So perhaps it isn’t the sleeves I’ve let slip tonight—it’s my patience. Patience for women who care about trivial things while the world outside is so unbearably rotten. It’s only a wedding, after all.
I look at her and smile.
“I’ve never needed to hide, and I’m far too beautiful for masks.” I step closer as though she had just told me something amusing. I maintain perfect composure, noticing the occasional glance turning toward us. “I don’t know what everyone’s problem is tonight, but if someone has an issue with my engagement, complain to Lorenzo—or better yet, to the Godfather himself. I’m sure he’d love hearing his decisions questioned! It would certainly make the evening more entertaining once all these decorations are stained red after you’re executed for incompetence.”
“Who do yo
