Chapter 6
FRANKIE
This definitely isn’t what I imagined my wedding day looking like when I was ten years old.
A week and a half later, I’m standing in front of a mirror looking at myself in a dress I didn’t choose, getting ready to marry a stranger.
I’m the picture of a perfect bride in a stunning, elaborate lace gown with long sleeves and a neckline that plunges to my sternum.
A sheer veil hangs down over my curls and a tiny, sparkly tiara holds it in place.
I look like I should be on the cover of a bridal magazine.
I look nothing like myself.
This dress? It’s clearly made to be photographed in, and not much else. The skirt is so tight around my thighs that I doubt I’ll be able to manage much more than penguin walk, and I can’t imagine actually dancing with this ridiculous mermaid train trailing behind me.
When I was a girl, I always dreamed of a gown in a softer ivory shade, with a simple V-neck and spaghetti straps, embroidery climbing up the full skirt. Something I could twirl and dance in, but also be comfortable wearing.
Of course, I also wanted the groom to ride up on a white horse, sweep me into his arms, and lead us off into the sunset at a full gallop.
The only thing I’m getting swept up in now is my own personal hell, hitched to the son of a mob boss, stripped of my family business and my autonomy.
You know, the things every little girl dreams of.
The morning after my dinner with Dante, Jessica sent over an itinerary and summary of the wedding details, including the seating chart, catering menu, and images of the wedding and bridesmaids’ dresses.
A tailor showed up soon after to get my measurements, and my dress arrived at the crack of dawn this morning by courier.
It’s dumbfounding how my entire wedding was planned without any input from me.
Apparently, the invitations had been sent as soon as my father made the deal with Dante.
How was it possible that I was the last one to know?
Well, me and my sisters, I suppose. If they’d received their invitations weeks ago like everyone else, they would have called me right away.
Jessica, I’m assuming, had been in charge of all the logistics. I can’t quite shake the bad taste in my mouth over the fact that she orchestrated this whole thing.
Letting out a breath, I turn this way and that before the oval mirror and assess the dress yet again.
Despite the fact that it isn’t my style, the tailor really did an amazing job fitting the bodice to me like a glove.
The fine, handmade lace hugs my shoulders and breasts, the white satin beneath glimmering slightly in the light.
As much as I hate to admit it, it’s beautiful.
Not something I would have ever chosen for myself, but flattering, showing off my curves with an elegant silhouette.
I bet Jessica picked it out. My fiancé’s mistress does have great taste.
And nope, I’m not bitter about that at all.
Not one tiny bit. I just love that that bitch chose my dress.
The doors suddenly burst open and my sisters come in, interrupting my brooding. Livvie squeals and claps her hands together as she comes up behind me.
“Frankie! Oh my goodness! You’re a vision.”
I roll my eyes. “You literally zipped up my dress, Liv. You’ve already seen me.”
“I know, I know. I’m just so excited and happy for you!” She bounces a little, her heels clicking on the marble floor, and I can’t help smiling at her youthful enthusiasm.
I turn and look at my sisters, both of them startlingly gorgeous in pale blue, halter-style bridesmaid dresses. It’s a hue that equally complements Liv’s cornsilk blonde hair and Charlie’s deep golden shade, playing up their blue eyes, too.
“You two look like literal angels,” I say.
“Of course we do! It’s your fairy-tale wedding, Frankie.” Livvie clasps her hands together. “Just wait until you see what they’ve done outside.”
Charlie nods, her mood more subdued than Liv’s. “The decor is stunning. So classy.”
“I’m sure it is.” I take Livvie’s hand and give it a squeeze. “I can’t wait to see it.”
The lie is sour on my tongue. I’d prefer to never see it; to run as far and fast from this nightmare as I can. Livvie starts primping my dress, nitpicking over this and that.
“It’s just so dreamy. Your groom looks like a model, I swear! You could have done worse, Frankie, that’s for sure. He’s left no detail out. Just wait, you’ll see. This dress is fantastic. Italian lace and French silk.”
Normally I enjoy my youngest sister’s banter, but right now, every word is rubbing me wrong. I don’t care how good Dante looks, or about the details. Each second that ticks by brings me closer to becoming someone I don’t want to be.
I don’t want to be a Bellanti and I sure as hell don’t want to be Dante Bellanti’s wife.
My chest swells with a stifling breath. Suddenly my dress is too tight and my lungs can’t fill. I’m trapped inside lace and silk. I feel like I’m going to pass out. Oh, God.
The swish of Charlie’s dress is loud in my ears as she hurries over to me and puts her hands on my shoulders, steadying me.
“All right, Livvie,” she says over her shoulder. “Time for you to scoot. I need to have a quick chat with Frankie…alone.”
Livvie steps back and looks between us, a sly smile pulling her lips. “Okay, okay, I get it.” She nods knowingly, then gives me an amused look. “I figured you’d know all about sexing up a man by now, sis, but you do you.”
She winks and saunters out the door.
Charlie bursts out laughing as soon as the door closes. “She thinks I’m going to have the sex talk with you.”
“You’re not, though, right? Because I’m good.”
Charlie takes my hand and threads her fingers through mine. The touch grounds me as little flames of panic dance inside me.
“Just take a breath, Frankie. In and out. There you go…in and out.”
Tears sting my eyes. “He’s awful. How am I supposed to actually go through with this?” My voice cracks and I turn away with a wave of my hand.
“No, no, no. You’ll ruin your makeup. Frankie, just breeeeathe.”
Charlie grabs a box of tissues and puts one in my hand before pulling me to the sofa and guiding me to sit. Somehow, I manage to force down my tears, but the panic is slower to give up. Sinking down beside me, Charlie takes my hand again.
“Listen. I’m going to explain the rules of being a wife to a man with mafia ties.”
Mafia wife. Me. Oh my God.
Swallowing hard, I look at our hands and nod. Attempting to speak will just force the sobs out, and once I break down, I know I won’t be able to pull myself back together.
“The main thing to remember is that all Dante expects from you is to look pretty on his arm and warm his bed. Aside from those two things, your interactions with him will be limited. Trust me when I say he won’t want you involved in any other aspects of his life.
I know that sounds harsh, and it is, a little bit.
But that’s the reality of what you’re getting into.
Sex. Look pretty. Keep quiet. Raise the kids, if and when. That’s it.”
She’s doing a shit job of making me feel better. “How is that any kind of life?” I ask.
“Your life is still your own. Even if he has rules and demands, it’s not like he’s going to be home breathing down your neck all the time. You still get to do you, you just have to be clever about it. Keep it low key. Okay?”
I nod. Maybe she has a point. What Dante doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
Charlie goes on, “Never ask about his business, what he’s doing, or where he’s been. Don’t stick your nose into anything. Let him take care of shit. And if he says he’s going to handle a problem, just trust that he will and don’t ask how. Never, ever ask how.”
“Jesus, Char.” The words croak out of me.
She squeezes my hand. “It’s very easy to fool men into thinking women are simple creatures. Like I said, he’ll be happy to leave you alone if you just follow the rules.”
“I get it,” I say, tracing the pattern of the lace on my skirt.
The panic is gone. Now I’m just depressed.
“You’re telling me to play dumb and be compliant so I can live a relatively peaceful life.
A life where I might be able to do the things I want, as long as I give my husband lots of sex, keep my mouth shut, and look pretty. I am so excited to say I do right now.”
Charlie sighs. “Hey. You’re saving Livvie. You know that, right?” She leans over and presses her forehead to mine. “You’re not committing yourself to the Bellantis, you’re committing yourself to saving this family. To keeping it safe. We’re the last of the Abbotts. We gotta stick together.”
The change of tactics hits me in the gut, and I can’t sit still any longer. Standing, I smooth my skirt and return to the mirror. The image in the glass is a lie: I look calm, poised, flawless. I never considered myself much of an actress, but maybe I can pull this off after all.
A knock on the door makes my heart leap into my throat. Oh God, it can’t possibly be time yet, can it? I’m not ready!
“Just a minute!” I call out.
The door opens. My eyes track the movement as if I’m watching a movie in slow motion. Not ready, not ready, not—
“Francesca, oh, how lovely.”
A middle-aged woman in a stylish navy dress strides in. She’s wearing an outrageous hat with tulle and pheasant feathers spraying from the top and a brim wide enough to cover her face. She quietly closes the door and lifts her head, deep magenta lipstick making her smile glow.
Charlie and I glance at each other before looking back at her, our voices equal in timing and exasperation.
“Hello, Mom.”