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My head shakes as tears prickle my eyes. I take deeper breaths, but nothing helps.
Dion wraps his arms around me, creating a cocoon, a safety net, and I sob into his chest. I cry in his arms for what feels like ages, then pull away, sniffing.
“God, I must look like a mess. You probably think I’m crazy.”
“Not at all.” His voice is soft, concerned. “Come, sit,” he instructs, leading me to a sofa on the back porch. I sit and curl into myself.
He takes off his suit jacket and covers my shoulders, but not before taking a silver case out of the inside pocket.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
“Talk to me.” Dion opens the container and pulls out a cigarette, offering one to me. I take it. I’m not a smoker, but I need to shed some stress.
As I bring the stick to my lips, I’m hit with a dose of reality again, like a cruel joke played by fate.
“I’m getting married to a man I don’t even know.”
Dion lets out a heady sigh and moves closer to light up my cigarette. The tip catches, and I draw in a deep inhale, choking on the smoke as it fills my lungs.
As I exhale slowly, I feel some of the tension ebb away, carried off into the air. A brief escape from the pressure and worry that cling to me.
“Is it a sure thing?” Dion asks, taking a puff of his cigarette. “This wedding?” Though his tone is emotionless, there’s something unreadable in his expression, something I can’t quite grasp.
I look away and take another drag. “Knowing my father, yes. Unless this other guy refuses, I’m screwed.”
“What’s in it for him?”
“I don’t know. I’m not privy to those conversations, which is ironic given it’s my life they’re messing with.”
The burn at the end of the cigarette reminds me to stay present. With each puff, I gain a bit of control over my emotions.
“Have you told Philip that you don’t want to get married?” Dion asks.
Philip. He knows my father by name. “Are you acquainted with my baba?”
“Somewhat,” he replies, not offering any more information. But I don’t even care right now.
I finish the cigarette, and Dion takes it from me, crushing it into an ashtray on the ground next to him. “Do you feel any better?”
“A little. I mean, the incessant chatter in my head is quieter now.”
“Good.”
Silence falls between us for a while. It isn’t awkward or uncomfortable, and I don’t feel the need to fill it. I wrap Dion’s jacket further around me, basking in its scent and warmth.
“Do you know why I call you ‘my star’?” he asks suddenly. I shake my head. “From what I’ve seen, you have a fire in you. Like a star, you carry a light so fucking bright, no one can extinguish it. When I first saw you, it was hard for me to look away.” My heart flutters in my chest at his words.
He meets my gaze. “Look, I don’t know what you’re going through—because let’s face it, women have it worse than men in mob families—but never allow others to dim your light.”
Dion’s words are unexpected, but so genuine.
This man barely knows me and can already touch parts of my soul I didn’t even realize were there, waiting to be acknowledged.
“Thank you for saying that,” I say, my eyes welling with tears again. I need to stop getting emotional in front of him. He must think I’m a lunatic.
His gaze homes in on me. “I can’t resist putting a smile on my girl’s face.”
My girl?
