Curvy Bride Claimed by the Mafia Don: He Made the Men Who Laughed at Her Kneel novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: Ring in the Champagne
Joyce and Braden mock Deirdre's body at her own fitting; she drops the ring in his champagne and walks out, and a Ranieri Escalade is waiting at the curb with her name on a $212,000 marker.
Joyce Tully walked into Keogh Bridal without knocking, the way she walked into everything on Arctic Avenue.
Her son came in behind her with two groomsmen in matching navy quarter-zips.
Braden was grinning.
I was standing on the fitting platform in my own muslin toile.
Pins were between my lips, and I was marking the hem of my wedding gown.
"Don't stop on my account," Joyce said. "We'll wait."
I took the pins out one at a time and pushed them into the cushion on my wrist.
"Hazel, can you bring Mrs. Tully a chair?"
Hazel Cullen was already moving.
She gave me a look over the rack that said she had heard every word.
Joyce sat down by the mirror and opened a glossy catalogue on her knee.
It was the one she had dropped off last week.
It had a model in a mermaid gown with her arms raised over her head.
"Look at the sleeves on this one," she said. "Long sleeves hide a lot."
"That gown is for a summer wedding, Mrs. Tully."
"That gown is for a wedding in front of two hundred people, Deirdre. I know a photograph when I see one."
Braden leaned on the cutting table and picked up a spool of green thread.
"Babe, nobody's saying anything," he said. "The cameras go right to the head table."
"That's all Mom means," he said.
"Then tell me what you mean."
He put the thread down and looked at his groomsmen.
They looked at the floor.
"Just wear the shapewear thing the girl at the mall sold you," he said. "The one with the hooks."
"Keep the cake in the box until the vows," he said.
One of the groomsmen laughed.
Then he stopped, because nobody else did.
Hazel came out of the back with a folding chair and set it down very hard.
Braden had brought a bottle of Veuve in a silver bucket for the toast he had planned after the fitting.
He poured one glass, pleased with himself, and held it out to me.
"Braden," I said. "I'd like to make a toast."
I took the ring off my left hand.
It was the square-cut diamond his grandmother had worn.
It came off easily.
I dropped it into his champagne.
It sank through the bubbles and settled at the bottom of the glass.
One of the groomsmen made a sound.
"The wedding's off," I said. "Your mother can keep the catalogue."
Joyce stood up so fast her chair tipped over.
"You will not embarrass my son in his own shop."
"It isn't your shop, Mrs. Tully. It's mine to work in, and that's all it is."
"Gail will hear about this."
"Gail can hear it from me," I said. "She's the one with the lease."
I went into the back room and pulled my jeans on over the toile.
I took out the pins one by one.
Nobody came through the door while I did it.
When I came out with my bag on my shoulder, Hazel was standing by the window with her phone in her hand.
"Tell me you got that," I said.
"I got the ring," she said. "It went into the glass like a coin into a fountain."
"Good."
"Deirdre, the Tully car's still at the curb."
It was not the Tully car.
It was a black Escalade with tinted windows, parked at the fire hydrant.
A man in a grey suit leaned against the rear door with his arms folded.
He was tall, with dark hair, one grey streak over his left temple, and a scar through his left eyebrow.
He did not look at the shop.
He looked at me.
"Deirdre Keogh," he said.
"Who's asking?"
"Silvio Ranieri. I run the Lido Lounge on Pacific Avenue."
I had heard that name at every wake in Margate.
It was always said low, the way people talk about a bad storm.
"I don't know you," I said.
"You know Braden Tully," he said. "And by Monday, you're going to know a lot more about him."
He opened a manila folder and held it out.
The paper on top had a signature at the bottom in a looping blue hand.
It was my name.
It was not my handwriting.
"Your fiancé owes my family two hundred and twelve thousand dollars," Silvio said. "And your name is on the marker."
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