Chapter 32

32

Jeanne

I glance around the room he led me to before vanishing down the corridor. I'd expected him to bring me to a hotel, but instead, we've come to what he called a safe house. A gorgeous two-story building built in a Moorish architectural style, which I'm guessing must be typical for this region. From what I recall of my history lessons, Malta has Italian and Moorish influences.

He'd told me to freshen up and get dressed. Dressed. Dressed in what?

Before I could ask him the question, he turned and left.

Now, I cross the floor to the closet in the corner and throw it open. My breath whooshes out. Whoa! There's a full-length white dress on a hanger, complete with silver stilettos, and a hat box on the floor next to it. I reach for the hat box, lift it up, and open it to find a veil. I place the hat box on the bed, then take the hanger with the white dress, and walking over to the mirror, hold it up in front of me. It's a simple design. Sleeveless, then cut so it falls in a straight line to my toes. It seems shapeless, but the material is so light, it feels like I'm holding a cloud in my arms.

How did he have time to arrange all of this? Did he know we were coming here today? Did he plan all of this in advance? Was he so sure I'd leave with him? What if I'd said no? The questions swirling in my head almost cause me to hyperventilate again.

Instead, I lay the dress out on the bed and walk toward the bathroom. A quick shower later, I wrap the towel around myself and walk out. Then freeze. There on the bed, next to the dress, is a matching bra and panties set. It's brand-new, judging by the folds in the fabric, and clearly, my size. I glance around the room, then back at the lingerie. It feels as soft as butterfly wings. I shrug into the under clothes, then survey myself in the mirror.

The panties are simple white silk and cut high on the hips. The bra cups my breasts and lifts them, with the lace straps giving them a faintly S so perfect. How could he have guessed my style? More importantly, how did he guess my size? And have this stitched and delivered so quickly? I hold my hair away from my face, when there's a knock on the door. A woman pops her head around the door.

I blink. "Penny?" I yell. "Penny!" I pivot around, and in two strides, I meet her halfway across the floor. "What are you doing here?" I fling my arms open, but she holds her palms up, face forward.

"You look beautiful, and I don't want to spoil your wedding dress."

"You won't!" I throw my arms around her and hug her, and that tight sensation around my chest eases. How had he known I'd want to see a familiar face? I hadn't realized it myself until just now, seeing Penny.

"I'm not alone," she whispers.

"Wait, what?"

Another woman walks through the doorway.

"Olivia?" I stare wide-eyed as her features light up.

"Long time, no see, eh?" She grins and comes to a stop in front of us. Penny steps out of my embrace, and Olivia looks me up and down. Her chin trembles, and her eyes shine. Yeah, Olivia acts like she's the tough one, but inside, she's a softie. The one's who pretend to be hard-hearted always are.

"Wh-what are the two of you doing here?"

They look at each other. "We got a call from your Mafioso." Olivia half smiles. "He told us the two of you decided to elope, but he felt you'd prefer if the two of us were there as your bridesmaids?—"

"He had Massimo pick us up and take us to this darling little boutique where we picked out our bridesmaid's dresses—" Penny gestures to the short blue dresses they're both wearing— "then Massimo took us to their private jet, and here we are."

He made sure my friends had bridesmaids dresses? The man thinks of everything. Speaking of... "We flew in a private jet," I say slowly, "then he sent you another private jet?"

"So, he has a lot of private jets?" Olivia raises a shoulder. "Also, your dress is gorgeous."

"He had this waiting for me."

"You mean, he had this all tailored and ready for you?" Penny asks.

"It would seem so."

"It fits you beautifully," Olivia murmurs.

"I'm so happy both of you are here." I glance between them, then throw my arms around both of them again.

"Your dress," Olivia protests.

"I don't care." I hold onto them.

"We care." Penny shrugs out of my embrace and I let them go.

"What are you doing to your hair?"

Half an hour later, I glance at myself in the mirror. Penny helped me put my hair up in a twist of some kind, and Olivia helped me with my make-up. The result is that I look radiant. Like a bride, I suppose. I am a bride… Even though it's all fake, it doesn't feel fake. That's the problem. It feels too real. It's happening; it's really happening. I squeeze my fingers together. I draw in a breath and my stomach protests. I taste bile on my tongue, and sweat breaks out on my hair line. "Oh, god, I'm going to be sick, I think."

"Don't you dare." Penny rubs my back. "Breathe, babe, breathe. Everything is going to be okay."

"You have no idea." I meet her gaze in the mirror. My face is almost as white as the dress. "Penny." I swallow. "I have something to tell you guys."

She and Olivia exchange worried glances. "What is it? You can tell us anything."

"It's… it's not what it seems." I twist my fingers together. I know I shouldn't tell anyone that all this is a farce, but it's killing me not to. "Luca and I, we?—"

There's a knock on the door.

"Hold that thought—" Penny turns and flounces to the doorway and opens it. I peer in that direction in the mirror, but can't see who's on the other side. It has to be him, right? Who else could it be?

I hear the low rumble of his voice, though he's too far away for me to make out the words. Penny nods. Then she shuts the door and turns around with a gorgeous bouquet, filled with white and blue flowers, in her arms.

"What's that?" I ask.

She walks toward me, holding the bouquet in a reverential way. As she comes closer, the scent of jasmine drifts toward me. There are strands of star-shaped flowers on stalks and bluebells. Like the dress, it's simple, elegant, and utterly memorable.

"It's a bridal bouquet," Penny says in a hushed voice.

She holds it out to me. Tears gather in my eyes, and the bouquet fades in and out of my vision.

"Don't cry, babe, you'll spoil your make up," Olivia warns as she pats my shoulder.

I reach for the bouquet, and Olivia grabs a tissue and pats my cheek. "Are you ready?"