Page 73 of Enforcer
“No,” we both say in unison.
“I’m going to go take a moment and check on things. I’ll see you out there?” I ask Brynne.
She smiles. “I’ll be the one in the dress,” she replies, smirking giddily.
“Really?”
“I’ve always wanted to say that.”
“I think you’re supposed to say it to your husband-to-be.”
She shrugs. “You have to seize opportunities as they come.”
I swallow as her words hit me deeper than she’d meant them.
I quickly exit and nearly make it to the front doors to get some fresh air when I spy Dante standing in their fissure. He’s greeting people and looking so fucking sexy in his suit, filling it out asifArmanitailored it for him specifically.
My heart beats rapidly in my throat, and I make a sharp turn to avoid his eyes, landing myself in the coat room I set up this morning with a church volunteer. I was the first one here this morning, working with mafia wives Lorenzo had tasked with decorating.
I met the priest and spoke to him about Brynne and Slate’s vows and their specific preferences for the wedding.
At the very back of five racks of coats, I find a windowsill and lean against it. When I hear the door open and the sounds of people conversing in the vestibule filter in, I shrink into the window as if it’ll make me invisible.
“There you are,” Dante says, and my eyes fly open.
I hoped to avoid him until the ceremony and then sneak out to the reception hall first thing. Seeing him dressed up has me very off-kilter when I was already so anxious to be here in the first place.
“Tesoro, are you alright? Your breathing is erratic?!”
He places a hand on my forehead, checking me for a fever.
I swat him away, feeling as if I’m hyperventilating. “I’m fine,” I gasp out.
“The fuck you are. Goddamnit, Alyssa.” He cups his hands over my face. “Breathe through it. You’re just having a panic attack. Come on, this will help. I don’t have a paper bag.”
I’m still frantically trying to get air when it feels too thin to breathe. My chest feels heavy, and I feel stupid.
This wedding has nothing to do with me. It’s not about me or my bullshit fears, but telling my subconscious that is like trying to baptize a cat.
“Look at me,” Dante orders. “Look into my eyes, tesoro.”
I try to focus on his face as the world around me blurs.
“I’ve got you. Do me a solid, yeah? Breathe in deep and hold it.”
I do so, and then he proceeds to count to ten. “When you breathe out, I want you to do so as you count to nine in your head. Don’t let all the air out until you hit nine, okay?”
I nod, blowing my air out into his hands as I count.
He nods as he seems satisfied that I’m calming down.
“One more time.”
I listen, and he removes his hands from over my mouth.
“One more time.”
By the time I was entirely calm, I had done the exercise five times.