my right twitched his knee in a way that made my chair vibrate, and I fought the urge to reach over and still it. It had been almost three hours, and I had reached a new low in the possible levels of boredom. There were four thousand names, four thousand souls packed into this civic center, four thousand bored, fidgety coeds who were regretting the decision to attend this event. The announcer’s voice droned on and more black robes crossed the stage. No streakers, no somersaults across the stage. Nothing to break up the monotony.

Then, the voice stopped, my ears perking up at the silence, an audible sigh of relief rolling through the audience. I reached for my diploma, noting that freedom was close, the president making only a brief closing statement before concluding the event. Celebration. We threw our caps, a sea of black rising and then raining down. Then, pure bedlam erupted. Everyone moving in different directions, anxious for release, tripping over folding chairs and climbing over rows in a mad rush for the door. My cell rang, vibrating against my side, but the crush of bodies didn’t allow me to stop and reach for it. The room was too loud anyway. I needed to get outside and then I could check my phone.

When I finally escaped, my feet hitting concrete, the summer heat and humidity caused my clothes to stick against my skin, sweat dripping down my lower back. I moved with the crowd, headed for the parking lot, looking for and finding Brad and my parents under the shade of a large palm tree. His eyes were scanning, worry on his face, and I waved to catch his eye.