Page 55 of My Wedding Mafia Style

He does not answer immediately. That is a problem. Temporary things should have fasteranswers.

“Luca.”

“If my family is going to believe I chose you,” he says, voice lower now, “I won’t insult you with something temporary.”

My chest tightens so hard I almost miss my next breath.

“Temporary is literally the foundation of this arrangement.”

“Not anymore.”

The words bear the weight of something far bigger than a ring. I look at him, searching his face for strategy, amusement, control, all the polished pieces I know he can use when he wants to. They are there, because he is still Luca. But beneath them is the man from last night. The one who told me I was precious before he could stop himself. The one who asked if I had regrets this morning like the answer mattered. The one who held my hand in the boat and kissed me in the water and keeps giving me exits I don’t seem to want.

I look back at the rings because looking at him is too much.

“This is too expensive.”

“You haven’t asked the price.”

“I don’t need to. That one looks like it has its own insurance agent.”

Elena’s mouth twitches.

Luca reaches for the antique cushion-cut ring first. “Try this one.”

“No.”

He pauses. “No?”

“If I touch it, it becomes real.”

“It is already real.”

I laugh once, softly, because if I don’t, I may do something dramatic like cry in a jewelry store while wearing a swimsuit under a cover-up. “You cannot just decide that.”

“I’m not deciding for you.” He sets the ring back down and turns fully toward me. “Choose nothing if you want. Walk out if you want. Tell me I’m insane. You would not be the first person.”

“Your sisters?”

“Adriana, mostly.”

“That makes sense.”

His mouth curves, but the seriousness stays in his eyes. “I am not buying this to trap you, Lucy. I am buying it because my family already thinks this is becoming real, and I would rather give them the truth than pretend the lie is still holding.”

“The truth being what?”

“That Iwant you.”

My heart stumbles. He reaches for my hand, but he does not take it until I let him. That matters. It should not undo me as much as it does, but it does.

“I want you at breakfast,” he says. “On the yacht. In my cabin. In your shop, surrounded by tiny bottles and strange glitter. I want you telling me I’m ridiculous. I want you making my sisters laugh. I want Nonna terrifying you and you terrifying me because you say things I don’t know how to answer.”

My throat burns.

“Luca…”

“I am not asking you to marry me tonight.”