Chapter 45
chapter forty-five
Natalia
“HAPPY WEDDING DAY!”
My eyes flung open in a panic and met Mateo’s already blown wide and frantically looking back at me under the sheets. That was all the warning we received before the white duvet was violently ripped off the bed, exposing us in all our pre-marital, naked glory.
I yelped, tugging the top sheet over my chest and Matty wretched the fluffy pillow out from behind his head with a brutish howl, using it to cover himself as he scampered up toward the headboard.
Our screaming cued screaming from my sisters, who stood at the foot of the bed with horror-stricken expressions. They put their hands up like they were bracing for a car crash, which would have been a hell of a lot better than this.
“Oh my god,” Phee cried out. “I didn’t know!”
“How did you even get in here?!” Mateo cried back.
“Nat gave me the extra key!”
I winced, having forgotten that little fact. Though I’d not expected to be ambushed first thing in the morning by my bridesmaids. In their defense, it would have been really delightful in a different circumstance. The only thing that would have made it worse was if my mother was here.
“What is with all the damn hollering in here?” A feminine voice crested the doorway.
Fuck me.
“Shit, shit, shit.” Mateo grabbed a second pillow and pressed it over his nipples as my mom pushed between my sisters.
“Oh, for heaven's sake, Natalia Emile,” she guffawed and smacked a manicured hand over her eyes. “It’s your wedding day, not your birthday. Don’t you know this is bad luck?”
“I was just leaving!” Mateo slid off the bed with the pillows still snug to his nether regions, sidestepping around the group of women to keep his backside out of sight. His clothes were scattered across the floor, but Bella gave him no time to gather them as she pushed him toward the door the same way you shoo seagulls away from food on the beach. “Wait, wait, wait!” he protested. “I’m naked!”
Anna Duran appeared in the doorway with a bottle of champagne in one hand, ready to join the pre-wedding festivities, and bumped right into Matty. Her light eyes widened and took him in from messy bedhead to his socks. “Get!”
“Mom—”
“Mateo David Duran, you are not supposed to be here!” She shoved her son out into the hallway without a second thought but before the door could fully slam closed in his face he stopped it with his palm.
“Please just give me my clothes,” he begged.
Camilla swiped a pair of pants off the floor and threw them into the hall, nailing him in the gut. Mia followed with his wrinkled shirt crumpled in a ball and smacked him right in the face.
“Okay, I guess I’ll—” His sentence was cut off by the door flinging shut.
My teeth clamped together. I’d never been caught under my parents’ roof sneaking around with boys as a hormonal teenager, but somehow Mateo and I were making it a habit in adulthood. A very bad, unbreakable habit that was somehow more mortifying every time. The room turned their attention back to me.
In my signature fashion of making light out of the awkward, traumatic moments in my life, and because I would probably never learn, I clicked my tongue against my teeth. “Mimosas, anyone?”
The day-of coordinator showed up an hour later, toting our professional photographers and videographer along into the bridal suite to bounce around filming the morning. Room service delivered a cart of catered breakfast, and soon after that the hairstylist and makeup artists set up and got working on my bridesmaids. We danced around the room in our matching silk robes to a mix of my favorite house music, and all the pressure of getting married and putting on a wedding that would exceed expectations melted away.
I wanted it to be memorable, of course, but like I’d said to Mateo out on the balcony, there was nothing that could happen today that would sully what we had. This wedding reception was just a cherry on top. A big-ass fucking party to celebrate the union that already existed in secret between us. It made me love it even more. Our two lives diverging into one in the most perfect, storybook way.
Ophelia hung my gown beside the bridesmaid dresses on a tall rack, and it all became so real. They looked effortless and elegant together. The black flowy floor-length dresses my sisters and Phee chose for themselves brought out all the details in the simple embellishments of mine. My bridal gift to the girls was matching white pearl earrings and a bracelet that went perfectly with the rare blue ones my sisters gifted me to wear. Ophelia texted Frankie to come grab the matching cufflinks Mateo had chosen for his groomsmen for the ceremony, and I realized I wasn’t even worried if they wore them or not.
Eloping was the shit.
Morning turned a corner into the afternoon, and the girls were dolled up, hair curled, slipping into their dresses while I got my makeup done with curlers in my hair. My mother looked stunning as usual in a pretty coral dress that accentuated her tan skin, and she hovered around me as the makeup artist tapped eyeshadow onto my eyelids.
“Is that too dark?” she asked.
I looked in the mirror at the light brown blend of color at the outer corner of my eyes. “I like it,” I said. “Trust the process.”
“You want to look natural,” she added. “Glowy and bright. Less is more. You’re so beautiful, you should be highlighting your natural features.”
My tongue drew circles into my cheek to keep from chewing it off. “Thanks, Mom,” I bit out. “Don’t worry, it will be exactly how I want it.” The makeup artist nodded her to death until she took a step back to watch from the comfort of the cushy ottoman a few feet away.
Anna came out of the bathroom and surprised us all with a long sage green off-the-shoulder gown that hugged her body and ruched in all the right places. I steepled my fingers in front of my mouth, squealing. With everyone's encouragement, she did a few spins, showing off the completed look proudly. She didn’t wear makeup at home, and seeing her eyes glaze over as she took in her reflection in the mirror pulled at all my heartstrings. It had probably been years since she had a reason to dress up, and this was way different than any other event. It was her son’s wedding. She deserved to feel beautiful.
Knuckles rapped against the door and Frankie ducked inside, looking devilishly handsome in his suit and tie. I knew he cleaned up nicely, but Ophelia lit up like fireworks on the Fourth taking in his long, combed-back hair without the usual hat on his head and a pair of superbly tailored pants.
I blew out a low whistle. “Francesco, you look like a million bucks.”
“Very nice,” Camilla added to a chorus of hummed agreement and impressed nods.
A blush crept from the collar of his shirt up his neck and pinkened his cheeks. He dropped his head bashfully, studying his shoes, and for a second I forgot why he was standing in the threshold of the suite altogether until Ophelia pranced over to him with the cufflinks.
“Oh, right.” Frankie cleared his throat, gazing down at her and getting lost all over again. He lifted Phee’s chin and pressed a soft kiss to her mouth. The room shrank around them in their private, intimate moment.
“Young love,” I teased. They had the same type of special that Matty and I did. The worlds had aligned when we all ended up in Coconut Creek together at the same time. It was fate. Fate was the culprit of everything.
“What have you guys been doing all morning?” Mia asked.
He listed it all on his fingers. “We went out for breakfast, hung by the pool, played a little bocce ball. Sam went for a run, and Angelo was still asleep the last time I checked.”
“The ceremony is in two hours,” Anna stressed.
“I’ll make sure he’s there, Momma D.” Frankie reached into his pocket and took a white envelope out of it, waving it in my direction. “For you. From the mister.”
The pulse in my neck thrummed and warmth crept across my cheeks. I shot my arm out and made grabby hands until he brought it over to me. It was a small white card, printed with two delicate gold rings on the outside, and when I opened it, I recognized Mateo’s handwriting.
“We’ll finish this after.” The makeup artist stepped away with a warm smile.
I swallowed a hard lump forming rapidly in my throat. I didn’t want to cry this early, but I was an emotional woman with easily provoked tear glands. Plus, ugly crying in front of a room full of people was as embarrassing as it was unattractive, and the videographer was laser-focused on me. Steadying myself with a deep breath, I silently read the letter.
Natalia,
My world will forever be split into two parts; there was before you, and now there’s after. I know even in the next life I’ll crawl to wherever your flowers are planted to water them. I’ll end up on your doorstep somehow ringing the bell. We’ll be two butterflies circling one another in a field, or two worms digging side by side in the dirt. If you’re a falling leaf I’ll be the wind that carries you, and if you’re a passing face on a train I’ll recognize you. My soul is yours to consume, my body yours to own, and my heart beats only because you bring it to life. You are as much a part of me as the blood in my veins. Mine to cherish, to hold, to possess, to love. From now until the ends of the earth, Tally. I promise to be your warmth in the cold, your torch through dark tunnels, the man who follows you into the water when you want to jump or wades at the edge waiting for you when you want to swim. The wolf beside you howling at the moon.
For pleasure or worse.
I love you, Natalia Duran.
How’s that for poetry?
P.S. Don’t cry, you know there’s only one way I like to ruin your makeup.
Big fat teardrops were cascading down my face before I even got to the final line, falling and ricocheting onto the card. I read it again, and then again after that, each time thinking I might keep my composure and fooling myself. When I finally got it together I folded the message back up, slipping it somewhere safe, for me and only me.
The makeup artist told me that crying as much as I did gave my skin a dewy glow that couldn’t have been recreated by her products. So in the end, it worked out better than planned. In fact, I was inspired to cry as much as possible for the remainder of the day if it meant my natural blush could have its moment in the sun.
I sat back while the hairstylist took over, removing all the tight curlers from my long dark locks. It was no shock how hot it was in June, even being on the coastline, and the temperature for the evening wasn’t dropping below eighty degrees. I wanted my hair off my shoulders and back, to not have to worry about the wind whipping through the beach and sending it in a hundred different tangled directions during the ceremony, to be able to dance like no one was watching at the reception, and for my dress to be the center of attention—all while maintaining a flawlessly messy updo.
This displeased my mother greatly.
“Curls,” she protested, fluffing the back of my head. “You have such luxurious hair, Talia. It’s so much more feminine to leave it long.”
“I think it’ll be just as good pinned back,” I rebuked.
She frowned at me in the mirror. “What do you girls think?”
Mom opened the floor to my sisters and the only thing she received was uncomfortable humming. That was a complete one-eighty from my god-awful dress fitting so many months ago. No one was outright taking her side, and that was equivalent to catching a stray bullet for Mom. Her ego was immediately struck. She wasn’t used to that.
“Camilla?” she pressed.
My sister popped a grape into her mouth and shrugged. “I think a low bun is trendy.”
“Big curls are timeless,” Mom fought back. “Your face looks rounder when your hair is pulled back. Length elongates the jaw.” She turned to the poor hairstylist retreating away farther and farther by the second. “Tell her.”
A tiny scoff shot out of my throat. “It’s my day, shouldn’t I get to choose how I look?”
“Yes,” Phee cut in. “Totally agree.”
Mia and Bella nodded. There was a blood vessel twitching in the side of my mom’s neck, threatening to burst.
“I don’t want you to regret it when you’re looking at photos from today wishing you would have listened to your mother. No one else is going to tell you what you need to hear.”
My jaw clenched, and I didn’t even try to hide the roll of my eyes. “You’re impossible sometimes.”
“It’s my job to be.”
I heaved out a sigh. “I’m having it done how I want it.”
Mom didn’t get it, and never would unless someone spoon-fed it to her on a gold platter. There was no getting through to a person so deeply invested in their own self-importance. Sistine Russo had great moments in motherhood overshadowed by the simple unwillingness to take a step back from underneath the shining disco ball at the center of the room. Sometimes I wished I’d known my mom before she had kids. I wondered if she was always this way, or if it was a cry for help. A vie for attention she’d been fighting for since having four daughters.
She crossed her arms petulantly. “You have long, beautiful hair that you’re going to hide away, Natalia. You might as well just cut it all off.”
I mimicked her posture and pushed out of the chair.
What a fine fucking idea.
There was no time to dissect how crazy it was, how my first instinct when overwhelmed was to do something manic like jump in a pool with all my clothes on, and this was fitting in the same unhinged category. I’d already decided that it didn’t matter if everything went wrong today, anyway. I was embracing that. Maybe a gesture like this was what it would take to finally, finally break through to my mother.
Without putting any more thought into it I grabbed the pair of styling scissors tucked into the bag beside me in my dominant hand and twisted my hair into a ponytail with my other.
“Oh my fucking god, Talia, what are you doing?” Mia stood like she was going to stop me, but it was too late. I chopped away at the hanging hair and felt it skim my shins and fall at my feet.
When I snipped through the last piece the room fell utterly silent.
“I guess there’s only one option now,” I quipped, shaking my hair out like a dog.
Camilla popped another grape into her mouth. “This wedding needs its own reality TV show.”
The video crew and the beauty team were trying to become one with the walls and I couldn’t blame them. I would end up in a trending Instagram reel as the bride who lost her shit and gave herself a jagged bob an hour before her wedding. Mom still hadn’t recovered her jaw from where it had fallen to the center of her chest. I delicately put my hands on her shoulders, staring into her warm brown eyes and seeing myself in the reflection. It might have been a bit dramatic, but I succeeded in my intention.
“I love you,” I started. “But I’m not you . I’ve been trying to tell you this my whole life. I want to make you proud, Mom. But I want you to look at me and be proud of what you see because I’m not a mirror image. Because I became something different, all on my own, and I didn’t need a handout or a connection to the Russo name. Because I found happiness in my own imperfect ways. I don’t want you to loosen the leash, I want you to let go of it.”
She inhaled a short breath, swallowing it down, and her fingers crept up my shoulders and tugged lightly at the freshly cut ends of my hair.
“We can fix it,” I told her, then turned toward the hairdresser. “We can fix it, right?” She gave me a weak thumbs-up.
“It’s very French,” Ophelia noted.
I sucked in a hissing breath. “Yikes.”
“I am very proud of you,” Mom said then. “I’m only ever trying to do my best and help you succeed. Sometimes that’s the only way I know how to be close to you, but it falls short.”
“I read something once that said, “Be kind to your mother because they’re also living life for the first time.” I should remember that. There’s time for everything. Change, growth,” I added with a grin, motioning to my head. “You did your job with me, and I think I turned out pretty okay—for the most part. Maybe the spontaneity could use a little reevaluation.”
“Everywhere it counts.” She patted the underside of her eyes dry with the pad of her finger and squeezed my shoulder.
There was more to talk about, a whole world of unpacking under the surface. I had a feeling my mom knew it’d only been scratched as well. As long as she was willing, I was hopeful. Even if the change didn’t happen overnight. At least for the time being I’d unlocked a door that we could step inside.
“I hate to rush anyone,” Phee cut in, fidgeting with her hands, “but we are seriously running low on time to get Nat ready and do photos before the ceremony.”
“Oh, fuck.” I checked the time on my phone. “Quick, bring it in, group hug.” My sisters flitted a short distance across the room and wrapped their arms around us. Ophelia squeezed in, and Anna gussied up to her side. “You guys, too.” I motioned for the photographer, the hairstylist, the makeup artist, and the coordinator. We were all huddled together like a team.
I had no idea how I was going to explain my impulsive new haircut to Mateo, who had seen me five hours before with a mane down my lower back. But I sure knew how to keep it interesting, and walking down the aisle to him was going to be interesting to say the least.