Page 13 of My Wedding Mafia Style

Maybe a miniature trash can.

For Derek. Not that I am thinking about Derek anymore. That’s the strange part. I should be.

He was the reason I marched across the reception like a woman possessed and kissed a man whose family seems capable of turning a dinner conversation into a deposition. But now Derek feels oddly far away. Like someone else’s problem. Someone else’s bad decision.

Luca, unfortunately, feels very much like mine.

He sits beside me with the kind of effortless control that should be annoying. It is annoying. It is also attractive,which makes the annoyance worse. He answers his family when he chooses to, ignores Isabella when necessary, and still somehow keeps part of his attention on me the entire time.

Every time my glass gets too close to empty, he notices. Every time one of his sisters corners me with a question, he watches. Every time Nonna says my name like she has already moved me three steps deeper into her family and possibly had stationery printed, his mouth almost curves into a smile … almost.

The man is stingy with smiles. Which is rude, because the few he has given me have already done significant damage.

Music shifts across the room, something slower and warmer spilling from the speakers. Couples begin moving back toward the dance floor. The bride and groom are still glowing in the center of everything, and for a moment I remember where I am.

My cousin’s wedding. A celebration of love and commitment and other concepts I am currently pretending to understand while sitting beside a man I met roughly an hour ago.

Celia catches my eye from across the room. Her brows lift. I smile.

She mouths, Are you okay? I nod too quickly. She narrows her eyes.

Cousins are inconvenient that way. They know when you are lying with your entire face. Before she can come rescue me, interrogate me, or make the situation worse by doing both, Luca leans closer.

“Dance with me again.”

His voice is low enough that it slides beneath the noise of the room and settles somewhere under my ribs.

I turn to him. “Is that a question?”

“No.”

“At least you’re honest.”

“When it suits me.”

“That should not be as appealing as it is.”

His eyes darken with amusement. My mouth closes. Wonderful. I am now flirting out loud.

Luca stands and offers me his hand. The table goes quiet again, though not as dramatically this time. They’re getting used to us. Or maybe they’ve simply decided this is the evening’s entertainment and they don’t want to miss a second act.

Bianca clasps both hands under her chin. “Look at him being romantic.”

“For Luca, that counts,” Adriana says.

Sofia sighs softly. “Girls.”

Alessandro looks at Luca. “Try not to look like you’re escorting her to a negotiation.”

Luca’s expression doesn’t change. “I always look like this.”

“That’s the problem,” Bianca says.

I should be overwhelmed by them. Maybe I am. But I’m also fighting a smile as I put my hand in Luca’s and let him lead me away from the table.

Luca guides me onto the dance floor just as the song settles into a slow rhythm. His hand finds my waist, and mine rises to his shoulder. It should feel awkward now that the performance has served its purpose. Derek isn’t staring from ten feet away. No one needs convincing. Except maybe me. Because the second Luca pulls me closer, everything else falls away.

“You survived them,” he says.