Mafia Darling

28 | Marco

"Come in," I say when there's a knock on my door.

The designer's assistant walks in. I've only seen her once before, when my uncle was getting married. It's been a long time since there's been a grand Corleone wedding. Luca, who was lounging on the couch moments ago, springs to his feet with his eyebrows raised.

"Here you go, Mr. Corleone," the assistant says, laying a binder on my desk. "Let me know if you'd like any changes."

I open the binder and flip through the sketches and design views of Ella's wedding dress. She told me she had no eye for dresses, and she wanted me to choose one for her. It was sweet that she trusted me, and bold that she thought I had an eye for dresses. I didn't. I asked Mother to pick some she liked, and I picked from those.

"Can I see?" Luca asks.

I nod, and he peers over my shoulder and whistles. 

"I don't believe for a second that you chose that," he remarks. "Who was it? Marcine?"

I snort. Of course he can tell. "It's perfect," I say, handing the binder back to the assistant. "It will be ready for tomorrow?"

She nods and leaves. When the door is closed behind her, Luca returns to the couch, but he looks at me over its edge, mouth twisted into the smirk that everyone says we share. Luca and I aren't related, but our families have always been close. We've both got Italian blood but not family blood, but as far as I'm concerned, he's practically a brother.

And only brothers can piss each other off like this.

"What?" I snarl. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You're in love," he sings, "so in looveee..."

If it's an actual song, it's not one that I know, and if it's not, then he's a dork. My eyes roll so far up, I almost see brain. 

"I'm serious, man," he says, less teasing this time. "You're so...happy. You really love her."

Yeah, I do, and it's apparent to every damn person in this house. I don't need him to call it out loud; somehow, it makes me feel vulnerable in an unserious, embarrassed, flustered way.

"And what about you and Bella?" I say, raising an eyebrow.

Luca scoffs. "Jesus. Real smooth, Marco. Real smooth." He sinks into the couch with a shrug. "I don't like her like that. She doesn't like me like that."

"Really?"

"Really." He shrugs again. "We enjoy each other's company, but that's the extent of it."

I watch him for signs of lying, but there are none. I suppose I believe him. He and Bella have been fucking for three years, and not once have they ever given any hints that they liked each other as more than general friends of convenience. I knew that when I asked, but I asked anyway. I just needed to get the focus off of my puppy love, but it's useless. I can't hide it.

"Do you think Ella's going like the dress?" I ask.

"Are those nerves I hear?"

"Damn it, Luca. Answer the question."

"Well, I like it, and I'm the only one around here with any class, so, probably."

"How long are you going to rib me about this?"

"At least until the honeymoon's over."

At the mention of the honeymoon, I bring up the booking tab to make sure everything is still set up properly. Ella mentioned last night that all her great-grandparents were immigrants from France, but she'd never been. The honeymoon is also something she left up to me, so I'm taking her to the French Riviera.

Before I realize I'm smiling, I make eye contact with Luca. There's no way he doesn't see the joy on my face; it's too late to wipe it off. But he doesn't laugh at me this time or say something teasing. He only smiles back and says, "I'm happy for you, man."

I allow the smile to grow. "Thank you."