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She and Una hit it off instantly when she arrives, and then the three of us troop upstairs to Una’s room-sized closet of mostly black clothes.

“Wait, seriously?”

I giggle when Una shows me the Morticia Addams-esque gown she wore for her wedding to Cil.

“You have to wear this,” Vesper gushes as she runs her fingers over the material. She groans as she looks up at Una. “Oh my God, I love it.”

“Right?” Una beams. “When I chose it…” She snickers. “I mean, it was supposed to be a big fuck you, but I ended up loving it.”

“I mean, the neckline is amazing,” Vesper sighs. She turns to me. “You are absolutely wearing this. No question.”

I nod as I grin. “Oh, I’m definitely wearing it.” I glance up at Una. “I mean, if that’s⁠—”

“No arguments here,” she laughs. “Be my guest.”

Una explains that the dress was originally my aunt Neve’s, when she went as Morticia Addams for Halloween. Una picked it when she was being forced to marry Cillian because she thought it would be a total middle finger to her Irish Mafia boss fiancé, everyone present, and forced mafia marriages in general.

Seriously. My hero.

With the dress sorted, Una heads downstairs to fix us some lunch while Vesper and I stay upstairs and salivate over her insanely amazing closet.

“So…”

I turn away from Una’s kick-ass collection of New Rocks and toward Vesper. “Wow. That didn’t take long.”

She giggles and tucks her blonde hair out of her face. “Well, c’mon! I mean, you call me and tell me you’re doing this insane arranged marriage thing⁠—”

“Forced to do,” I correct her with a scowl.

“Let the court records reflect.” Vesper nods, shaking her head. “Dude, mafia world shit…yikes.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Well how about you tell me? I mean, you’ve given me the broad strokes, but I still have no idea who this forced-arranged-whatever husband of yours even is. What’s he look like? Cute, at least? Good style? Is he nice, or am I going to have to hide under the marital bed and stab him in his sleep?”

I laugh. “How about we leave the stabbing to the professional here?”

She snickers. “Fine. I guess. But c’mon, at least let me see a picture?”

I roll my eyes. “Picture a giant penis.”

Her brows arch in amusement. “Well, then…”

“Not what I meant!” I blurt as my cheeks flame. “He’s a dickhead, is what I’m saying. An arrogant, annoying, stick-up-his-ass dickhead.”

“Pics,” Vesper sighs in a bored tone. “I need to see pics.”

“Ugh, fine.” I pull out my phone and navigate to Damiano’s incredibly curated Insta page which is mostly artsy black and white photography and pictures of that dumb car that I drew dicks all over.

I’m still pretty fucking pleased with myself over that.

But I scroll past all of that to pictures of him and then turn the phone toward my friend. “See? Giant walking dickhead.”

Vesper takes the phone. Instantly, her mouth falls open.

“Are you serious right now?”

“I know,” I grumble. “He’s⁠—”