Page 14 of My Wedding Mafia Style
“So far.”
“Impressive.”
“Please. I only met your family. It’s not like I wrestled an alligator.”
His mouth twitches. “In Florida, that can still be arranged.”
“That is not a romantic offer.”
“I wasn’t finished.”
“Please don’t finish.”
His hand tightens at my waist, and there it is again. That almost-smile. The one that makes him look less like a controlled, dangerous man and more like the kind of mistake a woman might make twice just to confirm the first one was, in fact, a mistake.
We move together more easily this time. The first dance had adrenaline, Derek, and pure stubbornness doing most of the work. This one has no excuse. Luca leads with quiet confidence, and my body follows like it signed a separate agreement without consulting me.
“You didn’t have to introduce me to your family,” I say.
“No.”
“You could have ended this after the first dance.”
“Yes.”
“But you didn’t.”
His gaze holds mine. “No.”
I wait. He gives me nothing else.
“Do you always answer questions like you’re trying to make women throw centerpieces at you?”
“Only when I want more interesting questions.”
“Fine.” I tilt my head. “Why didn’t you end it?”
Luca does not give away much. But I feel the difference in him. It’s the pause in his step, the slight narrowing of his attention.
“Because you surprised me.”
“That’s it?”
“No.”
My heart does a foolish little flip.
“And?” I ask.
“And I wanted to see what you would do next.”
“That makes me sound like a raccoon in a kitchen.”
“A very interesting raccoon.”
I laugh before I can stop myself, and his expression softens, almost. As if he didn’t expect the sound and now wants it again.
“Luca,” I say, because his name has started feeling different in my mouth, and that might be the most alarming development yet.
