Page 12 of His to Ruin
I grimace at Clare’s ingratiating tone. There was a time when I reveled in having people bowing and scraping to me, but nowit pisses me off. I’ve done nothing to earn such reverence, apart from being born into the Volante family.
“Please,” Emilia answers when the silence drags on.
Clare sweeps her arm out toward a seating area with a sofa and two chairs. “Make yourselves comfortable. My head stylist will come and assist you in a moment.”
“No.” My tone is so abrupt, Emilia shoots me an admonishing glare. I try to tamp down my irritation. “That won’t be necessary, thank you. We’d like to look around by ourselves.”
From the glower on her face, it’s clear this isn’t how Clare usually deals with the brides who come into her store, but the last thing I want is someone fussing over me. I don’t feel like answering a thousand questions about the wedding plans and my husband-to-be. It’s going to be hard enough to pick a dress while wrestling with my mixed emotions over marrying Piotr. Listening to some overly enthusiastic assistant twittering in my ear about how lucky I am would be unbearable.
“Very well,” she says tightly. “I’ll have some champagne brought out.”
As we walk farther into the store, my heels sinking into the plush lilac carpet, the door opens behind us and Alessia breezes in. The grin on her face spells trouble.
“What’s that look for?” I ask.
“Ran into that asshole Dante outside.” Alessia and Dante seem to love pissing each other off. “Didn’t know he was babysitting today. Bit below his paygrade, isn’t it?”
I snort derisively. “Antonio called in the big guns to make sure I don’t skip town.”
I exchange a kiss on each cheek with my cousin and then step back.
“Is that a possibility?” Alessia’s grin slides away to be replaced by concern.
“No, I’m resigned to my fate.” Realizing I’m standing between my two bridesmaids, I move to the side. “Do you know Emilia?”
“Yes, we met at Aunt Ava’s, I think.”
“That’s right.” Emilia accepts a kiss from my cousin. “You’re a student, yes?”
Alessia’s chest puffs up a little. She’s justifiably proud of her academic achievements. “I’m doing my Masters in International Relations.”
“You want to be a diplomat?” Emilia asks.
“Not really.” Alessia’s long, dark ponytail swishes as she shakes her head. “I want to work for Antonio. I thought learning about complex relationships would be useful.”
“Good luck getting the sexist asshole to give you a job,” I grumble.
“Antonio’s not the dinosaur you think he is,” Alessia protests. “He’s been asking when the course is finished. He seems interested in my progress.”
“Perhaps he wants to marry you off to one of his associates and needs you to be done with college first.” I can’t stop myself from taking a jab at her.
“Nah.” Alessia brushes off my comment. “One of the benefits of being related on your mom’s side is that Antonio doesn’t interfere in our personal lives.”
That’s true. Alessia’s father, Robert, doesn’t come from a Mafia background. He’s of English, rather than Italian heritage. When he married my aunt Angela, he made it clear he intended to stay well out of our family’s business.
“Shouldn’t we start looking?” Emilia asks as a young woman comes over, carrying two glasses of champagne. “We don’t have much time.”
“I guess so.” I take a glass from the assistant, and she hands the other to Emilia. “Could we have another for my cousin, please?”
“Yes, of course, Miss Volante. Right away.”
As she scurries off to do my bidding, Emilia waves a hand toward the sea of white satin and lace before us. “So, what sort of dress are you looking for?”
Sipping my champagne, I drop onto the white leather sofa in the center of the room.
“I have absolutely no idea.”
After five grueling hours, I finally arrive home alone, having found the perfect dress. I’d have liked to take my bridesmaids to dinner, but Alessia had to complete an assignment for college, and Emilia had a few things to take care of at her hotel. I suppose I’m lucky they could find time to come with me at such short notice. They have busy lives.
