Page 21 of My Wedding Mafia Style
Lucy steps to the rail and looks out. For the first time since we boarded, she appears less tense. The breeze lifts strands of hair from her shoulders, and the city reflects in her eyes. She looks less like the woman who panicked at a wedding and more like someone standing at the edge of a door she didn’t know existed.
I remain behind her for a moment, giving her space. Another foolish decision.
What I want is to step closer. So I do.
“This is beautiful,” she says quietly.
“Yes.”
She glances back at me. “You’re looking at me, not the view.”
“I’ve seen the view.”
Her lips part.
There is the blush again, soft and quick, moving across her cheeks before she can stop it. I like knowing I can do that. I like it too much.
She turns back to the water. “Do you bring all your fake girlfriends here?”
“No.”
“Real ones?”
“No.”
She looks at me again, more carefully this time. “That was too fast.”
“It was true.”
“Luca Moretti doesn’t bring women onto the family yacht?”
“Not into family spaces.”
The words settle between us. I did not mean to say them quite like that. Or perhaps I did. It is getting harder to tell where strategy ends tonight and honesty begins.
Lucy watches me, her humor fading into something softer. “Then why bring me?”
Because you climbed into my lap and turned a dead evening into something alive.
Because my family watches you like they’ve found a missing piece of furniture that was previously donated and missed.
Because you make terrible decisions and then stand by them with your chin up.
Because when I gave you an exit, you looked at the water, looked at me, and came anyway.
But, I say none of that.
“Because you surprised me,” I answer.
She exhales, half laugh and half sigh. “You said that already.”
“It continues to be true.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the safest one.”
Her gaze sharpens. “For me or for you?”
