Fall For My Ex's Mafia Father novel Chapter 29

Kent looks down at me with a withering look. I work hard to keep my face straight, but I feel so terribly awkward that I open my mouth to say something else – anything else -

Daniel saves me. He links elbows with me and pulls me closer. “My mom died when I was young,” he says casually. “Her marriage to my dad was actually arranged,” he notes cheerfully. “Like ours.”

“Oh!” I say, looking between Kent and Daniel, genuinely surprised. “Um, was her death…an accident? An illness?”

Kent sighs and looks at me sharply. “If you want to ask, Fay, if I murdered her, or she died in a gunfight, or was kidnapped and tortured by my enemies, just be forthright about it.”

I press my lips together, embarrassed. Because of course, that’s exactly what I want to know. I say nothing.

“Cancer,” Daniel whispers beside me. I feel sadness flood me, then, and open my mouth to tell him how sorry I am, but he stops me with a smile. “It’s okay,” he says. “It really was a long time ago. Dad and I are all patched up.”

“Well,” I say, turning to smile at Daniel again. “I guess that’s something else we have in common. Both of our moms died young.”

“Rather a macabre thing to bond over,” Kent says dryly, putting his hands in his pockets. “But you will start a new family soon.”

I wonder at the truth of that, but before I can say anything, Fiona pulls me forward to try on the first gown.

The fittings take all afternoon. At first it was fun, playing princess, but after a while I get tired of fighting my way through yards and yards of tulle. Daniel and Kent leave immediately as the trials begin.

Daniel didn’t want to see the dress, insisting that it was bad luck, and Kent only wants to come in once the final selection is made. He said that if he’s paying for it, he wants final approval.

“Okay,” Fiona says, studying me in the last dress. She holds up the beaded Oscar de la Renta that was our other top choice, an incredible off-white beaded silk that fell heavily to the floor and made a fantastic shushing sound as I walked.

“This one?” She indicates the Oscar, “or that?” She gestures towards the incredibly romantic Caroline Herrera dress that hugs my waist with a tight bodice, the off-shoulder sleeves flowing down in to the flowing charmeuse of the skirt, which sweeps behind me in a five-foot train.

“This one,” I say, a little breathless, staring at myself in the mirror. I had never really been the kind of girl who dreamed about her wedding before, but in a dress like this? I am actually starting to feel like a bride.

“Oh thank god,” Fiona says, wiping a tear from her eye. “That was my favorite too. If you’d picked the Oscar, you’d have broken my heart.”

I laugh a little as she picks up her phone, texting someone. I realize, suddenly, that she’s messaging Kent – telling him to come down for final approval.

When the door opens, I turn to face him, biting my lip, wondering, passively, if he’ll approve.

He’s looking down at his phone as he walks into the room but, about halfway across the room from us, he glances up.

Kent stops dead in his tracks.

I feel fear curl in the bottom of my belly. Does he not like it? Did I make the right choice?

His whole body stiffens, his arm dropping to his side as his eyes slowly rove over my form. I turn to him, running my hands across the fabric at my hips, and see his mouth fall ever so slightly open.

Then, his eyes snap back to my own and his mouth slams shut. He takes a step forward, his eyes burning, and, surprised, I take one step back –

My reaction is totally animal, that of prey flinching back from a predator. Kent sees it, registers my fear, and wills himself back into composure. His eyes flick to Fiona for a moment as he slowly rolls his shoulders back, putting his hands into his pockets.

Then, he studies me again. It’s a mask, though, this time – I can tell. He’s just pretending to be the passive buyer studying his goods.

Beneath, he’s the wolf, and I am his supper.

I stare at him, aware, in some part of me, that I have made him ravenous. I shift my position, then, trying out how this knowledge feels in in my body, twisting my hips so that my thighs rub together beneath the skirt of my gown.

Kent’s eyes flash to my legs, my thighs, and I see a muscle flicker in his cheek as he clenches his jaw.

“So,” Fiona says, her arms folded, her eyes flashing between us. “I guess you like it, Kent?”

I turn my head to look at her, breaking out of my strange reverie, and blush to see the awareness on her face.

“Yes,” Kent says, and when I look back I see that he is, again, all control. “The Herrera is a good choice. Charge it to my account.”

With that, he turns and leaves the room.

“How…” I say, turning my surprise in my mind, “how does he know all the designers?” I ask.

“Baby,” Fiona says, sauntering over to me with a smirk. “He chose all of these gowns. Not me.”

My mouth falls open in surprise.