The Don and His Angel

Chapter 43

Luca all but drags me down the hall with his excited strides and I giggle even though I have to practically jog to keep up.

"Aren't I the one who's supposed to be excited about this?" I laugh as we finally get to the first floor.

"Yes but we're also running late," he replies. He quickly maneuvers us around his men to the living room.

"Holy shit," I breathe out once he opens the doors to the room.

There are racks upon racks of wedding gowns all throughout the room. The furniture has been pushed to the side except for one couch and a woman with a measuring tape around her neck looks over the different dresses.

"Don DiSilva," she greets politely as she crosses the room to stand in front of us.

"Thank you for bringing the selection here," he replies.

"Oh please," she says, shaking her head, "it is never an inconvenience to serve the DiSilva family."

"I'm Victoria," I say as I stick out my hand.

She shakes my hand with a smile, replying, "Patrice."

She looks back and forth between Luca and I with furrowed brows before sighing.

"You cannot stay and watch," she scolds Luca before turning to me, "you have many dresses to get into."

Luca hums in disapproval and I bite my lip to hold back a laugh. He doesn't like people ordering him around. And he especially does not like people ordering him to leave me, even temporarily.

"I'll come find you as soon as I'm done," I promise, smiling up at him.

"Have fun il mio amore," he replies with a grin.

He leans down and kisses the crown of my head. He cups my face and gently caresses my cheek with his thumb, his eyes lingering on my lips. I push up on my toes and kiss him softly. He smiles at me and nods once before walking away.

Patrice gestures to a small platform in the middle of the room and I walk over. A three paneled mirror faces me and Patrice pulls the tape measure off her shoulders as she approaches.

"Remove the price tags," Luca calls over his shoulder.

"What? Why?" I scoff, glancing at Patrice for help.

He stops walking and turns in the doorway, his shoulders taking up nearly the whole frame.

"I will not allow something as frivolous as money influence your decisions," he replies sternly, "especially for our wedding."

"But-" I try to respond but he cuts me off.

"No," he says, "you will choose whichever dress makes you feel the most beautiful, end of discussion."

He turns on his heel and leaves, allowing no room for the conversation to continue. I strip down to my underwear and Patrice wraps her tape around different parts of my body, jotting the number down in a small notebook.

"Will anyone be joining us? Perhaps your mother? Or a sister?" Patrice asks as she begins to pull dresses from the racks.

"No," I reply, shaking my head.

"I think you and I can make do," she says, looking over her shoulder to flash me a smile.

I return the gesture and try to keep my gaze off of the mirror. I feel so exposed, up on this pedestal in basically nothing. Anyone could walk in and see me like this and that thought gives me the chills.

Patrice holds open a gown and has me step into it. She quickly laces up the back and steps away to examine it. It's a pretty dress but it's just not right.