Page 56 of My Wedding Mafia Style
That should relieve me. It does. A little. It also disappoints some reckless part of me that has apparently been sun-drunk and kissed into foolishness. He sees that too.
His thumb moves over my knuckles. “I am asking you to let this ring mean we stop pretending the fake part — that we’re really committed to one another.”
I look at the tray again. Six impossible rings. Six glittering futures I am not ready to understand.
My gaze keeps returning to the antique cushion-cut one with the tiny emerald side stones. Not the biggest. Not the flashiest. But something about it catches me. The emeralds remind me of the dress, the water, the strange bright version of myself I saw in Bianca’s mirror. The diamond inthe center glows softly, less sharp than the others, almost warm.
Luca notices.
“ That one,” he says.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You looked.”
“That is not legally binding.”
“No.”
He lifts the ring from the tray and holds it between us. Elena says nothing. The entire shop seems to hold its breath. I should stop this. I should demand more time. More sanity. More proof that yesterday’s fake boyfriend has not become today’s almost-fiancé because the sun is beautiful and Luca Moretti kisses like a man with no regard for structural damage.
Instead, I give him my hand. His expression changes. Only slightly. But I see it.
He slides the ring onto my finger. It fits. How extraordinary! I stare at it, stunned into silence.
The emeralds catch the light first, then the diamond, then the whole thing settles on my hand as if it has been waiting there far longer than I have known him.
“Oh,” I whisper.
Luca’s hand closes around mine. “Toomuch?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to take it off?”
I look at the ring. Then at him. My chest feels full of sunlight and fear and something dangerously close to joy.
“No,” I say, barely above a whisper. “Not yet.”
His eyes darken, but he does not smile. He lifts my hand and presses his mouth to the ring, then to my knuckles.
“Not yet,” he repeats.
Elena quietly slips away to give us privacy, which is very professional of her considering I may be having a romantic breakdown near several million dollars of inventory.
I let out a shaky breath. “Your family is going to be unbearable.”
“Yes.”
“Nonna is going to know immediately.”
“Nonna knew before we left Florida.”
“That is not comforting.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
I laugh, but it comes out soft and wet at the edges. Luca pulls me closer, not quite into his lap, but near enough that my shoulder presses against his chest.
