the fact his father was back among the living. There was a mixed ball of emotions churning in his gut. He truly wanted to be happy for his father, but it nagged at him that he and his brother had suffered through their childhoods with an emotionally detached father. If only his father had made this change long ago, he could have saved everyone so much misery.
When his father and Maria were far enough off, Stefano made the rest of his way to the house. It seemed as though everyone was getting on with their lives—except him. But how did he do that? How did he forget what he’d done?
He didn’t have any answers, just more questions. The one thing he could do was get into the spirit of his brother’s wedding. Maybe Dante was right to roll the dice and see what life handed him.
The thought of Jules making all those silly paper flowers alone tugged at his conscious. He was the best man. And since there was no other bridal party, it fell to him to help her. Whether he was any good at it or not, he could try his best.
Spending some time with Jules was not silly—not at all. Besides, it would keep his mind off the fact that his father was changing—right before his very eyes. Suddenly Stefano felt as though he was standing still in life and soon he’d be left behind.
JULES RAN THE brush through her damp hair, pulling the dark strands back in a single ponytail. The cool shower felt rejuvenating. She’d just sat down on the bedroom floor to make some more flowers when there was a knock at the door.
Her chest tightened. She wasn’t expecting anyone to come looking for her. She thought everyone was out and about doing their own thing.
She scrambled to her feet. The door was locked, so it wasn’t like anyone would just come walking in on her.
“Jules, are you in there?” Stefano’s deep tones vibrated through the door.
“Did you need something?”
“I have news. You know, it’s easier to talk when there isn’t a piece of wood standing between us.”
Jules pressed her hands to her cheeks. She hadn’t had a chance to do her makeup yet. She couldn’t have him seeing her like this—with her scars exposed. Her heart beat rapidly. She didn’t think she could stand to have him turn away in repulsion.
She stepped closer to the door. “Could we talk at lunch?”
There was a slight pause. “Is everything okay?”
What could be so important? She didn’t have a clue. She had to admit that she was quite curious to know what was so urgent.
“Jules?” The doorknob jiggled. “Jules, what’s going on? Why is your door locked?”
She sighed. He wasn’t going to just give up and go away. She’d already witnessed his stubborn streak at the florist. This time he might just break down the door to see for himself that she was okay.
This might be just what she needed to end the silly crush she had on him. Once he saw the scars on her face, he’d turn tail and run.
“Jules, come on. You’re starting to worry me.”
She sucked in a steadying breath, leveled her shoulders and released the lock on the door. With a twist of the knob, she pulled it open. Stefano stood there, all six-plus feet of him, with his forehead wrinkled with worry lines. He stepped into the room, and she backed up so he could enter the whole way.
“See, nothing to worry about.” She felt a little off center that he was actually worried about her. Aside from Lizzie, no one worried about her.
His gaze slid over her fuzzy black robe with purple polka dots. She suddenly wished it was a little longer. As it was, it barely reached midthigh, and the only thing beneath it was a lacy black bra and matching undies. Though she was modestly covered, she still felt fully exposed. She lowered her head, staring at her purple toenails.
“You aren’t dressed yet?”
She shrugged. “I’ve been busy.”
“I noticed. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about—”
“If this is about hiring help, I told you to forget it.”
“Actually, what I wanted to say is I know in the beginning I wasn’t a fan of helping with this wedding, but I want to help now. I want to do whatever it is that you need. Just give me a task, and I’ll get it done. Or at least I’ll try my best.”
Jules crossed her arms. “Do you mind if I ask what brought about this change of heart?”
He paused and stared at her. Was it her scars? Did he at last see her defects? That crescent moon scar that wrapped around the side of her left eye and the long scar that trailed down her jaw. They were so ugly.
She couldn’t stand him staring any longer. She felt as though she were under a spotlight. Pretending to be intent on picking up some of her flower-making supplies from the floor, she kept her back to him.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare.”
“I should have put on my makeup, but I didn’t get to it yet.”
“Don’t.” When she turned a questioning look his way, he added, “Don’t put the makeup on.”
She straightened and turned to him. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“No, I think you look beautiful without all of that stuff.”
He couldn’t be serious. There was no way someone could find her scarred face beautiful. She shook her head. “Don’t lie.”
“I’m not.” He stepped closer to her. When she wouldn’t meet his gaze, his thumb moved beneath her chin and raised her face until she was looking directly at him. “You are beautiful.”
“But...but what about my scars?”
“The one by your eye is hardly noticeable. It’s your green eyes that draw my attention. The gold flecks in them catch the light just right. And your pert nose is just perfect. And then there’s your lips—they are quite fascinating. They look as though they are just ripe for kissing.”
The breath hitched in her throat. He was seducing her with his words. No one had ever done that before, and all she wanted him to do now was put some action behind his compliments.
Then in the next breath his hand pulled away from her chin, and he stepped back. “If that’s the only reason you wear all of that makeup, then don’t. You are much more beautiful without it. Trust me. I wouldn’t lie to you.”
Maybe he wouldn’t. He’d just lead her on and then leave her wanting a kiss that wasn’t coming. How in the world was she ever going to concentrate on anything but him?
“I’ll consider it.” She’d been wearing makeup since she was a teen, hiding her scars.
“Are you still making flowers?” He glanced around at the array of papers on the floor.
