“Hey,” I said, swept into a hug by his strong arms.

“There are too many people. You should have answered your phone.”

“I couldn’t,” I said tartly. “It was too loud and crowded in there.” I hugged my parents, posing for two quick photos before insisting that we leave, my body becoming a full-time sweat machine. I texted Becca and Olivia, and we headed for the house.

♥♥♥

Finally. I lay back in the sun. I was wrong. There was still goodness in this world. Maybe walking across that stage actually helped. Accepting that diploma, which now lay somewhere on the floorboard of Brad’s car, the proof that I had accomplished something. Closed one piece of my life. Lifted a layer of stress from my shoulders.

All I knew was that I felt great. A paper plate beside me, the remnants of a steak and a gnawed cob of corn, some of Martha’s potato salad sharing space with a speck of lemon pie. Olivia and I had swapped out turns manning the blender, churning out margaritas and daiquiris, the combination of iced alcohol and good food comforting in my stomach. From behind me I heard a snore that was most definitely my father’s, his and Mom’s chaise lounges set up in the shade. I grinned, twitching my toes to the reggae that Becca had chosen to play, and felt the last of my stress, for a few peaceful hours, lift away.

One more week. Then the wedding would be over, my family would leave, and I could relax with Brad, content in marital bliss, all cares and concerns gone, sunscreen application and sexual satisfaction my only obligations.

Days until wedding: 0 days, 16 hours

10:00 p.m. I sat in my room, the smell of cardboard mingling with the stale air of a room half empty, a sea of open boxes surrounding me. I had sent my parents to the hotel three hours earlier, the rehearsal concluding with brisk efficiency, our choice to forego a traditional follow-up dinner a decision I greatly appreciated. Now, alone, I had turned off the radio and packed in silence, appreciating the peace and quiet. Fold, wrap, pack. This year had been so crazy, changing my life in so many ways. I searched my soul for doubts or uneasiness about the life-changing step I was about to take. But I had complete faith in my decision. The Magiano threat to my life was what had accelerated our relationship, caused the premature engagement. At that moment, when I had accepted Brad’s proposal, I knew I loved him. I knew no man would ever be able to compete, to compare, with him. But I didn’t know if I was making the right decision. I didn’t know if our initial infatuation would have legs, if a foundation could be built to support a lifetime of commitment. I had needed this year. Needed to find my place in the relationship, needed to know Brad would yield control at times, respect my opinion, allow me to maintain my identity in the face of his strength.

He had amazed me, challenging me when I needed it, knowing instinctively when to push and when to pull. With every day, I was more secure in my decision. There was nothing I wanted more than to walk down that aisle and become Brad’s wife. And soon, it would happen. Brad, Holy Matrimony, and me.

I pulled out a Sharpie, labeling the cardboard box in front of me with neat block writing. Yearbooks. I was close to being done, only three or four boxes left. My DVDs, my accessories, and an assortment of crap that I should probably be throwing away, instead of carefully packing in cardboard boxes, bound for a shelf in Brad’s garage.

I stretched, listening to the quiet of the house. The air conditioner, an ancient oversized unit that had wheezed and moaned its way through the summer coughed, raspy air expelled through its vents. That, and the noises of my own movement were the only sounds in the house. The boys had, in typical Friday fashion, gone out, Alex, and then Zach, stopping by my room, hugging me awkwardly before departing. They had been invited to the wedding but were not attending, both inventing a creative excuse that was completely unnecessary. I was secretly pleased they were hitting the bars tonight. The alternative would have placed them on our couch, weed smoke curling through the air followed by thumping bass, then unannounced guests. There would be music and laughter and arguments, and no chance for me to have a clear thought or good night’s sleep.

I could have just stayed at Brad’s. Packed my meager belongings and then drove over. But I wanted this night, this goodbye to my old life. Plus, I was a traditionalist—at least when it came to this. The day of our wedding, Brad would not see me until I walked down the aisle. It was a sticking point that irritated our photographer, Brad, and Rebecca, but I held firm. We needed every bit of good karma surrounding this union. And I would only be married once. I wanted the anticipation and impact of Brad seeing me in my dress.

I heard my phone ring and stood, deftly navigating through piles of clothes until I got to the bedside table and picked up my phone, Brad’s number showing up on the screen.

“Hey baby.” I smiled as I spoke.

“Hey, my beautiful bride. You all ready to become Mrs. De Luca?”

“Can’t wait.”

“How’s the packing going?”

“Pretty good. I’m almost done, then headed to bed.”

“Make sure the alarm is armed.”

I smiled. “It is.” His fear was unfounded. If anything, the last year had proved that no one was interested in harming me, not as Brad De Luca’s fiancée. Might that change when I became a wife? An official member of the crime family? I swallowed the bead of nervousness and returned to my place on the floor.

“And you’re not trying to move boxes yourself, right? I’m gonna send someone over tomorrow afternoon to pick up that and your furniture.”

I rolled my eyes. “I know. You’ve told me several times. Don’t worry, I have no desire to heft my own boxes just for the hell of it.”

“Any chance we can get breakfast? I may need a pep talk, reminder of why I’m leaving my life of bachelordom.”

I huffed into the phone. “No pep talk, no breakfast. You can wait ‘til noon tomorrow like everyone else.”

“But we’ll talk in the morning, right?”

“Noon. You made it thirty-odd years without talking to me. You’ll survive just fine.”

He growled, a sound that drove me crazy with desire. “I love you.” His voice was husky, and I smiled.

“I love you, too. See you tomorrow.”

“Noon.”

“Noon.” I hung up the phone with a happy sigh.

♥♥♥

Frustrated with my lack of cooperation in the form of personal security, Brad had focused his resources on Fort Knox-ifying my crappy student dwelling. It was a waste of money considering that the threat to my safety would begin after I moved out, my life only endangered upon my induction into the Magiano family. But maybe it was the thought of danger, or the idea that his family would renege on their promise—whatever the reason, I was surrounded by safety measures. Every window in my house had been replaced with security glass. If the windows were opened, cracked, or broken, an alarm would blare and the police and security firm would be alerted. The same went with exterior doors. A triggered alarm could only be ended with a personal code and a call to the security firm. A panic button was now installed next to my bed, allowing the police to be one short pressure point away. I was, with the best security system money could buy, safe.

Security was only effective when protecting an intelligent individual. My safety was comprised in the simplest way possible.

At 10:46 p.m. my car alarm blared. Three high-pitched sirens and then silence. I looked up from my packing and listened, unsure if the noise I heard had belonged to my SUV. Standing, I crawled onto my bed until I was at the bedroom window, pulling open the blinds and looking out onto our front yard. There, illuminated by our lone street light, sat my X5, parked on the curb, no one in sight. I started to back away from the window when something caught my eye. Leaning in closer, I tried, through dirty glass and a dark yard, to examine my car.