We don’t have a single moment alone, not the whole day. I’m happy about that. If I was alone with Finch, I might break down, might say something stupid and syrupy and emotional that I’d regret, because I need him unhappy.
I need him to be miserable in this marriage, because one moment of joy in front of the wrong person will kill him.
Chapter Eleven
FINCH
I could tell Luca was on edge for every second of the ceremony, but I wasn’t. And it wasn’t just the limo vodkas or the earlier pills Celia slipped me. No, today has been incredible. I’d go so far as to say it was the most amazing moment of my life so far when Luca leaned in to peck me on the cheek, but I grabbed him and jammed my tongue in his mouth.
I got cheered by at least a dozen mobsters. Talk about living my best life.
The wedding feast was fun, or so I’m told. I don’t remember much, thanks again to Celia’s pills. I do remember Brother Frank giving a speech, and Celia and my sisters all cried, except for Maggie, who sat there with a furious smile on her lips for the whole night. Luca sat through the whole thing grimacing like he had a toothache, except for one time when Pops snapped at me that I was laughing too much and too loud.
Luca leaned over to him, across my lap so I could feel the warmth coming off him, and said, “I think a man should laugh as much as he wants on his wedding day.”
Pops was livid, but he didn’t say anything, just got up and walked off to the bathroom.
“Thanks,” I told Luca, surprised. “He fucking hates my laugh.”
“I like it,” he said, his eyes soft. I smiled, but then his eyes narrowed, flicking around the room, and he leaned back in his chair to put some distance between us. “Besides, you might not much feel like laughing much in the coming months.”
I didn’t believe him at the time. I figured at least we had bed that night to look forward to, and every time I thought about it, I couldn’t help grinning to myself again. Five years. I wondered how much he would have changed? How much of my memory of that incredible night was memory and how much embellishment?
But then I was sent back to my Central Park West prison, and I didn’t even get to spend the night with my husband.
“I had business to attend to,” he told me briefly this morning when I asked. He swung by to pick me up in a town car like it was no big deal we didn’t spend our fucking wedding night together.
Now here we are, getting on a private jet to fly down to Florida, where we’ll get on a yacht and sail the islands. I’m bouncing in the car seat because I’m finally free. One more night in that apartment with no one to talk to except a couple of bored mobsters assigned to watch me, and I’d have pulled my brain out my fucking nose with a spoon, just for something to do.
Luca seems paler than ever as we climb up the stairs to the private jet provided, like the yacht, by Tino Morelli. I pause to wave to Pops and Maggie, to Tino Morelli and Sam Fuscone, to Brother Frank and Sister Celia, who all came to see us off. Luca drags me into the plane by the elbow.
“Whoa,” I complain. “Don’t start slapping me around yet, baby. Wait till we get to the honeymoon suite at least.”
“Sit down and keep quiet,” he hisses at me. Then he leans in close, his lips against my ear, and murmurs, “This plane will have bugs all through it.”
I’m guessing he doesn’t mean the creepy-crawly kind. I sigh and settle into my seat. I guess I can wait to talk in private later. Meanwhile, there’s another issue to address. I’m in Bermudas, Crocs, and a white tee. He’s in another cheap suit. I guess at least he’s not wearing a tie.
“You’re gonna sweat like fuck when we get off in Florida,” I say.
“I have appearances to keep up,” he says stiffly, taking off the jacket and hanging it in the cute little wardrobe at the back of the cabin.
I scoff: “Poly-blend isn’t an appearance, D’Amato.”
“This is Armani,” he says, his eyes as icy as his voice.
“Bullshit,” I cackle. “Whatever that is, it’s not my man Giorgio.”
He doesn’t reply, just settles into one of the large leather seats. He fastens his seatbelt right away, tightening it so hard he’s in danger of cutting off blood supply between his dick and his brain.
I get up and come down the aisle, so I can settle into the seat across from him, and kick back. All things considered, life could be a lot shittier right now than it is. For example, I could be pushing up daisies. Instead, I have a hot new husband, a private jet and then a yacht to look forward to, and a sponge bag squashed full of my favorite candies, thanks to Celia.
The smiling hostess comes down to congratulate us on our marriage and pour us a glass of champagne. “We’ll be taking off in five minutes or so, gentlemen. Just let me know if you need anything, anything at all.”
Luca gives her an impatient nod.
“Thank you,” I say, checking her name tag. “Jessica? Thank you, Jessica. You’re a star.”
“Thank you, Mr. D’Amato,” she giggles, and leaves us.
I look across at my new husband. “Is she confused, or am I taking your name?”
He gives a sigh like he’s getting a migraine, and closes his eyes, tries to settle back in the seat.
“You want some sparkles?” I ask, lifting up my own glass. “Good vintage, this. I’m impressed. Tino spared
