Page 33 of Wicked

As I exit my door, turn and lock it, I turn to find Dante. He is dressed in a perfectly cut dark suit, and he looks divine. He also looks like a male model, and it’s hard to imagine he’s a mere caretaker. “You… you look great,” I say. “The hottest caretaker ever!”

Dante smiles and his impeccable style has thrown me. He was rugged and hot before, but now, now he is sophisticated and gorgeous.

“And you…” Dante says, pausing and taking me in.

I blush then follow him downstairs toward the Range Rover. Maria walks out of the dining room, hands on her hips. “Bellissimo. Bravo! Would you look-a at you two?”

I grin, embarrassed, but Dante doesn’t seem phased at all.

“It’s nothing, Maria,” he says. “A cousin’s wedding and a good chance to show Raven Italian culture.”

As Maria steps up to me, she touches my cheek with her hand. I blush even more. “Bellissimo. Bellissimo.”

“Don’t be silly,” I say. “Just having some fun.”

“Is she not spectacular, Dante?”

Maria and I turn to Grumpy, and he simply growls. I have no idea what he is thinking. All I know is that his eyes are darker.

After drivingthrough a stunning Tuscan sunset and past endless grapevines, we pass horses charging freely along the hills and coast.

It is breathtaking and I even catch Grumpy looking across at the sun on the horizon with horses.

“You’re lucky to live here,” I say, my breath taken.

The semi-aristocratic caretaker says nothing, and we turn left to enter a gorgeous property. The long driveway is lined with poplar trees, and in the distance, stylish Italian and European cars are parked on the grass.

Dante parks the black Range Rover near an old marble statue, and he is kind enough to open my door and take my hand.

I am unused to it, but with the heels and gown, I accept the help.

As we walk across the property towards a stunning old villa, or what many would call mansion, Dante explains it’s owned by an old family connection.

He then tells me he’s here to see his sister, his grandmother, and anyone else in the family. No one and nothing else.

We talk about weddings, and he tells me he detests overly formal or stuffy European events. After I challenge him on it, he explains his point of view and reasoning.

That often in Europe, unlike in the States, overly bred people try to outclass each other and prove they have older money or heritage.

I soon start to get it, and I imagine wannabe bluebloods in the Hamptons. I’ve come across some from Manhattan, and some of the old money in Connecticut have reputations.

Like Dante, I believe respect should be earned.

That it cannot be bought or handed down with silver spoons.

As we get closer to the guests, I see everyone is dressed impeccably. Not a hair seems out of place, and I start to get anxious.

“Are you okay?” Dante asks as I fidget and slow down.

“Just nervous,” I say before I catch myself.

“Don’t be, you look great,” Dante says without looking at me.

“Really?” I ask, unsure.

“Really,” Dante growls as he leads us towards tables set outside on a lawn.

We are late in arriving, but Dante told me his plan in transit. The wedding was in a local, large church, but he wanted to miss that, as well as the long-winded sit-down speeches and meal.

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