A Love Most Fatal (Morelli Family #1)

37. Vanessa

37

VANESSA

Willa demands to do my makeup for the engagement party, and she chatters on about any and everything as she does. This was her plan, I’m sure. To distract me from the night ahead with anecdotes about Taylor Swift and all the theories around her next album, or by describing in depth the plot of the show she’s been watching with Angel and Artie. Anything to not think about work, or Nate, if I had to guess, and for the most part, it works. Mary lounges in a chair chiming in too, a real team effort to keep my mind from wandering.

I’m grateful for all of it.

The three of us laughing in my bathroom, Willa chiding me for moving too much or sneezing, it feels like high school. For any number of school dances, parties, or weddings, the same rituals have been completed; sisters putting on makeup, doing each other’s hair, curling or straightening or crimping if we are talking about Willa’s first homecoming.

There is a comfort in the practice of it. I would do anything to protect this from breaking, and the thought straightens my spine reminding me why I am doing this.

Willa uses a big brush to apply powder to my whole face, especially my forehead which she says is genetically predisposed to get greasy, and then she squeals.

“Mary, tell your sister she looks beautiful.”

Mary looks up from her phone and squints assessing me.

“You do look beautiful,” she says, and then stands to look at all three of us in the mirror. “We all do.”

We do. Undoubtedly sisters, there are a dozen micro-similarities in our faces, though uniquely our own. Mary’s hair is in the same curly, dark A-line it’s been in since high school and Willa’s honey hair lies in big curls down her back. Mine is straight, held behind my ears by pins with little red gems on them, and parted down the middle.

“But me the most, right?” I ask, and they both snort a laugh.

They help me into the heels and green gown next. For a moment, I can almost forget my troubles, until someone clears their throat from the door. Our three sets of eyes swivel to the door and it’s Nate looking nervous and tired in a crisp suit, a new one. Willa’s doing, I have no doubt.

“Can I have a minute?” Nate asks.

Willa and Mary turn to me, ready to shoo him from the room if that’s what I need. Without looking back at either of them I give as much of a nod as I’m able when my heart is beating in my throat.

“We’ll be downstairs,” Willa says and grabs her makeup bag before she and Mary retreat from the room, closing the door behind them, leaving me and Nate alone.

Nate’s face breaks from the collected mask he had in place. “Don’t do this.”

I release all of the breath I was holding in one huff, and he comes closer.

“Vanessa, don’t do this. You’re rushing into something very permanent with someone you don’t know.”

“I have to, Nate. I?—”

“You don’t ,” he cuts in. “You really don’t have to do this. You are the strongest, scariest woman I know, you don’t need to marry anyone .”

“I need to keep my family safe,” I say. “I need to keep you safe, Nate. You’re not safe with me, you’ve been attacked three times since that parent teacher conference.”

“You’ve been protecting me just fine.”

“Not enough!” We are both quiet in the aftermath of the sound. I work to steady my breathing again or to lower my heart rate, anything to keep me from exploding. “It hasn’t been enough.”

Nate runs his hands through his hair, which is a mess. He steps closer, then thinks better of it and paces to the window.

“You’ve wanted to go home since the moment I brought you here,” I say. “This will help make that happen.”

“For Christ’s sake,” he mutters, and now it’s my turn to approach him, to beg him to understand.

“You’ll be okay, Nate. You can move home and no one will ever bother you again. You won’t have to think about the mafia, or organized crime, or anything else for as long as you live, and you and your family, you’ll all be safe again?—”

“God damnit Vanessa.” Nate thuds the side of his fist against the wall and closes the distance between us before he grips my face between his two hands. His fingers on my neck thread through my hair, and I can look at nothing but him.

“I don’t give a shit about living some boring ass life teaching math in Connecticut, so if you’re doing this for me, then you need to stop right now.” He puts his forehead against mine. “Please, just say you won’t marry him.”

“Nate—”

He cuts me off with a kiss, one so heady and intense that I want to fall into it. I want to forget every bad thing happening and forget how helpless I feel, but I force myself to memorize it. I need to remember his thumbs and his palms, his lips that are so unbelievably giving, his eyes that tell me all his secrets. I make myself commit everything about this kiss to memory and then, knowing I will never be satisfied, I pull away.

He looks like I’ve just broken him, and maybe I have. I’ve broken myself.

“I’m marrying him,” I say. Nate squeezes his eyes shut as he grips the back of my neck.

After another excruciating moment of my heart being stomped to a pulp, he pulls back and regains control of himself.

He straightens my necklace, his fingers ghosting over my collarbones and neck once more.

“I know,” he says.

A knock falls on my door and Leo pokes his head into my room.

“He’s here,” Leo says.

I straighten my shoulders again, my spine tired from all the standing tall I’ve been forcing it to do over the last week.

“Thank you, I’ll be right down.”

Leo retreats, leaving the door cracked, and I take a moment to pat my face to make sure my makeup is still good. I swipe a fresh layer of red lipstick on and run a comb through my hair before risking one last glance at Nate and leaving my room.

My future husband awaits.