8. Vinnie
My stomach rumbles as I look at the grab-and-go options at the upscale market, Fra?che. Practically drooling over every choice, I find it difficult to make a decision on what to eat, even though I’m starving. I left my office early today; my afternoon meeting was canceled, so I decided to take the rest of the afternoon off.
I wanted to go home—to my home—and have a few hours of peace before I ended up back at August’s penthouse. But first, I stopped for something to eat. It didn’t feel right to go home and eat all the food Cecilia had stocked up on for herself, so here I am, perusing the options and struggling to make a decision.
It’s been a week since I returned from Ridgewood. A week since August took his anger out on me for leaving. Internally, my ribs are still bruised. Every motion I make sends a zing of pain through my body and causes me to grit my teeth. Walking hurts. Sleeping hurts. And forget about laughing.
But it’s not like I”ve been doing too much of that lately.
Externally, a large yellow bruise spans my left side. The physical evidence of where August kicked me, hidden from sight. But the memory still haunts me.
Slowly, I make my way to the salad bar and am impressed with how it looks, so I decide to make one. Picking up a box to build it in, a few fall after being stuck together. I groan, already feeling the pain that’s about to shoot through me.
My jaw clenches as I bend, reaching for the boxes on the floor. I suck in a sharp breath between my teeth as my body screams in protest.
“Here, let me help,” a smooth, strong voice says behind me. From where I’m bent, I look over and see the face of a man I haven’t seen in months, and surprise runs through me.
“Sullivan?”
He gives me a lopsided grin as he bends to reach for the box I haven’t picked up yet.
“Hey, Paladino.” As he straightens, his eyes dart to where I can feel my blouse has ridden up slightly, and I quickly pull it back in place, praying the bruise didn’t peek through. “Please, call me Sully.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask, suddenly feeling frantic and full of nerves.
Sullivan Rochester is Sly’s best friend. Or at least, he was. I’m not sure if he’s been in touch with Sly since he left. Other than at the occasional charity gala, our paths never cross. Seeing Sully like this so soon after going to Ridgewood, my mind immediately questions whether Sly sent him or if this is truly a coincidence.
Sully shrugs, holding up a box of organic cereal in his hand, and giving it a shake. “Same thing as you are, I suppose?”
A nervous laugh bubbles past my lips. “Oh. Yeah. Yes, of course.”
Lifting my hand, I play with my locket—something I’ve found myself doing more and more of lately. It’s becoming a nervous habit.
Sully tracks my movement, and for the briefest of moments, I see his eyes narrow before they bounce back to mine, and he grins again. “How are you doing?”
His question freezes me in place. The context of it could span so many facets, and my brain goes blank, unable to conjure a simple answer.
How am I doing…mentally?
Physically?
Emotionally?
Since Sly’s been gone?
At this specific moment?
My face must reflect something conducive to my thoughts because he laughs. “You look like I just asked you to multiply seven-hundred and fifty-two by three-hundred and sixty-nine.”
Reaching out, he touches the top of my shoulder, and I can’t help but flinch at the contact.
Confusion contorts his face. “Vinnie, are you ok?—”
“I’ve got to go,” I say immediately, snapping out of my stupor and cutting off his question before he can finish asking it. “It was good to see you, Sulliv—Sully. Take care.”
Abandoning my empty salad box, I rush from the store and out onto the busy Manhattan sidewalk. I don’t stop once I’m outside, though. Instead, I cross the street, walking until I see a small alcove to step into. It takes a minute for me to catch my breath, my chest heaving with anxiety as the air cycles through my lungs hard and fast. My vision swims for a moment, and I tip my head back, taking a deep breath through my nose.
My reaction was irrational—I know that. But seeing Sully made me think of Sly, and thinking of Sly…
I have to stop. I need to put my emotions aside and continue forward with my plan of marrying August, even if it kills me.
The wedding is a week away. My final dress fitting is tomorrow.
Everything is in motion.
Sly is safe.
And I’ll do everything to keep it that way.
When I walk into the bridal boutique, I’m immediately handed a glass of champagne by a smiling woman. There’s a light scent of rose permeating through the air and soft music playing on the sound system.
My mother”s voice carries over the music in a squeal of delight as I thank the woman and move toward the bridesmaid dresses she’s browsing through while waiting for me.
She’s still upset I went with light pink and gray as my wedding colors—she was pushing for lavender.
“Oh, honey! You look gorgeous,” my mother gushes, pulling me in for a hug. I’m careful not to spill my champagne on her as she does.
Before the dress fitting, a hairstylist and makeup artist came to the apartment to go over wedding looks and did a sample makeover. My hair is curled to perfection, left loose down my back, while my makeup is pristine. Dramatic, but also timeless.
When I saw myself in the mirror for the first time once they had finished working their magic, my eyes became misty. I looked every bit of the bride I’d always imagined I would be—I just wasn’t marrying the right man.
Now, as I make my way across the store for my final gown fitting, I feel overwhelmingly nauseous. My dress is on a hanger beside the three mirrors surrounding a single, circular pedestal for brides to stand on and admire the gowns they’re trying on.
And I will admire my gown. It deserves it—my dress is stunning. Everything I always dreamed of.
Flowing tulle with floral lace detailing, cut in an A-line that features a gorgeous, full train. The long, gauzy sleeves cuff at my wrists, giving it a fairy-like feel as it sits off my shoulders. Paired with a diamond tiara fit for a princess, I’m able to forgo a veil, although my mother is still trying to fight me on the issue, begging me to wear a traditional cathedral veil.
Sighing deeply, I run my fingertips against the exquisite fabric.
For a moment, I let myself envision my wedding day. A wedding day where Sly is the one standing in front of the altar wearing a black tuxedo, his hands clasped behind his back as he watches me walk down the aisle to him. My heart aches at the vision, and I bite my lip to keep myself from crying.
“Your dress is magnificent, sweetheart. It’s perfect for you,” my mother”s voice breaks through my thoughts.
I plaster on a smile and turn toward her. “It’s what I’ve always imagined.”
Bringing the champagne flute to my lips, I tip it back and drink down the bubbles, emptying it in one go.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Paladino! Mrs. Paladino! Will anyone else be joining us today?” the saleswoman, Veronica, greets, stopping in front of us. She’s enthusiastic, practically beaming as she looks from me to my gown.
“Just us,” I confirm.
“Excellent, let”s get started then!”
Metal scrapes metal as she pulls the hanger from the rack and sweeps her arm beneath the gown to carry it into the fitting room. I follow her in as my mother takes a seat on the plush, button-tufted white couch. Once I step into the spacious changing area, Veronica pulls the curtain behind me.
“Your hair and makeup look stunning. Was today your test run of them?”
“Yes,” I say as I unzip my summer dress and slip the sleeves down my shoulders. My tone is clipped, and while I feel slightly guilty—it’s not this woman’s fault I’m filled with dread—I still can’t find it in me to pretend to ooze happiness like I know is expected of me. Holding the dress against my breasts, I give her a weak smile. “May I have some privacy? I can get into the gown myself and will shout if I need help.”
The woman’s face falls, but she nods. “Of course, Ms. Paladino. I’ll be right outside if you need me.”
“Thank you,” I say as she slips past the curtain.
As I pull my wedding dress from the hanger, I hear her making conversation with my mother, asking her if she’s excited about my ‘big day’.
Holding open the dress, I step into the sea of tulle and pull it up to my waist, twisting it slightly to get a good grasp on the zipper. I zip it as much as I can before twisting it back and stuffing my arms into the sleeves.
Once the gown is on, I reach my arm behind my back, gritting my teeth as I push past the discomfort and pull the zipper up the rest of the way.
Then I take a moment to look at myself in the mirror.
My reflection shows me a picture-perfect depiction of a bride, ready in every way for her wedding day. She’s lovely, the woman in the mirror. Her gown fits perfectly, her hair and makeup complementing the aura of the dress.
But on the inside, the woman in the mirror is dying. Her death is slow, but little by little, she’s fading away. Not only is she mourning the loss of a relationship she barely got to nurture, but she’s saying goodbye to the vibrant, happy woman she once was.
The Vincenza Paladino I grew to become is slipping through my fingers faster than I can comprehend. I miss the woman I once was. The woman I was before August forced me to become his bride, threatening to destroy the man I love if I were to resist.
What should be the happiest day of my life—the happiest time of my life—is a death sentence to my soul.
Swallowing thickly, I turn away from the mirror and pull the curtain open. My mother immediately begins to tear up, something that she’s done every time she’s seen me in the dress.
“I’m sorry!” she exclaims, dabbing the corner of her eyes with a crumpled-up tissue. “You’re just so stunning, sweetheart. I can’t wait for your father to see his little girl.”
The corners of my mouth turn upward, but I know my smile doesn’t meet my eyes. Stepping onto the pedestal, I fluff the skirt of the gown and run my hands down the front.
“How does everything feel?” Veronica asks, cocking her head to the side as she inspects the dress from behind me.
“Great. The last round of alterations was perfect.”
“Wonderful!” She claps her hands together. “Do you have the headpiece you planned on wearing to try on today?”
“I left it at home,” my mother supplies. “I completely forgot about Vinnie’s hair and makeup appointment prior. That was my mistake.”
“It’s fine, Mother, don’t worry.”
“Not a problem! I’ll leave you two to admire the gown for a moment while I have my colleague settle the remaining paperwork. I’ll just be a few minutes.”
“Take your time,” my mother says through a smile. She stands and comes over to me, brushing the hair away from my shoulder. “Are you okay, Vinnie darling? You seem off. Sad, almost.”
Knots twist in my stomach. Concern shines through my mother”s dove-colored eyes, and it kills me that she’s picking up on the emotions I’m obviously failing to conceal.
“I’m fine,” I lie. “Just tired. I actually feel like I’m coming down with something.”
She gasps. “Oh, no! Let”s get you out of this dress and home so you can relax. You can’t get sick—we have such a busy week ahead with the rehearsal and then, of course, the wedding. This would be the worst time for you to catch something.”
She shoos me off the pedestal, pressing her hand against my lower back to turn me in the direction of the fitting room.
My dress drags elegantly behind me as I walk, the fabric making a soft swishing sound.
Following me into the room, she starts to unzip the back of my gown.
“No!” I shout as I turn quickly to pull away from her. I don’t think—I just react, which startles us both.
Her eyes widen, her soft features scrunching in confusion, but she takes a step away from me. “I’m sorry, I?—”
“No, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I reacted like that. I’m just not feeling like myself.”
“Oh, honey,” she sighs. “I’ll call Ross and have him bring the car around for you.”
“Thank you.”
“Of course, sweetheart,” she says as she slips past the curtain, leaving me alone.
A single tear slips out, and I wipe it away before more can fall. Pressing my palms together, I bring them to my face and steeple my nose, taking a few deep breaths.
The nausea is back, rolling through my stomach aggressively.
Reaching behind, I unzip the gown and step out of it, breathing deeply as I do to try to keep the nausea at bay. The bile creeps up my throat as I hang the dress, and the moment the hanger is situated on the hook, I can’t hold back.
Spinning, I spot a small wastebasket on the floor in the corner of the dressing room and rush to it, dropping to my knees and leaning over at the same moment my stomach retches its contents.
My ribs burn as I dry heave, my stomach completely empty. Tears prick my eyes. I’m on my hands and knees, holding my hair back in one hand as I pray my stomach stops roiling.
The curtain flies open and soft footsteps rush in. A hand takes my hair from mine, and another rubs my back in gentle, circular motions.
“Oh, sweetheart, you weren’t kidding,” my mother coos. “It’s okay, let it all out.”
A small gasp sounds from behind us, and I assume it”s the saleswoman, though I don’t care enough to check.
“I’m sorry,” I croak, leaning back on my heels, and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand in a very unladylike manner.
“It’s okay,” my mother consoles, but her hand falls away from my body, and she stills.
Turning my head to look at her, I see her staring wide-eyed at my side, and I realize I’m wearing only my bra and panties—my bruises on full display.
Her eyes sweep over the rest of me and finally meet my own, and I see her face morph into sadness. A thousand silent questions are asked, but not uttered aloud.
“Vinnie—” she starts, but I shake my head, my eyes cast to the floor, no longer wanting to see the look she’s giving me.
Standing, I turn away from her and pick up my sundress from where it sits folded on a chair. “You wouldn’t believe what happened,” I say dismissively, pretending like the lie I’m constructing is no big deal. “I came home last week, and the housekeeper had left a puddle on the floor from when she mopped. I slipped and launched myself into the credenza. Can you believe that?”
God, I hope she does.
She adds her own fake laughter alongside mine as I pull the dress overhead and settle it on my body. Without asking, she comes over and zips the dress. Once it”s in place, I face her and smile.
I can see she’s skeptical, unsure if she should believe me. Her expression hardens for the briefest of moments before she smiles. “You really must be more careful, darling.”
My heart sinks with her response. There’s a large part of me who hoped she’d wrap her arms around me and tell me not to marry August, because I don’t deserve a man who is abusive, right? The little girl in me is desperate for her mother to get her out of this situation.
I really shouldn’t be surprised that she’s choosing to ignore the signs, though it does break my heart. She’s always been concerned with appearances, and to her, there’s no better match for her daughter than the most prestigious former bachelor in Manhattan.
Or maybe she truly is na?ve and is taking my story at face value. My mother is sheltered, and as much as I adore her, she often doesn’t use her head.
Fighting back more tears, I give her a tight smile and straighten myself. “I will, don’t worry.”
The saleswoman clears her throat awkwardly, garnering our attention again. I’d forgotten she was lingering at the edge of the fitting room. My cheeks heat, hating that she just witnessed that exchange with my mother. “Everything is ready to be settled up at the front, ladies. Whenever you’re ready, I’ll meet you there.”
I nod, and my mother smiles at the woman. “Thank you, Veronica. You’ve been a gem through this whole process.”
Squeezing my shoulder, my mother turns her attention back to me. “I’ll have the bridal boutique sign an NDA, sweetheart,” she whispers. “Don’t you worry.”
I stand there, dumbfounded, as my mother follows the saleswoman out, her words ricocheting through my mind.
Maybe my mother isn’t as na?ve as she portrays. I’m left wondering if she really is more concerned with appearances than she is with her own daughter.