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Maybe my inappropriate dreams are skewing my judgment of the whole thing. Except he peeked inside the dressing room at me. That’s definitely not normal, right?

I’m not making it all up. I know I’m not, though it might be better if I was.

My best friend and her boyfriend round the corner, sending my stomach into a tailspin.

“See, didn’t I tell you it was perfect?” Rina beams.

DiAngelo’s eyes crinkle in the corners, and a thin smile paints his face in equal parts fondness and sadness. “You are absolutely stunning, Isa.” He’s brimming with sincerity in the way an older brother would when seeing his little sister get married. The reaction feels nothing like our earlier exchange.

Again, I’m left wondering whether I misinterpreted it all. Whether I’m losing my ever-loving mind.

“Thank you,” I manage to wheeze through constricted lungs, stepping onto the platform to face the mirrors. To face my future.

I hardly recognize myself.

Is it the dress or something more?

Maybe I’m not the person I thought I was.

All I can do is hope this is the woman I’m supposed to be because she’s all I’ve got.

CHAPTER 6

ELIO

One word echoes in my mind like the constant drip from a broken sink.

Wait.

Wait.

Wait.

It might not be so maddening if I wasn’t certain she thinks I’m DiAngelo. Despite my better judgment, I want her to be calling after me. I want her to know it’s me.

I shouldn’t want anything from her at all.

Instead, I’m over here pining like a lovesick teenager, and it pisses me off. I need to figure out what the fuck I’m doing here. The wedding is three days away, and I’m still undecided about whether I’m going to do something about it.

I’ve never been before a court, but I’d swear this has to be how it feels to endure the countdown to a criminal sentencing.

It’s absurd. Her wedding should have nothing to do with me. I spend my day mired in anger and frustration. To distract myself, I drive aimlessly around the city. I was hoping a little time would help clear my head, but I’m no better off than when I left the bridal shop.

To make matters worse, I’m now passing by Antonelli’s place for the third time. I keep finding myself back here, getting angrier every time.

He has no right to be with her.

As I’m circling, I notice scaffolding along the building where his SUV is parked. Not the full-scale construction type that completely wraps a building. This is a setup for a small crew—looks like they’re doing some window trim repair.

Fucking perfect.

I park and walk back to the site. The residential area is relatively quiet at dusk, not that anyone is going to say anything. New York is great like that. No one sees anything. Even if they do, they don’t.

When I reach the scaffolding, I grab hold of it high on one side and begin rocking the structure until it finally tips over directly onto Mazzi’s SUV. My intention was to dent the piece of shit and inconvenience him, but he must have some shit karma because a paint can I didn’t even see on the upper platform hits the roof of the car, dislodges the lid, and spills bright white paint all over the windshield and hood.

Satisfaction ripples through me, leaving me refreshed and calmer than I’ve felt in weeks.

Time to get back to business.