Page 74 of Sins of Bliss


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“She’s going to hate me, isn’t she?” I ask Sly as we get ready to leave for his parents' house. I’ve been nervous all day, regretting our invitation to dinnerwhen we should have made it lunch. Waiting all day to meet Sly’s parents has been a slow torture.

Now, we’re standing in the en suite of his apartment—ourapartment—getting ready.

We’re still deciding whether to call his place home or mine.

He looks at me through the mirror as he shaves beneath his jawline, creating crisp lines at the edge of his trimmed, short beard. “Why would you think that? She’s going to love you.”

“If I had a son, and a woman I’d never met, who my family had a less than desirable past with, just up andmarriedhim, I’d probably hate her. At least a little.”

“My mother doesn’t have a hostile bone in her body. She’s going to adore you, piccola ladra. She always wanted a daughter. Plus, she’s met you, remember? You were just a child.”

“And what a lasting impression my family made withthatintroduction.” My tone is sarcastic, and a little irritated, if I’m being honest.

The unease I’m feeling is tangible and lodged in my throat. I try to swallow it down, but the lump won’t budge. Dropping my gaze, I rustle through my makeup case and pull out my blush.

“Vinnie.”

Next, I search for my stippling brush, and push back the emotion that’s overtaking my body. I shouldn’t be so nervous, but I know the respect Sly has for his mother, and the last thing I can stomach is the idea that I will be a disappointment to her. Or worse, someoneshedoesn’t respect.

Although, I’m not sure if I deserve the respect of the woman who made my husband.

“Vincenza,” Sly’s voice cuts through my brain fog, stern and rough. Looking into the mirror, his features are hard and serious. “Get out of your head.”

Easier said than done as my thoughts spiral into self-deprecation.

Again, I drop my gaze, but this time I don’t even pretend to search in my makeup bag. I simply press my palms onto the counter and let my head hang.

Seconds later, Sly’s warm hands run up my arms and over my shoulders as he presses his palm against my collarbone and pulls me into his chest. “What is going on with you, amore mio? You’ve seemed off since we returned home.”

“I don’t know,” I sigh, leaning my head back against him. “I’ve felt extra emotional this week. Maybe my period is coming early? Or maybe it’s just the looming anxiety of the official family introductions this weekend. I’m really stressed about family brunch on Sunday. What if Joseph is there?”

“I hope he is. Your brother and I need to have a conversation.”

“Which is exactly what I’m afraid of.”

“And exactly why we’re meeting my family first, Vincenza. They’re going to love you, and you’ll see how easy it is to set aside the animosity and blend our families.”

“How can you be so sure? My father?—”

“Will accept me as his son-in-law, or he will face the consequences. You told me on our honeymoon that you and I are family now. I would never ask you to choose between your father and myself, but as your husband, I can’t help but hope I would be the man you choose to stand by when push comes to shove. Someday, when we have a family…”

“There’s no question in my mind, Sly. You’re my choice, forever and always. And yes, if my father doesn’t accept you into his family, then we won’t accept him intoours.”

“Te amo, piccola ladra.” He presses a kiss to my temple—something he does regularly and has no idea of the effects it has on my body. Instantly, I feel calmer, loved, and cherished by him. The simple, sweet act speaks volumes about how he feels about me, and the comfort it brings is unlike any other. “I can’t wait for you to meet Mamma e Papà.”

Sighing, I tilt my head, and he captures my lips gently, kissing me softly before releasing me to finish getting ready.

“Will you be ready in ten, amore mio?”

“I can be,” I say with a smile as I reach for my hairbrush.

As ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.

When I envisioned meeting the Lucchetti family, the first thing I pictured was Sly and I standing outside of their home after ringing the doorbell, sharing a moment where he rubbed my back in comfort as I tried to keep the nerves at bay, and when the door finally opened, his mother would greet us and there wouldbe a tense, silent trepidation in the air that would be difficult for us all to move past.

In reality, as we walk up the steps to Sly’s family’s brownstone, the image I conjured in my mind evaporates. Instead of knocking, Sly twists the doorknob and enters the home, tugging me along behind him by the loose grip he has on my hand.

“Mamma!” he calls as the door shuts behind us.