Page 40 of The Don's Prisoner

“You look like you are wearing a whole new outfit,” Gio said in awe, and I smiled.

“Thanks. You learn a thing or two in the fashion world.”

“Apparently. Come on downstairs, and I’ll make you coffee.”

He did just that, and I enjoyed the lovely warm beverage as I waited for Isabella to arrive. Instead of knocking, she came through the front door like she owned the place and started pouring herself a cup of coffee. Clearly, she was very familiar with his kitchen.

“Good morning!” she squealed and hugged Gio, who patted her affectionately on the head. Then she turned and hugged me. I patted her back awkwardly, but she held on with a vice grip-like tightness. “Oh, I’m so happy to be a part of this! I can’t tell you how great it is that you are here! I was worried Gio was going to become the male version of a crazy cat lady. Would that be a crazy dog man?”

“Umm, I don’t know,” I laughed and she finally let go. I looked at Gio, who had a look on his face that I couldn’t quite identify. It was close to happiness, but there was worry there too, and… guilt maybe?

“Well, whatever. Pretty soon, we won’t have to worry about that! Come on, finish your coffee. We have shopping to do!”

She wasn’t kidding.

Fashion people like to shop. It’s what we do. But Isabella? She was a pro. She had an itinerary, a physical list of places we needed to go, how long we should be there for optimal viewing, prices of the best dresses, and pictures of dresses she thought I might like. Seriously, if she ever needed a job, I would hire her as a personal wedding planner in a heartbeat and find her clients. She could make herself a fortune with her talent and eye for detail.

Not that she needed the money. She was a De Carlo after all.

We were at bridal shop number four, heading back to Isabella’s car, when I saw him.

I hadn’t managed to find a dress I liked yet, though that wasn’t at all surprising. Shopping through other people’s inventory felt a little wrong, a little like cheating on myself. They were all someone else’s vision of how I should look, and I guess that kept me from really connecting with the dresses and feeling that “perfect dress” feeling. Isabella understood, as I knew she would. We had talked a lot over the past few hours, and we were becoming fast friends. We understood each other and, surprisingly, she understood me better than anyone else had, except maybe Vito.

I was just asking her if, after we stopped for a late lunch, we could head over to Happily Ever After to try on some of my dresses when I saw Rex leaning against Isabella’s car—his arms folded over his chest and his ankles crossed like he had every right to be leaning against it.

I stopped walking and, realizing I had stopped, so did Isabella. When she saw what I was looking at, she bolted for her car at an angry march.

“Umm excuse me?” she demanded, calling out to him. “What do you think you are doing? That’s my car!”

“Isabella!” I hissed and ran up behind her to grab her arm. She looked at me and then back to Rex who hadn’t moved a muscle. He just leaned on her car in his jeans and white T-shirt with a black jacket like he owned it.

“What?” she asked me, looking confused.

“You don’t want to piss him off,” I told her. She looked even more confused.

“You know him?”

I nodded, my eyes never leaving Rex, who was now watching me with an unblinking stare.

“Well, whoever he is, he needs to get off my car. Besides, we have places to be and dresses to try on.”

“Dresses, huh?” Rex called out and Isabella started towards her vehicle again. I followed, nervous about how this was going to go down. I understood that Isabella grew up with scary, powerful men, but I hadn’t. All this Mafia crap was new to me. I knew Rex had broken into my house yesterday to taunt me, and now he somehow knew where Isabella and I were even though I had never even met Isabella until yesterday. How could he be here? How could he know where I was?

None of that was good news.

“Yes, dress shopping,” Isabella said and tried to grab the door handle of her car. Rex took one step to the left and covered it with his body, making it clear that we could leave only when he said we could leave. He watched me, even though Isabella was speaking.

“So, who’s the lucky girl?” he asked, and I silently prayed Isabella would tell him it was none of his business. But like the enthusiastic girlfriend she was, she answered him honestly.

“She is. She’s marrying my brother in a few weeks.”

Rex’s eyes bore holes into mine, and I could feel the rage boil up inside him. A muscle in his jaw ticked, and I saw his hands ball into fists.

“Shotgun wedding, huh?” he looked from my eyes to my midsection then back again.

I didn’t know if letting him think I was pregnant would be better or not, but Isabella answered for me.

“No, it’s not like that,” Isabella shook her head. “Not that it’s any of your business. Now get off my car before I make you.”

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