Page 96 of Mine Again
Still, my hand shoots out before I can stop it, my fingers wrapping around the cool glass.
“Yes,” I say, a little too eager.
I’m past tipsy, teetering on the edge of drunk, but I can’t seem to stop myself.
Dario—let’s go with that—giggles as he pours, hisbracelets jingling with the movement.
He’s been fussing over my hair for what seems like forever, winding it into rollers and promising me extra-luscious curls worthy of any bride. Now, as the curls set, he’s laying out his brushes, ready to paint my face with what he calls mybridal glow.
“Why are you nervous, babe?” he asks as I down the champagne like it’s water. His voice is playful, and his eyes are kind.
“I’ve seen your man,” he goes on, fanning himself with one perfectly manicured hand. “Oh, he’s a hunk. And those eyes!Dio mio,they could cut steel. If only he weren’t straight, I would snatch him from you without an ounce of guilt.”
I try to laugh, but it comes out like a strangled hyena squeak, and I slap a hand over my mouth. The alcohol. Definitely the alcohol.
Vegas. We arrived last night, swept in on a tide of money and secrets.
Sebastian and I spent the day on wedding errands, finalizing the ceremony details, choosing a dress and a tux—separately, of course—collecting the marriage license, and wandering the city hand in hand. That part was fun. I’d never left Sicily before, and everything here is loud, glittering, and unreal.
But then dinner came, and with it the nerves. The sinking feeling. The weight.
Sebastian, for his part, had been all easy smiles and calm confidence. Like getting married tonight is no bigger decision than what to order off a menu. Like this is merely another step in a well-laid plan.
And perhaps for him, it is.
But for me?
For me, it’s like standing at the edge of a cliff and not knowing if I’m about to fly or fall.
“This is a mistake,” I mutter, staring at my reflection, the room starting to blur at the edges.
Dario freezes, eyeliner pencil poised beneath my lash line. “Wait. The makeup? I promise you it won’t be over the top—”
“The wedding,” I interrupt him.
“Oh.” His eyes widen for a beat before softening. “It’s just cold feet,babe. I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve played counselor before the ceremony. It’s totally normal.”
Is it?
Needing to move, I push up from the chair, my skin buzzing with too much energy. The room spins, and I clutch his arm to stay upright.
“Babe. You need food.”
“No. I just got up too fast,” I insist, though the room keeps tilting.
I sink back down. Dario starts loosening the rollers, unwinding each curl as if it were spun from gold. He fluffs one and hums in approval before moving on to the next.
“Want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“Fair,” he says, fluffing another curl. “But you are marrying that man today?”
“Yes.”
“Do you love him?”
“No… not yet… but I could. I hope.”
