19. Ivy
Ivy
“Let’s do this officially!”
When Emmett’s grandfather announces this to the room, I barely react, feeling like I’m in a strange state of numbness, like my head is under wet sand, stuffy and heavy.
On our way back here, he was speaking but I didn’t hear a word.
“What do you mean, my friend?” Senator Hughes’s father questions in that old voice of his.
“The marriage has to be done officially and legally. Tonight.”
Vaughn stands up in a rush, shocked while Emilio’s face transforms into a huge smile.
But Giovanni… “ Padre , I need to talk to y?—"
He doesn’t get to finish that. The old man cuts him off with a severe look.
“As I was saying, I’ve already decided and my sweet new granddaughter has already agreed to pick her groom and the next head of this family tonight, in the presence of everyone here,” Grandpa Armando says sternly.
The Hughes family are beside themselves with relief and joy.
But I already know everything.
Melissa is not my twin. I’m older.
Beverly’s disgusting husband is not my father… so who is?
“But, Padre ,” Emilio starts hesitantly. “It takes some time to get the marriage licenses done.”
“Oh, that’s not an issue.” Grandpa waves his hand dismissively. He reaches for the little bell in front of him and rings it.
From the doors behind him, Ripley enters and bows his head to Grandpa Armando.
“Ripley, have our guests arrived?” he questions.
“Yes, sir. Both the judge and the priest have arrived.”
Once again, a shock bomb drops in the room.
A judge… and a priest…
Somewhere in the haze over my consciousness, I can hear everything, but I just stand there frozen like a statue.
Scar is leaning by the wall opposite me, eyeing me.
“ Padre , you’ve already prepared everything?” Emilio asks, happily delighted.
“It’s my grandson’s wedding. Why wouldn’t I be prepared?”
Emilio laughs, looking as happy as ever, as the meaning of these words become clear to everyone.
Vaughn is the only grandson present, so of course it’s Vaughn being talked about.
This is exactly what they wanted.
Even Emmett wanted this result…
As the beginnings of panic trickle down my spine, the old man turns to look directly at me. “Ripley, escort the young miss to get ready for her wedding.”
“What?” I mutter, still in shock. Grandpa Armando smiles gently.
“I once read that young women such as you and my granddaughter here all take their wedding day seriously and prefer to look their best,” he says softly with a small smile. “Don’t you want that?”
I can feel every gaze in the room looking at me, but my head is starting to buzz with chaos.
I’m literally about to get married off!
“But—”
“Ivy, honey,” Senator Hughes steps in, smiling at me, but the hardness in his eyes is evident. "You told me you’re ready. We wouldn’t want the family to be delayed now, would we? There are people waiting for you to decide, honey.”
A chill grips my heart.
“I understand,” I mutter, my voice filled with fear.
“We’ve prepared everything for you. No need to worry,” Grandpa Armando says with a soft smile on his face.
What in the ever-loving Cinderella meets The Hunger Games is this?
I stare blankly at him. “Thank you,” I mumble, then I look at Vaughn.
He smiles encouragingly. Ripley comes to my side, then I’m led toward the doors.
“Scar, stay,” Grandpa Armando suddenly says.
I look back to see Scarlet is up, looking in my direction with narrowed eyes.
“Grandpa, maybe she needs help choosing the dress,” she says almost hurriedly.
“A decision is more profound when it’s made entirely by the individual without any outside influences,” the old man says seriously. His words make me shiver. “Besides, haven’t you always told me that fashion is personal? Stay with me and let’s go wait for the bride. Actually, let’s all go.”
As I listen to the finality in those words, Ripley waits patiently for me.
I glance at Ty, but he just looks at me without any expression on his face.
Is this really happening?
I’m led to a seriously stunning, spacious suite that’s designed as if it’s from a palace.
There’s a team of people all waiting for me in there, as well as a huge vanity filled with makeup, jewelry and perfumes.
A sense of déjà vu hits me again.
Emmett had Scarlet prepare a similar setup for me just two weeks ago.
In the space of those few days, Vaughn, his father, uncles, and grandfather, all moved against Emmett.
He’s likely gone… If not, then he’s in serious trouble.
Drowning in a cesspool of depression and fear, I stand there, not knowing what to say to all the overly polite and smiling people in the room, ready to beautify me like a prized calf.
A woman comes over to me with a flipbook full of wedding dresses.
“Please choose the one you’d like,” she says. “Mr. Vaughn said you can have anything you like.”
I stare at the pictures, but I can’t see anything really.
The dresses are all generic, white, and nothing I’d suggest for a friend.
But I guess to Vaughn all he wants is me in white, choosing him and making him the next Don.
My stomach twists up yet again. I’m going to have ulcers at this rate.
“How about we go with this one?” she says. “Actually, we only have these three that Mr. Vaughn said would suit you best.”
So he chose for me. I look at the three dresses Vaughn picked, a swift denial coursing through my veins.
“Would you like to try them on?”
“Do I have a choice?” I mutter.
Just then, the doors open with a flourish and Ripley comes back.
“Thank you all,” he announces to the room full of women. “Your particular services will not be required anymore. Please, leave.”
The four ladies all glance at each other, clearly confused, but when Ripley stares at them, they jump, grab all their bags, equipment, and make to leave.
“Don’t forget all your things.”
“But… the bride has to choose the dre?—”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Ripley says, shoving the garment bags that had been placed on the back of a couch into one of the lady’s arms and ushers them out in a heartbeat.
The room empties in short order with a firm precision that shows how efficient Ripley is.
“Uh, excuse me, Sir Ripley,” I mutter. “What’s going on? Has this thing been canceled?”
Please say there’s been a change of plans!
I need more time to find Emmett!
If I can just get my laptop, I can run my locating program…
“No, Young Miss,” Ripley replies calmly but with a gentle smile. “There’s just been a change of personnel.”
“Why?”
“I was told this should be more comfortable for you, Young miss,” he says simply. “If there’s anything amiss or not to your liking, please do let me know and I’ll take care of it immediately.”
Before I can wrap my mind around what Ripley just said, a new team, looking much more professional and sophisticated than the one before strut into the room, led by a vaguely familiar man.
“This is her, sì? Molto bello!” the short Italian man says, sizing me from head to toe with a critical eye that I’m sure is highly experienced.
Where have I seen this man before?
Ripley doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t need to.
The new team immediately get to work.
Wedding dresses get shoved against my front by the stern-looking Italian man. His assistants also hold up different types of shoes to the dresses.
“Which do you prefer?” the man questions, looking at me seriously.
Somewhere in the fog, it occurs to me that this question has been asked multiple times.
“Huh?” I mutter.
“ Bella ragazza, per favore scegline una!” he says in Italian. When I keep staring at him, he translates quickly . “From the selection here, pick one you love, sì ?”
“Pick the one I love?” I croak.
“Sì! Y our body is… how you say? Il tuo corpo è bellissimo ! You’re voluptuous in all the right places and slender in others so any would do, but you can only pick one!”
I stare blankly at the flurry of white, not really seeing it.
“Not to worry. We can try them all, sì ? We have time.”
I’m led to a huge screen, just like the ones they use in historical period dramas.
The women help me undress, until I quickly catch on when they reach my bra.
“Wait!” I shout, and they all freeze. “Uh, I can dress by myself,” I whisper.
The two ladies look at each other, then they smile and leave quietly.
Woodenly, I reach for the first dress, my mind like a whirlpool.
Where do I even start? How do I even get into this?
Somehow, I manage to put the strapless dress on, but the corset strings at the back need to be done by someone.
When I look in the mirror, something like a flitting memory tingles at the back of my head.
It hits me like a ton of bricks then.
In shock, I rush out of the changing screen to find my phone with the dress undone at my back.
Swiping faster than I can breathe, I go to my gallery, then I scroll to a secret hidden file on there that I’ve kept for years.
Typing in my password, I come face to face with the fifth picture in the file and my jaw drops to the freaking floor.
I rush to the wall of mirrors and stare at the dress I’m wearing, then back at the picture on the phone.
“No…” I gasp.
“Young miss, are you all right?” the Italian man asks gently.
I look at him in shock, finally realizing who he is, but I can’t speak.
I rush to the rest of the dresses on the rack.
With each dress I pull out, I match them to a picture from the gallery on my phone.
Eight gorgeous dresses in total… all of them of different cuts, styles, design, length, and material but all of them so freaking stunning… it’s insane.
“You… you made these?” I squeak.
“Yes, Young Miss,” he says with a knowing smile. “The designs were very specific, highly detailed, and so impressive, I must say, this is some of my most amazing work.,”
I’m stunned.
My jaw is on the floor as I stare, that I don’t know what to say.
“H-how did you get the designs?” I whisper.
“They were sent to us a few days ago, Young miss,” the designer answers. “We worked at full speed, bled, cried, no sleep, but it’s no bother. I’ve never been this inspired in my life!”