29. Chiara
30. Alistair
31. Alistair
32. Chiara
33. Chiara
34. Chiara
35. Alistair
36. Alistair
37. Chiara
38. Chiara
39. Chiara
40. Chiara
41. Alistair
42. Chiara
43. Chiara
44. Chiara
45. Chiara
46. Chiara
47. Chiara
48. Chiara
49. Alistair
50. Alistair
Also by Michelle Hercules
About the Author
1
Chiara
Plastering a fake smile on my face, I power through the courtyard, greeting whoever is in my way with a cheery hello. The huge box in my hands is heavy, but it serves as a shield since I’m about to enter a mine zone.
Inside my grandparents’ villa is chaos central. Italians as a rule can’t congregate under one roof without mayhem. Add in wedding preparations and earplugs are required if you don’t want to go deaf. The cacophony of several voices competing to be the loudest is not what bothers me; it’s the people responsible for the noise. A viper’s nest is a great analogy to describe the Moretti family.
Distant family members and strangers alike greet me as I stride toward the double doors that lead to the back of the main house. Before I take the steps down and join the fray of people working furiously to make sure my cousin’s wedding is perfect, I pause to take in the sight. The breathtaking view of the Tuscan mountains is one of the few positive aspects of coming to Villa Moretti. If only this place wasn’t spoiled by my rotten family.
The loud voice of Aunt Laura giving hell to someone brings me back from my reverie. I quickly find her shouting at a poor caterer. Her arm shakes as she points a chubby finger at the guy’s face. I don’t know what he did, but it’s released the vicious beast that lives inside dear Auntie. I’d better stay the hell away from her.
Quickly taking the steps down into the backyard, I set the box with flower arrangements on a table nearby and search for the only thing that will help me cope with today’s festivities. Alcohol. I scan the outside area, finding my favorite cousin, Max, already behind the temporary bar set up for the occasion. The corners of my lips twitch upward when I see what’s in his hand—a bottle of prosecco. He wastes no time. I make a beeline in his direction, and, as if sensing my approach, he raises his head. His full lips twist into his trademark smirk, the one that makes him one of the highest paid male models in the world.
“Oh, hello there, Chibi.”
“Starting early, aren’t you?”
Max shrugs right before he pops the bottle of prosecco open. “What can I say? I need liquid courage to endure events like these.”
He grabs two glasses and fills them up, almost to the brim. Practicality over classiness is Max’s motto, much to his mother’s dismay.
I roll my eyes. “Oh, give me a break. You love weddings. All those desperate single women, hoping to find their Prince Charming. It’s like an all-you-can-eat buffet.”
Max grants me a toothy grin. “Not this time. I think I’ve slept with all of Paola’s friends.”
Before I can open my mouth, Max continues. “The fuckable ones, I mean.”
“You’re horrible. One day you’ll find the girl who will bring you down to your knees. I hope I’m around to witness your fall.”
Bringing the glass of prosecco to my lips, I drink the whole thing in one gulp. The cool, fizzy beverage relieves my parched throat, but it does nothing to ease the pang in my chest. I should have told Pietro how I felt before my cousin Paola swooped in for the kill. He was one of my closest friends, after all, but I choked, mainly because he’s five years older than me and probably only sees me as a child till this day.
