25. Francesca
25
FRANCESCA
Twelve weeks ago, I agreed to marry Graham Carter.
And today, I’m putting on my dress, getting ready to say I do .
It should feel surreal, but it doesn’t. Not in the way I expected. For as long as I can remember, I’ve dreaded my wedding day. Not because I didn’t believe in love or happily-ever-after. How could I not, when I'd spent countless hours immersed in the pages of romance novels since before I was old enough to truly understand the depth of emotion and connection they depicted?
But I didn’t think it was something I could achieve.
Because my wedding day was never supposed to be mine. It was a transaction, a signature on the dotted line of a contract I had no say in. My parents spent my childhood curating my future until it was perfect. For them. They tied me to a family they deemed acceptable before I was ten years old . A family that ensured our name and status soared.
The Ashburns and the Baldinis. A business arrangement masquerading as the perfect society marriage.
I was given a name and a role to play. Francesca Ashburn, the dutiful daughter. The quiet, obedient girl who would smile prettily and sign away her future to a man she barely knew. All to uphold a promise made over brandy and cigars in an oak-paneled study.
But I wasn’t that girl anymore. I hadn’t been for a long time. When Aunt Miriam left me this building, she gave me more than a bookstore. She gave me hope. A chance to break free from the gilded cage my parents had crafted for me. A chance to choose my own path, build a life on my terms.
Of course, my parents couldn’t let that stand. Not entirely. So they twisted her gift, her legacy, until it served their purposes once again. Impossible profit margins, legal loopholes, anything to maintain their hold on me. On my future.
Until Graham.
I stare at my reflection in the full-length mirror, hardly recognizing the woman gazing back at me. Sunkissed cheeks from spending long afternoons and evenings outside with Romeo. Freckles dust across the bridge of my nose and apples of my cheeks, more prominent now than ever. Graham said they remind him of a constellation the other day, and now I can’t unsee it.
My eyes seem bright, clear. Free of the shadows that once lingered there, the weight of familial obligation and an unwanted future. At least temporarily.
Every time I imagined myself walking down the aisle, I pictured a life where I was permanently tethered to Giovanni. A life where I’d be passed from one set of hands to another, my fate sealed with a well-timed smile and a champagne toast. It was a future that made my stomach turn, that made my chest squeeze so tight I thought I might suffocate under the weight of it.
But this wedding, this marriage to Graham, feels different. It’s not the fairytale I secretly dreamed of as a little girl, but it’s not the suffocating trap I feared for so long either. It’s something in between, something unexpected and thrilling and terrifying all at once.
I don’t know what kind of marriage this is going to be, but I know it’ll be light years better than anything I could’ve hoped for with Giovanni.
There are no grand receptions, no society pages writing about Francesca Ashburn’s wedding of the season. There is no dress hand-selected by my mother, no audience of well-bred socialites waiting to judge every move I make.
It’s just a courthouse and Graham.
And his immediate family , a little voice whispers inside my mind. The thought of meeting his family for the first time should be more alarming, but there’s a certain level of nonchalance to the whole thing. The personal, romantic stakes are relatively low.
Of course I’m attracted to him. Of course he makes me feel things I’ve never experienced with anyone. But this isn’t a love match. Not really. It’s a partnership, an alliance. A means to an end we both desperately need.
And maybe that’s why I’m not panicking. Maybe that’s why I can still breathe.
I chose this.
Romeo lets out a dramatic sigh from his spot on my bed, sprawled across my pillow like the world’s most spoiled fluffy prince. His tail flicks once before he stretches, his little paws pushing into the mattress.
I toss my phone onto the comforter and lean against the dresser, arms crossed over my chest. “I feel like I should be more stressed about this.”
Romeo blinks at me.
I nod in agreement with myself. “Right? I mean, I’m getting married today. That’s a big deal.”
Silence.
I sigh. “You’re supposed to say something reassuring.”
Romeo lets out another slow blink before rolling onto his side, unimpressed with my existential crisis.
“Great. Thanks for that, buddy.” I push off the dresser, rubbing a hand down my face. “We should go over the checklist one more time.”
Romeo stares at me with those soulful cartoon eyes of his, and I take that as an agreement.
I grab my phone from the bed, opening the notes app where I started my last-minute to-do list. My wedding preparation is embarrassingly short compared to what it should be. No seating charts or floral arrangements, no cake tastings or venue walk-throughs.
Just a few simple things.
Dress , check. I found the most perfect dress two months ago at a little boutique a few blocks away. The moment I saw it, I knew it was the one.
Shoes , check. If this was a real wedding, the ceremony would be outside, and I’d go barefoot. So I’m opting for sneakers instead. Beige and white checkered Vans that I’ve had for years.
Rings , check. Graham’s brother has both rings. We went to the jewelry store the week after the agreement and picked out our wedding bands. He chose a dark brushed platinum band, and I picked a double diamond stacking gold band with ten diamonds total.
So I might’ve splurged a little, but my trust is going to unlock in a year, and then I’ll have more money than I know what to do with.
Marriage license , check. Graham is taking care of all the paperwork. Legally.
Do not panic, seriously, don’t panic .
I tap the last item with my thumb. “Well, at least we’re mostly following through on that one.”
Romeo huffs, stretching his legs before flopping back down with a dramatic little groan.
I shake my head, smirking. “I knew you’d get it. That’s why we’re best friends forever.”
As if summoned by my thoughts, my phone buzzes in my hand. The screen lights up with a name that has my stomach dipping. I hesitate before swiping the message open. My phone vibrates again and again as a barrage of texts from my sister fill my screen.
Florence: It’s been almost six months now, Frankie.
Florence: Mom’s getting a little impatient. Gio too. Are you really going to make them take it all away from you?
Florence: I’m just saying, wouldn’t it be better to come home now? You and Gio will get married, and we’ll all be able to forget your little trip to the middle of nowhere.
Florence: We can still laugh it all off, say you’re on a solo backpacking trip in Europe or something. No one will know you’ve been stringing Gio along for a decade.
I exhale slowly, pressing my lips together and willing my heart rate to slow down. My phone vibrates again.
Florence: You could do worse than Gio, Frankie.
My grip tightens on the phone, pulse spiking. She’s not wrong, but she’s not right either.
Because this afternoon, I’m going to do so much better than Gio.
There’s a little part of me that wishes I could see the looks on their faces when they realize I’m no longer beholden to them. That I got married to someone who wasn’t a Baldini.
I inhale deeply and stare at the phone screen, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. I could tell her. I could inform my family that in just a few short hours, I’ll be a married woman. That I’ve found a way to keep Fiction & Folklore, to secure my future on my own terms.
But I don’t. Because as much as part of me craves their shock, their disbelief, a bigger part of me knows it would only make things worse. They wouldn’t understand. Couldn’t understand. To them, marriage is a business deal, a way to consolidate power and wealth.
To them, love and happiness are secondary to status and control. They would never see this marriage to Graham for what it truly is: my choice, my freedom.
So instead, I type out a simple response.
Me: I’m taking my year, Flora, and I’m going to live it the way I want to.
I hit send before I can second guess myself, then toss the phone back onto the bed. But the unease lingers in my chest. Romeo lifts his head, blinking slowly at me.
“Don’t give me that look,” I mutter. “I know I should tell her how I really feel, but it’d only make things worse. And you know I’m right.”
Almost immediately, another text notification pops up. My fingers hover over the screen, debating whether to open it. I already know what it’ll say. I already know how he phrases things. Always polite, always almost normal. But it never quite lands. There’s always something off.
I open the message.
Giovanni: I heard you’ve been staying busy in that little bookstore of yours. You should take a break, Chessa. Why don’t I come for a visit?
A slow, unsettled chill spills down my spine, pooling in my stomach like ice water. My fingers tighten around the phone as if gripping it hard enough will keep him from reaching me.
It sounds innocent enough. But why now? He hasn’t contacted me in months, and then on the day I’m supposed to marry someone else, I hear from him.
My pulse beats a little too fast. I rub my free hand over my arm, suddenly aware of how small my apartment feels. Paranoia coats the back of my neck, that slimy feeling of being watched. I know I’m alone, but for the first time in weeks, I don’t feel alone.
My chest is tight, my breathing shallow. He shouldn’t be able to reach me like this. Not anymore. But his words slither into my thoughts, unwelcome but familiar. I swallow, fingers tightening around the phone as I look around my flat with suspicion. Paranoia coats the back of my neck, that slimy feeling of being watched. I spin around, my gaze flying over my loft flat. I wouldn’t put it past my parents to keep tabs on me, but when I moved in, I didn’t see anything.
I shake my head, chiding myself for growing so complacent. It’s a good thing we decided Romeo and I will move into Graham’s house after the wedding. At first, it was for appearances’ sake, but now I’m wondering if it’s the only way I can guarantee my parents aren’t watching me.
I swallow and shake off the nerves. I know how to handle Gio. The same way I always do—with deflection and flattery.
Me: That’s so thoughtful of you, but I’ll have to take a raincheck. I’ve got my hands full at the moment.
It works. It always does. He sends a single reply.
Giovanni: Come home for the weekend then. It’s been too long since I’ve seen you, Chessa.
My breath catches. He doesn’t phrase it like a question. He never does. I lock my phone and set it face-down on the dresser, my pulse uneven.
For years, I played this game. I played it so well that no one ever noticed how much I hated it. But I can’t play it anymore. I don’t have to .
I squeeze my eyes shut for a second before exhaling slowly through my nose. No. No . He doesn’t get to take up space here, not today. Not ever again.
I step in front of the full-length mirror, smoothing my hands over the soft fabric of my dress. It’s not a ball gown. Not the kind my mother always dreamed of, the kind she would have forced me into if this day had gone the way she planned.
It’s a stunning cream and white off-the-shoulder chiffon dress with a sweetheart corset and layers of chiffon skirt. It hugs my curves in all the best ways, and maybe most importantly, I feel beautiful in it.
And for the first time, I don’t see someone being given away.
I see someone choosing.
My throat tightens, and I exhale shakily. This is mine, my choice.
I stare at my reflection, emotion welling up inside me. This is my wedding day. Not the one my parents orchestrated, not the one tying me to a man I could never love. But one I chose for myself.
With a deep breath, I turn from the mirror and face Romeo. “Okay buddy, it’s time. Looks like we’re getting married today.”
Romeo hops off the bed, tail wagging as he pads over to me. I clip on his leash and grab my small bouquet of sunflowers off the dresser.
I take one last look in the mirror, snapping a quick mirror photo of me and Romeo.
I don’t know if this is a beginning or an ending, but I can’t wait to find out.
With Graham Carter.