Page 23 of My Wedding Mafia Style

Bianca stands at the top of the stairs, one hand on the rail, expression horrified in a way that has nothing to do with propriety. Isabella appears behind her, eyes wide with delight.

“Oh,” Isabella says. “We interrupted something.”

“You interrupted on purpose,” I say.

“Yes,” Bianca replies. “Because apparently no one else is concerned that she is having a life-changing yacht kiss in a bridesmaid dress.”

Lucy makes a sound against my chest. I glance down. She has buried her face against my jacket. Whether from embarrassment or laughter, I cannot tell. Possibly both.

“Bianca,” I warn.

“No. Don’t Bianca me. I let the first kiss go. I allowed the lap situation to develop organically. I even respected the dance floor moment, which was very restrained of me.”

“You have respected nothing in your life.”

“Exactly. Growth.” Bianca points at Lucy’s dress. “But this is where I draw the line.”

Lucy lifts her head slowly. Her cheeks are flushed. Her mouth is slightly swollen from mine.

I notice. Bianca notices me noticing. Her eyes narrow with satisfaction.

“Lucy,” she says, all brightness again, “come with me.”

Lucy blinks. “Why?”

“Because if you’re going to keep making my brother look like that, we need to dress you properly.”

Lucy looks at me.

I look at Bianca. “No.”

That surprises everyone. Even me. The word comes out too fast. Too firm. Bianca’s expression shifts from triumph to fascination.

Isabella whispers, “Oh, this is better than the kiss.”

Lucy’s gaze moves back to mine. There is a question in it. Maybe more than one. I release her slowly, though every part of me objects.

Then I look at my sister. “Ten minutes.”

Bianca places one hand over her heart. “He negotiates because he cares.”

“I negotiate because you steal things.”

“People are not things.”

“Then stop stealing her.”

Lucy looks between us, lips twitching. “I feel I should object to being discussed as stolen property, but I’m also curious about the dress.”

“See?” Bianca says. “She understands.”

I look at Lucy. “You don’t have to go.”

Her expression softens in a way I do not expect.

“I know.”

She says it the same way she did before I kissed her. As if she believes me and it matters. Then she slips from my reach and takes one step toward Bianca. The absence of her warmth is immediate.