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.
“You’ll be waiting a long time.” Max pauses and stares intently. His scrutinizing gaze unnerves me, and I have an inkling of what he’s thinking. “So, how are you holding on, coz?”
Pretending I don’t know what he’s talking about, I frown, signaling with a wave of my hand for him to fill my glass again. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t play dumb with me. I know you better than you know yourself.”
I scowl at Max before I bring the refilled glass of prosecco to my lips. I’m glad the alcohol is already helping me relax. Today is going to be murder, just as expected.
“Listen, he doesn’t deserve you,” he continues.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I turn my back to Max, pretending to watch the wedding preparations. Irritation simmers just below my skin. Why does he have to be such a busybody?
“You don’t need to pretend with me, Chibi. I’m not blind. Pietro had all the chances in the world, and he chose Paola over you. He’s not your guy. He has never been your guy. You’re amazing, and he’s second-rate.”
Max’s words make something clench in my chest, and tears prickle my eyes. I want to believe his words, but today it’s almost impossible. If I’m all that, then how come Pietro is marrying Paola?
Fuck. What’s up with Max and this sensitive bullshit conversation?
“I know I’m amazing, okay?” I reply feebly.
I’m so full of shit. My only consolation in this whole mess is that Max is the only one in my family who paid enough attention to see my true feelings toward Pietro. Everyone else, including Paola, seems oblivious.
“I’ve told you before, I’d tap you if you weren’t my cousin.”
Whipping my face in his direction, I glare at him. “Ew. Why do you have to be so gross?”
“Chiara? Is that you?”
“Cazzo! It’s Mother.” I scramble to finish my drink before going to her.
It’s best if she doesn’t interact with Max. He loves to antagonize her, and then I’m the one who has to deal with the woman.
My face is probably flushed when I stop in front of Ofelia Moretti, a former Miss Italia who still retains her pageant-days poise and beauty. Her perfectly arched eyebrows would furrow if her forehead wasn’t frozen by Botox. But the pinch of her lips and the displeasure in her gaze are enough hints that I’m about to receive some negative comment.
With a tsking sound, she grabs a strand of my hair. “You look ghastly. Instead of drinking with Max, you should have done something about your appearance.”
I take a step back to get out of her reach. “What’s wrong with my appearance?”
“The question is what’s not wrong with it? The hairdresser has finished with your cousin. Maybe he can do something about your hair. As for your attire….” Her gaze drops to take in the length of my body. “Well, there’s nothing that can be done about it.”
