I would fight a war for my wife, so dealing with her overbearing father is easy.
Chapter twelve
Lucia
“That went well,” Ant says as he leads me to his car, his palm resting on the small of my back. I preferred it when I was tucked into his side. With a glance back at the house, my eyes go immediately to the office windows. The large silhouette framed by the interior lights is obviously my father’s, and a shiver runs up my spine.
He draws me closer. “Are you okay?”
I nod as he opens the passenger door, and I slide in. It’s impossible for me to form the words in Italian or English to explain the sadness in my heart. My father has made it clear that he will never forgive me for the disloyalty I showed in disobeying his wishes. I’d always suspected but never understood the level of dislike he had for Antonio, but it was on full display tonight. His hatred for my husband unleashed in a vitriolic outburst. He couldn’t even look him in the eye when Ant spoke.
What did Ant ever do to him?Nothing that I remember. In fact, until that last summer, he always encouraged Dante and me to spend time with the Barbieri brothers. But as it turns out, thatwas the same summer he made the agreement with Antonio’s father for me to marry Giovanni.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur once the car wheels are crunching on the gravel as we drive toward the iron gates. I never want to return to this house again.
Ant reaches for my hand, wrapping his warm palm around my frozen fingers and spreading heat from the tips up my arms and through the rest of my body. “You don’t need to apologize for your father’s behavior. We shocked him, and he just reacted badly.”
“Don’t make excuses for him. What he said about you was unforgiveable.”
“Lucky for me, I didn’t understand all of his rapid-fire Italian.” He throws me a lopsided grin, but I can see right through his attempt to make light of the moment.
“But what happens now?” I ask, relief flooding my body as we drive through the gates.
“Well …” He gives my hand a light squeeze. “Tonight, I will call my father and let him know. Then tomorrow, we will make an announcement to the press, and we will plan a party to celebrate our marriage.”
“Really, a party? After what my father just said to us?”
“Yes, Luce, a party. A big party with all of our friends and family right here in Florence.”
My brow creases as I tilt my head to look at him. His profile is all sharp edges, from his straight nose to the high cheekbones and down to his chiseled jaw, as he concentrates on the road. He’s serious.
“And would we be inviting my father to this party?” I ask.
“Of course, he’s family.” He glances sideways, and a small smile tips the corners of his mouth. “I bet he comes, too, especially when he learns the press will be invited.” He turns his head away as he navigates the early-evening traffic. “If it’s okaywith you, I can ask my media marketing department to look into an exclusive magazine deal.”
“Okay. But for the record, I think it’s a crazy idea.”
“No. Just pragmatic. I learned a long time ago that controlling the narrative is the best approach.”
“After that woman you had dinner with a few years ago sold her story to the British press?”
His jaw clenches. “Exactly. It was all a bunch of lies because I didn’t offer her a second date.”
“I know it was lies. She said you had a small dick, and from what I saw yesterday, it’s blatantly untrue. You’re huge.”
He chokes out a laugh. “Thanks.”
I don’t know how he does it, but when I lean my head back and close my eyes, it’s my husband’s impressive package that I’m thinking about rather than the earlier argument with my father.
***
Two Weeks Later
“We did it,” Rose says, hooking her arm through mine. “Best wedding reception ever, and we pulled it together in record time.”
Smiling, I scan the gathered group of guests, Antonio’s friends from the world of business mixing with mine from the fashion industry. Everybody seems to be having a wonderful time, even my parents. Probably because my father, who came just as Ant predicted, has spent most of the evening with Ant’s father and uncles, talking about business and politics. While my mother has been flitting about like the social butterfly she considers herself to be, jumping between groups of minor local and international celebrities and the wives of rich businessmen.
“I think we can call it a success. And I couldn’t have done it without you.”
