Free Dante by Bethany-Kris

in front of others. If people saw his mother treating his future wife in a less than appropriate way, they would assume Catrina was unsuitable and act the same toward her.
    Catrina shook her head slightly, tugging on Dante’s hand gently to catch his attention. “It’s fine, Dante. The house is beautiful, and I wanted to see the property in the back, anyway. Come find me when you’re ready. Okay?”
    “Sure.”
    Dante waited until he knew Catrina would be out of hearing range before he rounded on his mother.
    “What was that, Ma?” Dante asked, his tone edged sharp like the blade of a knife.
    Cecelia turned to bend down and check her oven, seemingly unbothered by her son’s anger. “I don’t know what you mean, Dante.”
    “That, with Catrina. What in the fuck—”
    “Watch it,” Antony muttered darkly, cocking a dark brow in caution.
    Dante ignored his father. He was twenty-eight-years-old for Christ’s sake; he wasn’t going to tread around his father on light feet anymore. Antony would have to suck it up and deal with it. After all, he was the one who pushed Dante from his side.
    But Dante was surprised as hell that his mother said nothing about foul language being used in her kitchen. That wasn’t like her at all. When did he get dropped into the goddamn Twilight Zone?
    His brothers and their wives had all but turned into stone, each sporting a mask of confusion and shock. No doubt they were just as unsure about Cecelia’s strange manners as Dante was.
    Cecelia popped back up, closing the oven door and tossing a dish towel to the counter. “Have you two picked a date?”
    Dante blinked at the complete one-eighty his mother seemed to turn with that one question. “Seven weeks.”
    “So soon,” Cecelia said quietly, giving Antony a look from across the room that voiced her unhidden displeasure.
    Antony wouldn’t meet her gaze.
    “There isn’t really a reason for us to hold it off and the sooner, the better,” Dante said. 
    “Oh?”
    “Yes.”
    “You’re cutting it terribly close to Lent,” Kim said.
    Dante shrugged. “It’s after, so nothing stops the ceremony in that regard.”
    Antony stood before sitting Johnathan in his bouncy chair. “Catholic doctrine requires six months couple’s counseling before a ceremony can be performed. You know this.”
    “I’ll handle it,” Dante replied.
    “How?” Cecelia asked.
    “Lucian had his classes nearly tripled weekly to have his wedding when he wanted.”
    “I still did the classes,” Lucian put in.
    “And I needed to have my finishing rites before we could even begin the classes,” Jordyn said.
    Dante waved them off. “Giovanni didn’t get married in the church at all and didn’t have any trouble getting his marriage recognized by the bishop after you stepped in. It took you what, two weeks to get their marriage validated in the eyes of the church, Ma?”
    Cecelia’s gaze narrowed. “That wasn’t the same and you know it.”
    Gio looked like he wanted to skip out of the room and as quickly as possible. “Keep my marriage out of this.”
    “Yes, please,” Kim muttered as she rinsed off diced potatoes.
    “I won’t be asking Father Peter to ignore the required counseling, Dante,” Cecelia said.
    Dante shrugged. “I didn’t say you had to. I said I would handle it.”
    “And I asked how.”
    “In whatever way I want to, Ma. It’s like this, either you want me married in our church by the man who christened me or you don’t. If you don’t, then that’s fine. I’ll have the ceremony elsewhere and get a convalidation of marriage afterward. Honestly, that’d be a hell of a lot easier, and my marriage to Catrina won’t be any less official by law because of where it takes place. That’s all I need, Ma, just a marriage certificate and then everyone else will be satisfied I’ve done what they wanted.”
    Cecelia scowled. “Exactly, Dante. Everyone else will be so pleased.”
    “Dante has a point, Ma,” Giovanni said.