Chapter Eleven #3
Drita stepped around to get a look for herself. She tutted and then said, “You need to eat and drink plenty of water. Getting married is like running a marathon.”
Dafina nodded weakly, and Drita beckoned me to come closer to help with the voluminous skirt. The seamstress quickly handled the buttons and zipper while Drita guided my sister out of the dress and onto the floor. She bolted down the hallway and slammed a door.
Drita frowned. “I’m going to instruct the caterers not to serve her any alcohol at the rehearsal dinner tonight.”
“She’s not a child. She doesn’t need to be policed.” I reacted defensively on my sister’s behalf.
“That’s not what I heard.” She leveled a knowing stare my way. “She is not going to embarrass Luka.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “None of you will.”
Her threat delivered, Drita gathered up the dress and other tailoring items. “The car will arrive at 5:30 to bring you to the rehearsal. Your dress has been steamed and is in your room. If the shoes I’ve chosen don’t fit, you may wear a pair you’ve brought with you.”
“I brought my own dress.” Who was this lady? And where did she get off trying to tell me what to wear?
“I’ve chosen your outfits for today and tomorrow and the wedding brunch. It’s important that you and your family present yourselves appropriately.”
“I’ve been dressing myself since I was a child. I’m quite capable of choosing appropriate outfits for a wedding.”
“I’m sure you are, but this wedding is different. Everything must be perfect for Luka.” When I opened my mouth to argue, she cut me off with a slash of her hand. “This isn’t up for discussion. You’ll do what you’re told.”
She didn’t have to say, “Or else.” It was implied. Heavily.
After they left, I tracked down my sister and found her in a bedroom, sitting on the edge of a bed in her underwear. She clutched her phone and stared at the screen. Waves of panic and dread emanated from her like a black, swirling aura.
I carefully closed the door behind me and crossed the room to sit next to her. “Dafina, please tell me what’s wrong.”
“I can’t.” She shook her head and roughly wiped at tears now spilling down her face. “It doesn’t matter anyway.”
“It matters to me.” I gently took her hand and squeezed it.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” she stubbornly said. She left her hand in mine, clenching my fingers. “I must marry Luka. There’s no other option.”
“There could be,” I said, surprising myself with the words.
Startled, she looked at me with confusion. “Like what?”
“We could run. Right now.” My heart raced as I considered our options. “I have some money. Not a ton, but enough. I brought cash.”
“You brought cash?” She frowned. “Why?”
“Fear? Paranoia?” I shrugged helplessly. “I have a phone number we can call.”
“A phone number?” She repeated in confusion. “What? Like Taken style?”
I shrugged. “I didn’t ask for details. I memorized the number. Put some cash in different spots in my luggage. Brett made me promise to update him regularly. Like every two hours.”
“He’ll probably call the embassy if you miss your flight home,” she grumbled. “I wish I had someone looking out for me like that.”
“I’m looking out for you like that.” I swallowed nervously. “I wasn’t a very good big sister to you. I had my own things happening when we were younger. I shouldn’t have left you behind with her.”
“You were fourteen,” she said softly. “And I—.”
Her cell phone began to vibrate, and she immediately answered it. “Yes? I’m here. I—what? Now?” She bit her lip and nervously glanced my way. “Okay. Give me, like, five minutes to get dressed. I will. Okay. I will.”
“Dafina? Who was that?” Between the warehouse discovery I’d made and this, I wasn’t sure I could take much more of this anxiety-inducing suspense.
“Please don’t ask me questions, Elona.” She tossed aside her phone and rushed to the closet where she grabbed a simple sundress. “It’s better if you don’t know.”
“Dafina.”
“No, Elona!” She pulled on the dress and stuffed her feet into simple flats. “I mean it. Don’t ask again. Don’t follow me. Just—stay here and wait.”
“For what?”
“For the rehearsal dinner.”
“You’re coming back?”
“Of course.” She shot me a strange look. “Skender is here. In Tirana. We’re this close to getting our brother back. I’m not going to risk that. Not for anything.” She snatched up her phone and purse. “If anyone asks—.”
“I didn’t see anything.”
“Exactly.” She rushed out of the room, and I sat there, dumbfounded and anxious.
What the hell is going on?
And what the hell was I going to tell my mother if she returned before Dafina?
Not looking forward to that conversation, I returned to the entryway and gathered my luggage. I tried two doors down the main hallway before I found the room that had been arranged for me. My gaze landed on the dress rack in the corner.
“Oh, no.” Horrified, I dropped my luggage and ran to inspect the nightmare outfits I had been ordered to wear.
These were very expensive pieces, each one beautifully designed and stitched with exquisite skill.
The colors were gorgeous and happy and bright, but they were exactly the shades I would never buy or wear.
They would draw too much attention, the very last thing I wanted.
The dress with a tag for tonight had me on the verge of hyperventilating.
It was beautiful. Sexy. The bold fuchsia color reminded me of bougainvillea.
The gauzy, pleated fabric would hug every lump and bump.
There wasn’t a pair of shape wear strong enough to smooth out what I was trying to hide.
The halter top was even worse. I hated showing my arms and wide shoulders.
Feeling sick, I flicked the hanger aside and gawked at the gown that had been arranged for the wedding.
It had one shoulder and a fitted bust with a jeweled cutout right at the waist. The pink lilac floral print was pretty.
That much I would allow, but the thought of wearing a dress that tight fitting with a cutout and a slit that went mid-thigh? I wanted to die.
The brunch dress wasn’t any better. Another halter top, this one in a wild pink and orange abstract print with pops of aqua and mint. It was at least loose and flowy so I wouldn’t feel like every single roll was on display.
“Maybe they won’t fit.” It was the only chance I had to escape the embarrassment of wearing these dresses. I wasn’t easy to shop for, not at my weight and my height. There was no way these would fit me.
But as I slipped into the rehearsal dinner dress with trembling hands, my stomach fell. It fit perfectly.
It was as if it had been made for me. There was no stretching or bunching of fabric around my breasts or hips. The hem was the correct length. Everything was just right.
How? What kind of miracle worker was Drita?
And why do I look so fucking good?
It was sickening that a woman I didn’t even know had picked a dress that made me look like this.
I looked...hot?
The front door of the apartment opened and slammed shut. Startled by the sound, I whirled around at my mother’s angry voice. I wanted to be anywhere but here in this apartment, alone with her.
“Dafina! Elona!”
“Coming!” I shouted back, hoping I could get out of this dress and back into my regular clothes before she came looking for me.
Luck was not on my side. Her high heels clacked against the floor, and she suddenly appeared in the doorway. Her lip curled, and she furrowed her brow at me. “Is that what she picked for you? Is she blind? Look at your shoulders!” She made a disgusted face. “Look at your stomach! The rolls!”
And there it was. The cutting, mean, nasty remarks that sounded exactly like the critical voice in my head. The voice that told me I was too fat to wear something like this.
“They’re trying to humiliate our whole family.” My mother stormed into the room and straight to the rack of clothing. She jerked aside the hangers, taking in each dress with a disgusted expression. “You are not wearing these. I won’t have you be the laughingstock of your sister’s wedding.”
Before she could do something reckless like tear the dresses, I interrupted her tirade. “Where is Skender?”
She whirled toward me, her face a mask of fury. “They’re keeping him at Luka’s house. Apparently, we can’t be trusted to show up to the wedding if they release him tonight.”
“What?” I couldn’t believe they’d fabricated yet another reason to keep my brother a captive. “What about Grandfather? What did he say?”
“Nothing! He’s pathetic. I wish he would die already!” She stomped her foot like an angry child. “He’s useless. He didn’t even open his mouth to say one word in protest.”
“But you saw Skender?”
“Yes.” Her face softened briefly, very briefly, and then hardened. “Where is your sister?”
“Um...in her room? She wasn’t feeling well after her fitting, so she went to nap. I shut the door once she was in bed, and I came in here to unpack and look at the dresses.”
My mother eyed me suspiciously. Without a word, she left my room and stalked across the hall.
She knocked loudly on Dafina’s door. Each rap of her knuckles twisted an invisible knot in my stomach tighter and tighter.
When she opened the door, I held my breath for the inevitable outburst. “Dafina? Are you in the bathroom? Dafina? Dafina!”
Doors opened and slammed closed.
“Where is she?” Mom screeched. “Where did she go? Elona!”
My shoulders tensed as she stormed across the hall into my room. I tried to look busy at the clothing rack, but it was no use. She grasped my shoulders and wheeled me around with so much force I stumbled back into the dresses.
I managed to stay on my feet but only barely. The metal rack bit into my shoulder, but it was nothing to the pain of my mother’s acrylic nails digging into my skin.
“Where is she?” My mother grabbed two handfuls of my hair and shook me like a ragdoll, banging my head against the clothing rack. It was hollow metal thankfully, so it didn’t crack my skull. “I swear to god if your sister has run away—.”
“Mom!” Dafina shouted in shock from the doorway. “What are you doing?” She rushed across the room and locked her hands around our mother’s wrists. “Mom! Let her go!”
Our mother whirled on Dafina. “Where have you been? Where did you go?” She grabbed Dafina and shook her the same way she had me. “What did I tell you? I warned you!”
She reared back as if to hit Dafina, and I reacted on instinct. I snatched her hand midair and forced her arm down to her side. “Don’t! You heard what Zec said!”
My mother froze, and I could see the panic in her eyes. Dafina realized she had the upper hand, and she lifted her chin. “Leave us alone—or else I’m making a phone call.”
“How dare you!” Our mother hissed. “After all I’ve done for you.”
“Leave! Us! Alone!” Dafina snarled each word. “Now!”
She gritted her teeth, but she left. As soon as she was out in the hallway, Dafina shut and locked the door. When she turned back toward me, I realized her eyes were bloodshot, and her nose was running. She’d been crying. A lot.
“Are you okay?” I asked, unsteadily walking toward her. Being manhandled had left me a bit off-kilter.
“Am I okay? Are you okay?” She gently touched my head. “Hold still. I think you’re bleeding.” She carefully parted my hair with her fingertips. “Shit. You are.”
“Is it bad?”
“It’s small, but it’s bleeding a lot. Sit down.” She pushed me toward the bed. “I’m getting a towel.”
I didn’t argue. My head throbbed, but it wasn’t anything worse than a tension headache. I gingerly reached up to feel my scalp. Blood coated my fingers. “Shit.”
“Stop touching it!” Dafina scolded as she came at me with a towel. “Hold still.”
“Ouch!”
“Don’t be a baby.” She pressed the towel against the wound. “I know you’ve had worse playing softball. You came to my engagement dinner party with a black eye.”
Stunned, I asked, “You noticed?”
“Of course, I noticed. You’re good at makeup, but you’re not that good.” She clicked her teeth. “If this won’t stop bleeding, we’ll have to take you to a hospital.
”Absolutely not! All hell will break loose if we do.”
She didn’t argue. Instead, she said, “We need to get you out of this dress.”
“Did I bleed on it?”
“Not yet.” She held the towel in place while I stood and shimmied out of the dress. “You need a different bra for that dress.”
“I have a few options in my luggage. I was only trying the dress on to see if it would fit.”
“It’s a killer fit.”
Surprised by her compliment, I managed a shocked, “Thanks.”
She ignored my surprise. “I’m sorry she hurt you. I shouldn’t have left.”
Certain she had been meeting a man, I cautiously asked, “Are you okay?”
“Not really,” she admitted, her voice thick with emotion.
“I’m sorry, Dafina.” I didn’t want to put too much thought into where she’d gone or who she was with or why.
“It is what it is.” Her defeated reply broke my heart. “I don’t want to marry Luka, but at least, he’ll be useful when it comes to dealing with our mother.” She scowled at the closed door. “She is never going to hurt us ever again.”
Her words chilled me right to the bone. For once, I almost felt sorry for my mother.