1. Bianca

1

BIANCA

“Fuckity fuck fuck !” I cry as I yank my hairbrush through my tangled hair.

Wedding days are meant to be a cause for celebration. But so far, all this day has done is make me want to lock myself in the bathroom with a bottle of tequila.

It’s my own stupid fault for not double checking my alarm last night before I passed out.

I wish someone had told me how much work is involved when you’re a bridesmaid. I thought all I had to do was put on the dress that my cousin Rosanna picked out and walk down the aisle and be done with it.

Oh, how wrong I was.

It was past midnight by the time I finished double checking the RSVP list for all two hundred guests and confirming it against the seating chart and catering choices.

I don’t think Rosanna even knows two-hundred people, but we’re from a big Italian family so everyone who’s somewhat related to us automatically has a spot on the guest list.

The last thing I remember before my head hitting the pillow was silently promising myself that I would get up early to steam my dress and wash my hair before heading to the Waldorf for the ceremony.

If only future Bianca had a time machine…

I glare at myself in the bathroom mirror, noting the dark under eye circles. I should be leaving for the venue in thirty minutes but looking at the state of my hair and face, it’s going to take a miracle to transform myself into a somewhat presentable human in such a short amount of time.

I am so fucked .

Thankfully, Rosanna is pretty relaxed in terms of the bridesmaids hair and makeup so I tame my long brown hair into a slick back bun, hoping it looks chic rather than greasy and apply more natural makeup that makes the blue of my eyes pop as that’s all I have time for.

As I slap on some mascara and call it a day, I head back out into the main living space of my Manhattan studio, cursing at the state of the room.

It’s not a very large space so it doesn’t take much for it to get out of control, but the empty pizza boxes littering the coffee table along with discarded seating charts and clothes on every surface makes me cringe.

I’m better than this, but I put it down to wedding stress.

“I’m eloping when my time comes,” I mutter as I wade through the countless lists of guests and registry items, searching for my dress which I eventually find slung over the back of the couch.

“Shit, I completely forgot to steam it,” I groan.

The material is fairly forgiving but it would look better if I could get out the huge crease down the center of the dress before I walk down the aisle.

“I’m going to murder past Bianca,” I mutter under my breath as I toss the dress over my arm.

By the time I’ve collected my heels and packed my dress into a garment bag and sorted another bag with overnight things, my makeup, and my trusted pair of converse to change into later, I only have two minutes to get into my car and start driving across to the venue.

Muttering yet more curse words in a mixture of English and Italian as I search for my keys, eventually finding them tucked under an old Chinese takeout container on the countertop, I dart out of my apartment and start taking the stairs two at a time.

I can already feel a thin film of sweat building on my top lip and the back of my neck as I throw open the front door to the building and dart around the side to where my Mercedes is parked.

Throwing my bag onto the passenger seat, I slide behind the wheel and press the start button.

Nothing happens.

“Oh, please. Don’t do this to me,” I moan, pressing it again.

The dashboard remains dark, and the engine is yet to roar to life as I continue to press the ignition.

“No, no, no!” I cry out, slamming my hands against the steering wheel.

Pulling my phone out of my back pocket, I check the time.

I am officially running behind schedule, and by the time I call for an uber and get to the Waldorf, Rosanna will already be walking down the aisle, and I’ll be on my way to the burning pits of hell for being so disorganized on the biggest day of my cousin's life.

Opening up my uber app, I quickly order a car while praying that my cousin has chosen today of all days to not be on time .

“I’m going to have to change in the backseat.” I sigh, looking over at the green garment bag.

My app says the car is six minutes away, so I climb out of my Mercedes, grab my things and head around the corner to wait for my ride,

The sight of the silver Prius pulling up to the curb has me sagging with relief, and I quickly climb into the back and shove a handful of twenties into the center console.

The driver tries to catch them and hand them back. “Ma’am, you’ve already paid?—”

“I’m running late to a wedding and need to change. This is to make sure you don’t creep on me in the mirror, got it?” I look into the rearview mirror, letting my fiery Italian side show, the side which often makes men run for the hills.

The driver’s eyes widen, but he nods.

“Eyes on the road, and we won’t have a problem.” I open up my garment bag and get to work.

As we pull up outside the Waldorf, I’m slipping on my gold sandals and scrambling to get out of the uber before it’s even come to a complete stop.

“Thanks for not being a creep!” I call over my shoulder as I dart across the sidewalk and head inside the hotel.

The wedding is being held on the private rooftop, so I make my way across the bustling lobby toward the elevators at the far end.

Throwing my bag over my shoulder, I glance up to notice the elevator doors on the left are open.

“Wait!” I cry as I note a tall man in a black suit step into the elevator. I bend down and slip off my gold heels, grabbing them in my right hand before breaking out into a run. “Hold it!”

The carpet is scratchy against my bare feet, and I’m suddenly aware that I’m in a backless dress with no bra, meaning my boobs are threatening to make an appearance, but I don’t care. I need to get on the elevator.

I throw my hand out and manage to stop the doors from completely closing.

They spring open, and I step inside, nothing short of fuming as I glance to the dark-haired stranger leaning against the back wall.

“What the hell?” My breathing is coming in heavy pants as I bend down to slip my shoes back on.

Even in my heels, he still towers over me, and is just as broad, his arms practically bursting out of his jacket sleeves.

If I wasn’t so exhausted or pissed off, I might have taken a second to admire him.

“Sorry, I’m in a hurry.” He shrugs those delicious shoulders.

His voice is gruff like sandpaper, and a shiver runs down my spine as he finally looks down at me with an eyebrow lifted. His perfectly styled hair is a deep rich brown, a perfect mirror to the eyes that are boring into me with such intensity that, for a moment, I forget why I’m annoyed.

“Obviously, so am I,” I huff, folding my arms across my chest and looking away before my cheeks have a chance to turn beetroot.

I lean forward and press the button for the rooftop terrace, despite it already being lit.

“You’re here for the wedding, I assume?”

I nod, keeping my eyes forward, though I can feel his stare burning into my skin.

“Bride or groom?”

“Bride,” I mutter, still annoyed. “You?”

“Groom.” I can’t help but glance back up at him, and he grins, a dimple appearing in his right cheek, softening his stone-like features.

He leans against the wall of the elevator and looks at me with a smirk. “Maybe later you’ll let me buy you a drink?”

“It’s an open bar.”

He chuckles. “Ouch.”

“Besides, I’ll likely be busy with all my bridesmaid duties.”

His eyebrows lift again as he glances down at my dress.

This time, I can’t stop my cheeks from burning as he eyes the gold silk gown that clings to every curve of my body, and compliments my tanned skin and mahogany hair.

“You’re a bridesmaid?”

“The bride is my cousin.”

“Is that so…” He rolls his lower lip between his teeth.

My eyes fall to his full lips, and the air leaves my lungs as I watch as his tongue darts out to moisten them.

I swallow, my throat feeling thick.

“Are you family or…” I let my question trail off, partly due to the fact that my brain seems to be malfunctioning from being in such close quarters with a man of his size and looks.

“Yes. The groom and I are very… close .” There’s a certain hint of amusement in his eyes as he speaks.

It must be a joke I’m missing, perhaps from past college days spent in a frat house on Greek Row.

As the doors slide open revealing the packed rooftop terrace where the ceremony is being held, he offers me a last wink before stepping out. “Well, enjoy the wedding.”

As he disappears into the crowd of guests, I roll my eyes, but I’m soon distracted by the sight of the terrace.

It’s almost midday, and the sun is beaming down over the guests, casting the space in a warm glow. Arches of soft pink peonies and white roses line the aisle, with rows of white chairs on either side, with gold ribbons tied to the back.

I take a moment to look around at all the guests, many already holding glasses of champagne that are being carried around on trays by waiters.

“It’s breathtaking, isn’t it?”

I jump at the sound of my father’s voice as he appears beside me, wrapping a comforting arm around my shoulder.

“Ah, Papino ,” I sigh, glancing up at my father.

His salt and pepper hair is styled neatly, and he’s wearing a crisp linen suit that I had picked out for him. “You look very dashing,” I tease. “I’m glad I didn’t miss anything! It’s been one thing after another, what with my alarm not going off, then my car wouldn’t start?—”

“ Bambina …” My father takes my hand, squeezing tightly.

I turn toward him. A deep crease forms between his eyebrows, and his mouth is pulled down into a frown.

“Something’s troubling you.” I scan his face for any indication of what’s wrong.

Emilio Bellucci is not a man who shows much feeling, but his blue eyes are filled with nothing but sadness as he looks around at the bustling terrace.

“Yes.” He avoids my eyes.

“What is it, Papino ? Is it Rosanna? Is she okay?” I glance around, my heart sinking in my chest.

Has she had second thoughts? Has the groom?

“No, it’s nothing to do with Rosanna.”

I let out a breath, relaxing just a little. If the bride and groom are still going through with the wedding, any other issue will be trivial.

“Then what is it? I really need to go and check on Rosanna before the ceremony starts. We are already a few minutes late.”

“Come with me, we shouldn’t discuss this so publicly.”

Taking me by the arm, he leads me around the edge of the terrace and through a door that opens onto a private room that by the looks of it is being used as a cloakroom by the wedding guests.

My father takes my bag from me and places it on the floor beside a rail of coats.

“I’ve not been completely honest with you, bambina .”

The way my father is refusing to look me in the eye has my stomach fluttering with nerves.

He’s not a man of many words, and we don’t have the closest of relationships, but we have always been honest with one another no matter what.

So, the fact that he’s in distress over whatever it is he has failed to tell me has a lump forming in my throat.

“What is it, Papino ?” I press, my voice barely above a whisper.

I watch as his shoulders sag, as his mouth opens and closes once, twice, before he lifts his eyes to mine.

“This isn’t Rosanna’s wedding.”

“Okay…” A laugh threatens to escape my lips.

Is my father playing some sort of joke?

I’ve spent weeks going over guest lists and catering options with Rosanna. “Whose wedding is it?”

But the way my father’s expression turns from one of guilt to sympathy has my knees almost buckling beneath me.

“It’s yours.”