Chapter 3 Gabriella #2
She disappears into the bathroom and comes back with scissors. Ten minutes later, my hair falls to my shoulders in the same gentle waves Sofia's always favored.
"Try on my clothes," I say, nodding toward my backpack. "You need to look like me when you leave."
Sofia picks through my things like they might bite her. She's never worn ripped jeans in her life, never owned motorcycle boots or a smoky leather jacket with patches.
"I don't know how to be you," she says, holding up my jeans.
"You don't have to be me forever. Just long enough to get on a train and far away from here. If you run into any trouble or need to get in touch with me, go to Prague. I have friends there. But don’t go there first. Travel as far away as the train will take you today and definitely outside of Italy. "
By two o'clock, she's dressed in my clothes and carrying my passport. The leather jacket swallows her small frame, and the boots make her walk differently. She looks like a lost child playing dress-up.
But she also looks free.
"The train station is only twenty minutes away," she says, checking my phone. "If you think you’re prepared, I can catch the next train out of the city."
"Do you know where you want to go?"
She shakes her head and gives me a soft smile. "Doesn't matter. Just away from here. Away from him."
Then comes the conversation I've been dreading.
"Sofia," I say, settling onto her bed. "Before you go, I need to ask you some things. About Luca. About what he expects tonight from... Sofia."
Her cheeks flush pink. "What do you mean?"
"I mean tonight is my wedding night. Our wedding night. And I should know what he's expecting from his bride."
"Oh." She sits down heavily in her desk chair. "Oh, God, I hadn't even thought about that part."
"Have you two... I mean, how physical have you been? What has he seen, what does he know about Sofia's... experience level?"
"We've barely touched each other. Papa insisted on traditional courtship. Supervised visits, formal dinners, always with chaperones."
"Thank God for traditions! But you've kissed?"
"Only once. At the engagement party. Just a quick kiss on the mouth in front of everyone. Very polite, very brief." She covers her face with her hands. "What if he expects... what if he wants..."
"Hey." I move to kneel in front of her chair. "It's going to be okay. I can handle whatever happens."
"But you don't know him. You don't know what he's like when he's alone with someone. I don’t know either. That’s why I’m so scared."
"I'll figure it out. I always do."
She looks up at me with tears in her eyes. "What if he hurts you? I’ll never be able to forgive myself."
"Then I'll deal with it. But listen to me. I need you to tell me honestly what you would do tonight? How would you act? Would you be nervous? Terrified?"
"Terrified," Sofia says immediately. "I would be absolutely terrified. I've never... I mean, I've barely even kissed anyone, let alone had sex with someone."
"Ok, got it. So, you’re a virgin bride, completely inexperienced, probably expecting him to be gentle and patient?"
"Gentle? No! I have no idea what to expect from him, but gentle wouldn’t be it." Her face crumples. "What if you can't pull it off? What if he realizes something's wrong?"
I think about this carefully. A terrified virgin bride on her wedding night would be expected to be nervous, maybe even resistant. It would actually give me cover for any behavior that seemed out of character.
"Terrified works in my favor," I tell her. "If you’re expected to be scared and inexperienced, then I can be hesitant and uncomfortable. It gives me room to feel out the situation without drawing suspicions."
"But what if he's... what if he's not gentle? What if he's used to taking what he wants?"
"Then I'll handle that too. I'm not some sheltered twenty-five-year-old who's never been in a difficult situation. I've learned how to protect myself."
She nods, but guilt is eating at her. Sending me into a situation she's too afraid to face herself.
"Tell me about his personality," I continue. "In the conversations you've had, how does he treat you? Is he kind? Impatient? Controlling?"
"Distant," she says after thinking about it. "Polite but distant. Like he's going through the motions because it's expected. I don't think he particularly wants to marry me either. It's just business for both families."
"That's a positive thing. If he's not emotionally invested, he's less likely to notice little differences in personality."
"What if this ruins your life? What if you end up trapped forever in a marriage to someone who doesn't even want you?"
"It won’t be forever. As soon as I figure out how to safely bail out, I will. Until then at least it'll be my choice. My trap, my decision. You've been trapped your whole life by other people's expectations. I'm choosing this."
We continue planning until there’s no more time left.
“It’s time,” I say, grabbing her in one last tight hug. “Go before you change your mind.”
“Thank you,” she replies. “I owe you my life. I love you, Gabby.”
“I love you too. Now hurry and go!”
I watch from the window as she makes her way across the gardens in my leather jacket and cap, just another figure in black heading toward the road. She doesn't look back.
Now I'm all alone.
I spend the rest of the afternoon mentally preparing, trying not to think about what tonight will bring.
I practice Sofia's signature until it's perfect.
I study every photo on her phone, memorizing faces and names.
I rehearse walking in her high heels, sitting with perfect posture, speaking in the soft, measured tones she's always used.
At four o'clock, the beauty team arrives. Hair, makeup, dress fittings. I sit still as they transform me into the picture of virginal elegance. Pin curls and pearl earrings. Subtle makeup that makes me look innocent and untouchable.
The wedding dress fits perfectly, of course. We've always been exactly the same size. Ivory silk that flows behind me, hand-sewn pearls that catch the light. I don’t recognize the stranger in the mirror.
It’s not me. Not Sofia. Something in between.
Before I know it, Papa knocks on the door. "Sofia? It's time. We need to go."
I take a deep breath, smooth down the silk of my wedding dress, and open the door.
"I'm ready," I tell him.
He looks at me and nods approvingly. "You look beautiful."
It’s all I can do not to slap him. If only he knew which daughter he was really looking at.
As we walk toward the garden where three hundred guests are waiting, where Luca Romano stands at an altar covered in white roses, I think about Sofia. She could be anywhere by now. On a train heading north, south, east, or west. The not knowing is probably what will keep her alive and safe.
I'm about to marry a dangerous stranger to give my sister a chance at freedom.
And tonight, I'll have to convince him that I'm the innocent virgin bride he's expecting, while having no idea what kind of man he really is behind closed doors.
But I've made my choice. Sofia is free, and I'm about to find out what price that freedom costs.