Page 63 of His Fantasy Bride (Things To Do Before You Die)

“You’re an angel,” he murmured.

“No, I’m not.”

“No, maybe you’re not, Gabrielle…Gabby…whoever you are.” He was silent for a moment, his eyes closed and his long lashes shadowing his cheeks. She fought the urge to stroke a finger down over the scar. To comfort him. “Don’t go out with him.”

For a second, she had no clue who he was talking about.

“That asshole Scarlesi,” he supplied, blinking his eyes. “Don’t go out with him.”

“Why not?”

He gazed at her solemnly. “He drinks too much.”

Her lips twitched. “You want a coffee?”

“No. I want to sleep. I want to sleep with you watching over me like my own personal guardian angel.”

She wanted to tell him that wasn’t a good idea. But he rested his head against the sofa’s back, closed his eyes, and his breathing evened out.

She shook her head, and then crossed the room to the cupboard and pulled out a pillow and blanket. She threw the pillow on the sofa then knelt beside him, tugged off his shoes, and lifted his legs so his head fell sideways onto the pillow. She straightened his legs, unable to resist the chance to touch him. She had no clue why he’d come here with Luca. Or why he was drunk. Vito never drank to excess. And yet here he was. This was a bonus, extra time. And once she tucked him in, she took the seat opposite and stared her fill, a little spark of hope igniting inside her.

She fell asleep watching the rise and fall of his chest.

When she woke he was gone.

…

“Happy birthday!”

It was a week since Vito had fallen into a drunken stupor on her sofa, and she hadn’t seen or heard from him since. She could only presume he regretted the visit—he’d certainly made no effort to tell her otherwise. He’d slipped out while she was asleep in the chair. No note. He just disappeared.

And she’d heard nothing from Luca either.

The little spark of hope had faded. She’d been moving through her life in a fog of misery, throwing herself into rehearsals for the new part while still performing in the chorus line. It kept her busy and tired, and still she dreamed of Vito.

She’d actually forgotten today was her twenty-fifth birthday. That afternoon, she’d worked a matinee then come home and fallen asleep. She’d planned on a pizza in front of the TV and an early night. Instead, Theresa had told her to get her lazy ass off the sofa, into the shower, and into a dress. She was taking her out.

She’d expected a quiet dinner for the two of them, followed by dancing. Instead, the room was full of people. Scarlesis to be precise. It looked like the whole clan was here.

Her father and Maria approached her. Her stepmother handed her a brightly wrapped present, and her father leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “Happy birthday, darling.”

She’d presumed, like her, everyone had forgotten her birthday. It had happened before.

“A quarter of a century,” Maria said. “We had to do something to celebrate.”

Tears pricked the back of her eyes. As they wandered away, she turned to Theresa. “Did you organize this?”

“Actually, it was Luca’s idea, and he’s paid for it all. I think he still feels a bit guilty. And so he should.” Theresa tugged her arm. “Come on, I ordered the best champagne, since Luca is paying. Let’s go get pissed. Family get-togethers always drive me to drink.”

Throughout the evening, she was smothered in hugs and kisses, and everyone had presents. She drank too much champagne and got maudlin and misty-eyed. At the end of the evening, as people were drifting away, she took a bottle of champagne and sat on the balcony with Theresa, their legs hanging over the edge.

“That was…nice. I love your family.”

“They’re yours as well.”

“I know. Well, most of the time I know, though I’ve always felt something of an alien in their midst. But tonight everyone was so…welcoming.”

“Aw, they love you, sweetie. They always have. You’re just too thick and stubborn to see it. And sometime they do have an odd way of showing it.”

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