Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 163540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 818(@200wpm)___ 654(@250wpm)___ 545(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 818(@200wpm)___ 654(@250wpm)___ 545(@300wpm)
“No, why?”
“I’ll find a copy for you.” He closes the curtain in my face. “Try the next dress on. You are quite the celebrity now.”
I flick the curtain open again in surprise. “Who? Me?” I scoff.
“Darling, you are marrying Enrico Ferrara, the king of Italy. What did you expect?”
I roll my eyes and flick the curtain closed.
“He’s kept you relatively well hidden up until now. But from here on in, you are officially the property of Italy. Everything you do and wear will be splashed across every magazine in the country. Look at Bianca. She’s the envy of every woman—the queen of fashion.”
My anxiety begins to grow. “We need to find a fucking dress.”
“Okay then. Next,” he says, his urgency growing along with mine.
I begin to try on the next dress, and I hear him talking to someone. “Do you have a copy of today’s newspaper?” He listens for a moment. “Can you chase one up for me, please?”
I pull up the dress and look in the mirror. It’s a deep red fabric, and it’s strapless with a rouged kind of look to it. I turn and look at my behind. This one is better.
I flick open the curtain and Giorgio’s eyes light up.
“Oh, Olivia.” He gasps as he spins me away from him and inspects my behind. “Oh, yes, I like this. I like this a lot.”
I wiggle my hips in the mirror with a cheeky smile. “Me, too.”
“Here you are.” Someone hands Giorgio a newspaper, and he smiles as he studies it.
He holds it up, and on the front page is a picture of me. I can’t understand what it says. It’s written in Italian.
“What does it say?” I ask.
“Enrico Ferrara chooses his queen.”
“That’s the headline?”
He kisses my cheek. “It takes a brave woman to love a Ferrara man.”
I smile, but my heart drops. “Why do you say that?”
He takes my hand in his. “Nothing really, just not everyone is cut out for the life of a Ferrara man, that’s all.” He flicks the curtain shut and I stare at my reflection in the mirror.
An insidious festering fear begins to swirl in my stomach, like the calm before the storm. It takes a brave woman to love a Ferrara man.
Bravery has never been my strong point.
“What about this?” I come out of the closet in a pink dress. I hold my hands out to give him the full effect. “Is this better?” I do a twirl.
Enrico rolls his eyes. “You look gorgeous, like you have in the last five dresses. Just pick one because we need to go.”
God, all this fucking picking outfits lately has me going crazy. I wish Giorgio never showed me that damn newspaper. Now I’m second-guessing every damn outfit I wear.
How the fuck am I supposed to compete with Bianca?
“Pick one,” he repeats.
I look at him, deadpan. He doesn’t need to worry because he looks amazing in anything he wears, and how wrong can you go in an Armani suit?
I turn and look at my behind in the mirror. “I’m getting a fat ass already.”
He smirks.
“Your baby is making me fat.” I huff as I walk into the wardrobe. “What do you wear to fucking church, anyway?” I call as I flick through all the coat hangers.
“The word fucking doesn’t go in that sentence, Olivia!” he calls back.
“Stop telling me not to swear.”
“I never knew a mother who swore so much.”
“The baby isn’t here yet so I’m saying all the fucks I can.”
God, so many dresses and none that look good.
I’m nervous as all hell. I’m going to church with the Ferraras.
The whole damn family is coming. Enrico’s brothers are home, and after church we are going back to Nona’s. It’s Sunday, and I was supposed to be having a cooking lesson, but I hope she’s forgotten.
I know I want to.
At this stage, I don’t care if Enrico eats toast for the rest of his life.
I put on a cream pantsuit. It has fitted trousers and a matching blazer jacket. I study myself in the mirror.
“Okay, we can work with this.” I take the jacket off and put on a bronze silk blouse before draping the jacket over the top. I undo the top button of my blouse and walk out of the wardrobe. “Do I look like I’m going to work?”
Enrico looks up. His eyes drop down my body and he gives me a slow, sexy smile. “If being on your knees and sucking my cock is the work you want to be doing, then yes.”
I put my hands on my hips and give him a wiggle. “Yes?”
He nods once. “Yes.”
I walk back into the wardrobe and put a high heel sandal on one foot and a closed in pointy pump on the other. I clomp out. “What shoes say that I am a sensible, church-going Italian.”