“I have to let Ryuu go. The brother I loved so much died that day when I lost the rest of my family. He never had the chance to have a normal life. I was clinging to the man I wanted him to be, the one I made up in my head in order to survive. That man wasn’t my brother.” She looked down at her hands. “I’ve grieved long enough for someone who didn’t exist.”

She looked up at the two women who had been her constant support. “I have a family now, and I’m not going to risk losing it to cling to someone who never actually existed. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to come to that realization.”

“You have the right to take all the time you need,” Emmanuelle assured. “We are your family and we’ll always be here for you.”

The dark shadow in Mariko, the one that had been weighing her down for so many weeks, lifted even further. “I’ve never been a part of a family that I can remember, so I’m going to make mistakes. I hope you both will find it in you to be tolerant.”

Francesca laughed softly. “We’re Ferraros. We have to be tolerant of one another. You might want to remember that today.”

“Today? What’s different about today?”

Francesca and Emmanuelle exchanged another look and then both turned their full attention on her, eyes sparkling with mischief, reminding her of Ricco when he was up to something – which was often.

“Oh dear. What are you up to now? If you make me a part of it, how upset is Ricco going to be?”

“Ricco isn’t as patient as he might be, not when it comes to you,” Francesca said.

Mariko shook her head. “No, he’s been amazing. Far better than I deserve. I lost sight of what I had right in front of me. I’m lucky he is so patient. Another man might have walked away.”

“If he walked away, Mariko,” Emmanuelle said, “he didn’t really love you in the first place and you’d be better off without him.”

There was something in her voice that had both women looking sharply at her. She flashed them a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She shook her head and forced a smile. “We’ve come to help you get ready.”

“Ready for what? There’s nothing on the calendar. Did I miss an important event?” Her stomach tightened. They really were up to something, and her gut told her it was big.

“Just the fact that you’re getting married today.”

Mariko’s breath stilled in her lungs. Ricco had been watching her closely, but he hadn’t brought up marriage other than to have her fill out the necessary papers to apply for residency since she wasn’t from the United States. “That’s impossible.”

“Ricco is a Ferraro. Nothing is impossible. We brought everything for you to get ready. Stefano is giving you away and we’re standing up for you.” Emmanuelle looked immensely pleased at the idea.

“But I’ve been so difficult lately,” Mariko said. “No.” She shook her head. “I need to talk to him first.” She had to tell him she was sorry for spending so much time mourning a brother, mother and father who were never real in her life.

Francesca flashed another smile. “At least you aren’t protesting getting married. If you did, he said we were to remind you of your promise.”

Mariko rolled her eyes. Of course he would throw that silly promise at her – that she’d marry him at the time he chose. So, he was choosing now. She was thankful that she’d come to the realization that the family she had right in front of her, the people willing to love her, were worth far more than the ones who had rejected her.

If he was insisting on marrying her without any preparation, at least the wedding would have to be small, not the huge event the paparazzi would attend and splash across the cover of every magazine. She didn’t want a billionaire’s wedding. Or even a celebrity’s wedding. She wanted the ceremony to be about them, not about the hundred-thousand-dollar dress and fifty-thousand-dollar cake.

“We need to get started,” Emmanuelle said. “Ricco might have decreed you get married today, but he doesn’t know what we’ve got planned.”

“Rose petals for your bed. Tons of them,” Francesca said.

“I’ve got a few plans as well,” Mariko said. “Let’s get started. At least I’ve just bathed.” She’d been late getting up and Ricco had already been gone. She was upset with herself over that. He liked early morning sex and yet he hadn’t disturbed her. That might have been the catalyst for her finally realizing she was throwing away something good over something unreal.

The next two hours went by very quickly. The two women styled her hair simply, pulling it back to let it hang in loose curls down her neck. They did her makeup flawlessly, smoky eyes and an accent of dark lipstick that made her look terribly sexy.

Her gown was her dream gown, one from a designer, Yumi Katsuri. She’d loved her work and often looked at the gowns online, never thinking she’d actually get married in one of her creations. She had mentioned the designer one time to Ricco, in passing, and he must have remembered. Of course he had. He remembered everything she said to him. If he thought it important enough, he took the time to get whatever it was, or do it for her immediately. He had discussed having the designer make her a one-of-a-kind gown, but she didn’t want to spend that kind of money.

Even though she now could buy anything she wanted, she had been very frugal growing up and living on the tiny amount she was given. Everything she bought had been carefully chosen. She’d seen so much poverty and so many others in need that she’d been very grateful for what she had. She wanted to stay that way, and she wanted her children to value what they had and be aware of what others didn’t. In her mind, it was a splurge to have a wedding gown so beautiful, and as it was, she knew the gown chosen was expensive, just not by Ferraro standards.

It had a modified ivory halter top, fitted to her perfectly. The dress dropped into swirls of white tulle, layer after layer, so it appeared light and airy.

Mariko touched the dress reverently and then brushed her hand along the Swarovski crystals adorning the top. “I love the crystals.” It was becoming real now that she had the dress on. Her heart began to pound. She was marrying Ricco Ferraro. She would be his wife, beloved by him, cherished by him. It seemed a fairy tale, something she might have read about in one of the thousands of books she’d read. She never believed she would find a man who would really love her, let alone make her the center of his universe.

“Um, honey,” Francesca said. “Those aren’t crystals.”

Mariko frowned, her eyes meeting Francesca’s in the mirror. “They are. Believe me, I’ve read the description of this dress a million times. I’ve always loved it.”