Page 6 of My Wedding Mafia Style

“My family.”

Oh, good. Great. Apparently I didn’t kiss a man. I kissed a committee. I drag my gaze back to his, panic threatening to rise, but he doesn’t look concerned. If anything, he looks entertained.

“Relax,” he says quietly, echoing his earlier words. “They’re just getting their first look at you.”

My heart stumbles over itself. “Your family?”

“Yes.”

“That’s … that’s not part of the five minutes.”

“No,” he agrees easily. “It isn’t.”

I should pull my hand away. I should put distance between us, end this before it spirals into something I can’t control. Instead, I hold on tighter. Because his hand feels safe. Because the way he stepped between me and Derek is still replaying in my mind. Because for the first time in a long time … I don’t feel like I have to handle everything on my own.

“Are they going to come over here?” I ask, lowering my voice.

His mouth curves slightly.

“Eventually.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.”

I exhale, somewhere between a laugh and a nervous breath, and risk another glance toward the table. The elegant older woman is still watching me. Only now, there’s the faintest hint of approval in her eyes. Or maybe I’m imagining it. Either way, I have the distinct feeling that my ten-minute fake boyfriend situation has just turned into something much, much bigger.

And the worst part?

I feel so good with Luca, I’m not sure I want out of it anymore.

Chapter 4

Luca

My family has gone quiet. That alone should concern Lucy. The Morettis are rarely quiet unless money is being counted, threats are being assessed, or my grandmother has decided someone at the table is lying to her. At the moment, all three possibilities seem open.

Lucy stands beside me with her fingers still locked in mine, though I can feel the subtle tension in her grip. She looks toward my family’s table as if she’s trying to decide whether they’re wedding guests, royalty, or the kind of people one sees in documentaries narrated by a man with a grave voice. Smart girl. She should be cautious.

Unfortunately, she climbed into my lap first, kissed me second, and still hasn’t asked questions which suggests caution is not her leading virtue. I find this increasingly appealing.

“Your family,” she repeats softly.

“Yes.”

“I suppose they saw … all of it.”

“I’m sure.”

Her eyes land on mine. “That is not comforting.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.”

A small sound escapes her, not quite a laugh and not quite a panic response. I like it more than I should. I like too much about her already, which is inconvenient, considering I met her less than half an hour ago and she started our acquaintance by using my mouth as a weapon against another man.

To be fair, it was an excellent strategy. Poor execution in terms of long-term consequences, but excellent instinct.

My three younger sisters are intrigued. Bianca, sits forward. Her eyes are bright with curiosity.