My Ex Told Me to Get Married? Too Bad I Had Married His Uncle! Chapter 02

My Ex Told Me to Get Married? Too Bad I Had Married His Uncle! Chapter 02

Dante glanced down at the scuff on his shoe and laughed.

“Fine. I won’t push tonight. Since you’re playing hard to get.”

He stayed on the other side of the door, voice dripping with the kind of patience he probably thought was charming.

“I’ll have the wedding dress sent over tomorrow. Sienna picked it out — looked perfect on her. You two have similar taste, and you don’t look like you’ve gained any weight, so it should fit.”

I closed my eyes. Every ounce of Moretti discipline in me was the only thing keeping me from ripping that door open and going for his throat.

I was starting to regret turning down the soldiers Vincent had tried to assign me. Coming back to Chicago alone had been a mistake.

I kicked the door hard enough to feel the shock travel all the way up my leg. Half a second of silence on the other side.

“That temper, Vivian — you’ve really got to work on it. If you’re going to be donna, you can’t keep acting like this. You could stand to learn a thing or two from Sienna, honestly.”

My voice came out cold enough to cut through the wood.

“If Sienna’s so perfect, marry her, then.”

I meant every word. A fraud and a fool belonged together — better they keep their mess to themselves.

His laugh filtered through the door.

“There it is. You’re jealous.”

“I told you — it’s only ever been you. I’m not like that with Sienna. Just be a good girl and try on the dress.”

His footsteps finally faded. I sagged against the door, and the only thing I felt was the sheer absurdity of it all.

My parents were bringing the kids back to Chicago in a few days. Vincent, too.

When they arrived, Dante would finally see how pathetic his little delusional fantasy had been all along.

Lucchesi soldiers showed up with the dress first thing the next morning.

White box, silver ribbon, the Lucchesi black rose stamped on the lid. I didn’t open it.

The dress Vincent gave me had been hand-sewn by an old Italian tailor, my name and the Lucchesi crest embroidered into the lining of the skirt.

I’d already worn the dress that belonged to a real donna. Why would I touch something a side piece tried on first?

Dante’s right-hand man, Carlo Rossi, was the one holding the box. He held out a gold-stamped invitation.

I glanced down. Sienna’s name had been printed in the space for the bride.

Someone had scratched it out and scrawled Vivian over it in pen.

I laughed and tossed the invitation back at his chest.

“Wrong bride, Carlo.”

“Bring the dress and the invite to Sienna. I’m sure she’ll be delighted.”

Carlo’s expression darkened.

“Cut the act, Miss Moretti.”

“This was supposed to be Dante and Sienna’s wedding. He wouldn’t have changed his mind if you hadn’t shown up out of nowhere.”

“Sienna’s a laughingstock because of you, and you’re standing here acting above it all? Doesn’t that make you sick?”

Typical. An idiot like Dante could only surround himself with bigger idiots.

I turned my back on him and walked away.

There was one place I’d genuinely missed in all the years I’d been away from Chicago. The Gilded Table.

It used to be our family’s spot — back when my parents were still stateside, we went there for everything.

I drove, but the car died halfway there. I had to call a cab for the rest of the trip.

A black Bentley pulled up to the entrance the same moment I did. The door swung open, and out stepped Dante.

He spotted me and raised an eyebrow.

“You throw my dress back in my face, and five minutes later you’re showing up where I have lunch?”

“Make up your mind, Vivian. This hot-and-cold act is getting old.”

I walked past him without a word. He caught up in two steps and grabbed my wrist.

“Drop the act. I saw you pull up in a cab.”

“Is the Moretti family bleeding cash so badly you can’t even afford a car?”

“Don’t come in here trying to keep up appearances. And don’t come crawling to me when the bill comes.”

I looked at him and bit down on every word I wanted to say.

The Morettis had handed the port operations to frontmen a couple of years ago. My parents were in France with the kids now, barely paying attention to Chicago anymore.

But stepping back wasn’t the same as falling. And it sure as hell didn’t mean I couldn’t afford lunch.

I pulled my wrist free, slow and deliberate.

“Dante, you really need a shrink.”

He tilted his head like he’d just solved some great mystery.

“You still remember I hate shrinks. See? You do care.”

“Forget it. I’ll let that one slide.”

“Actually, your timing’s perfect. I’ve got some of the guys inside — Sienna too. Apologize to her in front of everyone, and we can put this whole thing behind us.”

I stopped mid-step and pulled back. Not a chance.

Even the best food in Chicago wasn’t worth sharing a room with him. I turned to leave.

A voice drifted from behind me — soft, almost sweet.

“Vivian.”

A pause.

“Are you leaving because of me?”