I stay away from my “bridesmaids” for the rest of the day as much as I possibly can. I’m pretty done with them and they seem to get that energy off of me. It also isn’t my most favorite day in the entire world. Instead, I stay off to the side with Emily for the rest of the day. Emilia, Dante’s mom, comes over and speaks several times, but she keeps getting pulled away for her own treatments and procedures with the aunts and other matriarchs of the family. Honestly, thank God. I just can’t pretend to be nice right now. I’m going to have to pretend to be nice and happy in front of several hundred people for the rest of the day. I can’t fake being nice right now. “Are you sure that there’s nothing that you can do to stop this?” Emily asks me after the second time Emilia comes over. I’m in the middle of getting my hair done and she was kind enough to bring a glass of champagne. She had no idea that Emily hasn’t let me see the bottom of my glass for the past hour. Good t

Anyone who has ever been married or been in a wedding will tell you that the pictures take for freaking ever. Thank God in heaven that Emily had arranged with the caterer beforehand to make sure that some of the food from the cocktail hour to the picture session. I had only had some of the food from the spa today and I was starving. Of course, I made her promise that she would get enough food for everyone. I may hate that this is what’s happening to my life, but I’m not a complete bitch. People need to eat. And I don’t want to have to deal with a whole bunch of drunk assholes at the reception. We do all kinds of photos and combinations. Me plus bridesmaids. Me plus Emily and Grayson. Me plus the groomsmen. Me plus my family. Just me. Shit a lot of just me. And then it’s pictures of me with the Lucianos. His whole family. Just his parents. Only his siblings. That one was weird. I was literally just introduced to Dante’s brother Rocco and his sister Bianca is a bit

The ride to the reception is long and tense. Dante keeps looking over at me and opening his mouth as if he’s going to say something, but then he just shakes his head and closes it. This is helped by the fact that I insisted that Emily ride in the car with us. I could justify wanting her to be there to help me with make-up and hair without raising too many eyebrows. Once we pull up to the restaurant, Dante asks, “Emily could you give us a moment? I really need to talk to Quinn for a second.” Emily eyes me, trying to figure out what I want. She’ll do whatever, but she needs direction. Dante seems to sense this and adds, “I won’t try anything, but we need to talk.” I sigh, but give Emily a nod. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, kids,” she says, smirking as she climbs out of the car. “Doesn’t leave a whole lot,” I mumble and hear a soft snort of laughter from Dante beside me. When Emily closes the door, I turn to Dante in the back of the limo and cross my arms. “What? We h

I can admit that I am rarely at a loss for words. I have to be able to hold my own in a boardroom, a catty socialite circle, and with the media. It’s a skill that I have cultivated over a long time. But at the scene in front of me, I can’t find any words, not even to make my presence known. I see Dante say something to the woman on the floor, but all I hear is a dull ringing in my ears. When she leans forward, I find the ability to move and back out of the room. I walk down the hallway, not really seeing where I am going. It isn’t until arms wrap around me and a hand tilts my chin up to a familiar face that my surroundings come back into focus. “Q! Talk to me, love. Are you ok?” It’s Grayson. “No,” I say simply. There’s nothing else that I can say. Grayson looks around, finding one of the employees. “Take us some place where she can sit down.” I hear a murmured “Of course, sir.” We’re led down some back hallways and eventually make our way to the manager’s office. It’s

I’m waiting on the couch, my suitcases packed and a coffee in my hand, when Dante walks out of his bedroom. The housekeeper, Mrs. Hughes, is fluttering around me. “Ma’am, I can make whatever you want, I promise. A breakfast sandwich. Crepes. Waffles. You need food to fortify you for the day,” she says. “I promise, Mrs. Hughes, I’m perfectly fine. I never heat breakfast,” I smile at the woman, who truly is just trying to do her job. “But Mrs. Luciano,” she begins and I can’t help but cringe at the name. Dante, who I hadn’t notice come into the room while I was talking about Ms. Hughes, interrupts her from behind me. “It’s fine Mrs. Hughes. We’ll be on our private plane, so if Quinn wants anything later, she can get anything she wants.” Mrs. Hughes sighs. “Of course, sir. What can I get for you today? “ “A coffee and half a grapefruit. My stomach isn’t quite awake,” Dante says, causing the older woman to chuckle. “I’ll make sure to pack some of the sausage and eg