Not Mine to Keep (The Costa Family)

“You make one beautiful bride.”

At Rosa’s wispy, almost sentimental tone, I faced the full-length mirror inside the back room of the church. “Thank you, I think? Not sure I want to be a beautiful anything today.”

“Can I come in?” someone called out while knocking. “It’s Isabella Costa.”

Izzy? “Can you give us a minute alone?” I asked Rosa, my heart going into overdrive at the idea of meeting Alessandro’s sister for some reason.

Rosa patted my shoulder, then went to the door and swapped places with Isabella.

Once the door was closed and we were alone, Isabella hung back, wearing a soft yellow dress that’d make a perfect bridesmaid dress.

She was gorgeous. Not a shocker given Alessandro’s looks.

“Hi,” I whispered, my nerves catching as I waited for her to talk.

“Well, you’re absolutely stunning. Not my brother’s normal type.” She raised her hand, eyes narrowing as if an apology was on the way. “I mean that in the best possible way.” A little laugh left her mouth. “You’re who I would wish . . . if this were real, you know?”

I processed her words.

Then took time to process a bit more as she kept studying me. She and her brother had the whole staring-at-me-like-I-was-a-mystery-to-be-solved thing down pat.

She drummed her fingers on her collarbone as I continued to remain quiet. “I ramble sometimes. Lack a filter, too. Apologies in advance.”

“I can relate to that,” I admitted. “Your brother isn’t always a fan of my mouth.” Well, that didn’t sound right.

She chuckled. “Oh, I’m betting he’s secretly your biggest fan.” When she ate up the space between us and pulled me in for an unexpected hug, I went still.

My arms became awkward dangling limbs at my sides, and it took me a moment to remember what to do in a scenario like this. Hug back.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I finally said when she let me go. “How’s Alessandro feeling? Gabriel said he slept most of the day.” I wasn’t about to admit how worried about him I’d been after our encounter last night, but yeah, the knots in my stomach had knots.

“Rough night. He’ll be fine. No worries.” She played everything off with a shrug while standing alongside me, catching my eyes in the mirror now instead. “He’s a tough guy, but he’s a teddy bear underneath. Just don’t tell him it was me who shared that.”

Teddy bear? More like sweet and then sour (but on steroids).

“This dress, though. Just . . . wow,” she murmured, fingering her wavy brown hair that had some blonde sun-kissed highlights in it.

I focused on the mirror, studying my “costume,” which was all it needed to be to me. The base of the dress was a mermaid gown dripping in sparkles, but I currently had the gorgeous detachable skirt covering it with a long train of tulle and lace.© 2024 Nôv/el/Dram/a.Org.

The bodice of the gown cinched in my waist and featured a plunging neckline, and the back had sheer tulle with gorgeous pearl-like buttons.

“This is probably going to be the only time I ever witness my brother get married since he hates the concept of relationships ever since, um . . . so, yeah.”

My ears perked up at that. “Ever since what?”

“And I know the marriage won’t last, but you’re just . . . well, perfect,” she went on, sidestepping my question, and I had a feeling I wouldn’t be getting an answer.

“That’s sweet of you to say.” I faced her, not in the mood to look at myself anymore. “I owe your family my life. I’m a stranger, and you’re helping me.”

“We’re not strangers anymore, and you can call me Izzy.”

“But Hudson calls you something else?” Embarrassment heated my cheeks. “No filter. See. Case in point.”

“I’m just trying to wrap my head around the fact my big brother told you that. He’s not all that forthcoming about details.” She tapped a black-painted fingernail against her lips as her eyes went wide. “Don’t tell me he told you about the kiss while he was acting drunk last night?” She spun away from me, setting her sights on the room, where the church’s history bled into every square inch of the space.

“The kiss,” was all I managed out, wondering whether she’d go on if I left the words hanging in the air. I could use a distraction from the fact I’d soon be kissing her brother before strangers and God.

An exaggerated sigh fell from her lips as she gathered the skirt of her dress and plopped down on a chair. “I was undercover as Hudson’s girlfriend, and Alessandro said we needed to look more couple-y. Hudson hesitated, so I leaned in and kissed him.” Her hand went to her mouth as if remembering the moment. “Only, he kissed me back. Like tongue and all.” She let go of the skirt and uncovered her mouth to point to her bare arms. “See? Chills. I have chills, thinking about it.” Her eyes swept up to mine. “I have no one to talk to about this, because my brothers would lose their minds if they knew Hudson tongued me. And I think we both enjoyed it.” She laughed.

“So maybe one day you and—”

“No,” she cut me off. “There can’t be an us. Hudson would never. He’s too loyal to Constantine, and he’d never cross that line with me.” She bunched her skirt and stood. “I need to forget it happened. I have bad taste in men, and although Hudson is a great guy, he’s like Alessandro. No plans to marry and have kids.”

“I barely know your brother, but I’m guessing there’s a reason Alessandro’s the way he is. Same for Hudson.”

She waved her hand. “I can’t believe I’m being all sulky and making things about me right now. I’m so sorry.”

“The distraction from this madness is welcome, trust me. Plus, I’ve never had a sister. Any sibling. So even if this is all fake . . . you seem like a nice one to have.”

“Well, damn. Now I’m going to get attached to you, aren’t I?” She stared at me, blinking a few times as if unsure how to feel about that. “And it’s going to suck when you guys go your separate ways.” Her shoulders fell, and she shook her head. “So, do you have the something-borrowed-and-blue thing already? Or maybe you don’t want to do that because this isn’t a marriage of your choosing. I mean, way better choice to pick Alessandro over the other guy. And no worries, my brother won’t get close enough to a woman to ever break her heart, so you should be fine there, too.”

Don’t trust me with your heart. He’d warned me last night. For a playboy, he didn’t seem to fit the stereotypical model. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, and a playboy would think with his dick and not care, wouldn’t he?

When I’d yet to speak, she went on, “As for something blue, you’ll be giving my brother blue balls in that dress. So you’ve got that part covered.”

I snort-laughed, shocked I’d done that on a day like this, but she chuckled right along with me. “You and I make quite the pair, huh?” I tossed out, and there went my stomach again. Knotting up. Because yup, I’d be losing her from my life, too, when I walked away from Alessandro.

“Probably good we get along since we’ll most likely spend a lot of time together in New York this summer.”

“Wait, what?” I blurted in shock.

“Shit.” She winced. “I forgot you haven’t seen my brother since he negotiated the terms of the marriage with your dad.”

I gulped, feeling a little lightheaded now. “What were the terms?”

“That you get to live with him in New York instead of here for the next three months. Armani’s sending two of his men to bunk at your future husband’s penthouse to keep an eye on you, which means you’ll really have to sell the whole husband-and-wife thing.”

I didn’t want to spend my summer in Italy under the same roof as Armani. But the idea of living in New York instead of Franklin was just . . .

There was also something I’d yet to tell Alessandro. Another message had come in from Braden before Marcello took my phone.

Braden had landed us my dream gig of playing on Broadway.

Wagner’s “Bridal Chorus,” “Here Comes the Bride,” started playing, and the devil offered me his arm to walk me down the aisle. I stared at Armani, unsure what to do, but for the sake of appearances, allowed him to link our arms.

Peering through the veil, I took in the sight of the guests. On Armani’s side, it was a sea of mostly unrecognizable faces. In the groom’s section, it was practically empty. Izzy and three men were there, and I had to assume the guys were Constantine, Enzo, and Hudson.

Can I do this? Get married? My shoulders fell at the memory of Aunt Tia being watched. Her life was on the line. Of course I had to go through with this.

Izzy caught my eyes, gave me a light nod of “you’ve got this”—well, that’s how I translated it—then I looked beyond her to put eyes on the groom for the first time.

Each nervous step down the aisle matched three quick beats of my heart.

Alessandro was too far away to make out his expression, but the man truly looked handsome in his tuxedo. He was also standing on his own two feet without support, confirming what Izzy said, that he was now “okay” despite a rough night.

No maid of honor or best man stood up there with him, only a man decked out in a fancy outfit—someone on Armani’s payroll to officiate the wedding.

When Alessandro’s palm went to his heart over his tux jacket and he tipped his head a touch, I was pretty sure he was signaling something to me as well. His way of letting me know everything would be okay. To keep walking to him. Or maybe he was on the verge of a heart attack about losing his bachelorhood?

I swallowed, surrendered a nod, and kept on moving, stepping on rose petals. However, there was no sign of a flower girl or cute kid as a ring bearer. Honestly, I was grateful everyone in this nightmare inside the church appeared to be over eighteen.

As we closed in on the platform, Alessandro’s eyes on me gave me comfort. His stoic look, hands now clasped in front of him, and a warm, gentle expression that kind of surprised me, given our situation, managed to help slow my pulse a bit.

The facial hair he’d started to sport was now gone. Clean-shaven. His wavy hair was tamed and pushed to the side of his forehead with gel. And the man wore the tux. It didn’t wear him.

It took me a moment to realize I’d made it to the top, and Armani was now turning toward me to lift the veil. I resisted the impulse to throw up when he leaned in and kissed my cheek. He murmured something in Italian, and this was one time I was grateful to be clueless at what he’d said.

The priest—I assume that’s who he was—motioned for me to step alongside Alessandro, and when I looked at the groom without my veil, my legs became wobbly. Because up close with an unobstructed view, I could see “calm and collected” had only been an act. He was as nervous as I was. There was a visible vein at the side of his neck, as if he were clamping down too hard on his back teeth. Dots of sweat at his hairline. And as the priest began speaking in Italian, I realized Alessandro was wringing his hands together, not calmly clasping them.

When the next part of the wedding took place, we quietly studied each other like we were at a funeral instead. I barely heard the Liturgy of the Word spoken. Not that I would’ve understood it since everything was in Italian.

“The vows are next,” Alessandro mouthed to me a moment later, and I had to assume he was politely translating whatever the priest had said, clueing me in on what was going on at my own wedding. He fingered the collar of his shirt just above the black bow tie and stretched his neck around a bit.

Was he going to be a runaway groom? I wouldn’t blame him; I was on the verge of bolting. But Aunt Tia’s life kept my uncomfortable heels rooted in place.

“I don’t have vows prepared,” I whispered, hoping I didn’t need to make any up on the fly.

“Same.” Alessandro frowned, then turned his attention to the priest and said something in Italian. “Can you repeat what he says in Italian instead?” he asked, eyes meeting mine again, and all I could do was nod for my answer.

Sweat trickled between my breasts and down my back as I echoed the Italian words to the priest to the best of my ability.

It was Alessandro’s turn to recite the vows next, and listening to him speak Italian was almost too much for me, because he could quickly reignite my love for the language after Armani’s very existence had ruined it. Every word from him was so smooth and silky, I had to look away for a moment to collect myself. To remember this was fake.

I stole my focus toward the assembly to see them standing during the Rite of Marriage. Rings I’d forgotten we’d need were brought out. Two yellow-gold bands were removed from a little see-through, netted bag—symbols of the eternal love for your partner.

The priest spoke again in Italian while offering a band to Alessandro, and he came over to me, noticeably swallowing. I forced up my left hand so he could slide the lie onto my finger.

When it was my turn, he held my eyes instead of looking at the eternal symbol on his hand, and told me, “We have to kiss now.”

“Calliope?” the priest prompted.

Wait, does the kiss mean we’re married now? Is it over? Trembling, I started to feel dizzy. Shit, don’t faint.

As if sensing I was losing control, Alessandro pulled his hand away from mine only to snatch both my forearms, helping keep me steady and grounded.

“We can do this,” he promised, but could we? Really?

It’s just a kiss.

His brow tightened as he continued to study me, slowly dipping in closer for the inevitable moment my heart would probably burst from my chest. I copied his move when he shut his eyes, and my heart galloped double time as I waited for his lips to meet mine.

And God help me, help us all, when they did. I hadn’t anticipated a groan from him, or for my lips to naturally part, offering him an invitation to deepen the kiss.

My lips softened and relaxed, and his tongue dove into my mouth and dueled with mine. He expertly guided the kiss to the point I was pretty sure we both forgot where we were and why we were there.

I returned my husband’s moan, and he swallowed it and gave it right back to me. His hand slid around to my back, and I arched into him.

Someone was talking now in Italian, but neither of us stopped. Cloud nine was a real thing, and I was there. Blissfully ignorant to anything and everything aside from this unexplainable connection with this man.

At the sound of cheers and more Italian, the spell broke, reminding me we were in a church because of Armani, and I pulled back and blinked in confusion as to what in the world had just happened between us.

Alessandro opened his eyes. Nostrils flaring. An almost panicked but definitely confused look pointed right back at me.

Yeah, same. Because what was that kiss? And why’d I suddenly feel inspired to write again? Chills wrapped around my limbs, and I stepped back, needing space. Needing to breathe. Needing to remember that, You’re not mine to keep.