19. Federica
FEDERICA
It’s nine in the morning and I have texted Valentina six times, and deleted nine more messages before sending them.
The latest one sits on my screen, too cheerful to be honest.
FEDE: Stressful day ahead. Accepting emotional support in the form of memes, book recs, or pastry pics.
No answer.
Valentina doesn't know about the wedding. That much is obvious. She would have called me otherwise, either to offer congratulations or condolences.
I wonder what she knows about her parents. If she at least suspects. I've wanted to text her a thousand times to offer condolences of my own, but held my tongue every time.
Valerio said she wasn't aware. This isn't how she should find out.
I stare at the little delivered tag until Savannah gently takes the phone out of my hand. “You’re going to burn a hole through it,” she tells me.
“She always answers.”
“I know.” Savannah sets the phone face down on the vanity. “But today you need to breathe.”
“I am breathing.”
Rose pins a loose curl into place behind me. “Good. Because you're way too stunning to become a corpse bride.”
I look at myself in the mirror and barely recognize the woman staring back. The dress is simple because I insisted on simple. Cream satin, narrow waist, clean neckline, no princess nonsense. My mother would call it restrained. I call it one less thing trying to strangle me.
Still, I feel beautiful.
That makes everything worse.
I want Valerio to see me. I want him to lose his breath for one second and regret every wall he’s ever built between us.
I also want to throw my bouquet at his head for disappearing again for the rest of the week, leaving me to juggle all this wedding craziness alone.
I may be an event planner, but I'm also the bride, and I think I'm allowed to go a little zilla at my own arranged wedding.
Arranged wedding, I repeat, in my thoughts. For a moment, I got so carried away that I realize my life looks nothing like the fairytale I’m pretending it is. I was sold to Valerio. I let that thought take center stage in my mind, and force what I feel for him to the back.
Savannah squeezes my shoulder. “He’ll come.”
I look at her in the mirror. “He’d better. I waxed everything,” I joke.
Not that he'll ever see it, I think, eyes dropping to the ground. Rose and Savannah know this is merely a transaction. But after hearing the story of Valerio’s lips on mine, they, too, indulge in the fantasy that one day, this could be real.
“You waxed?” Rose chokes on a laugh, surprised. I’ve always hated waxing, but for some weird reason, I have gone to great lengths to do it for a man I’d warned never to expect intimacy.
Savannah says, “Good priorities, Fed…”
A knock sounds at the door, interrupting us.
Rose hurries to open it. Our eyes follow her, and we all find Alessio standing in the hallway in a tiny suit that makes my chest swell with pride. His hair has been combed too neatly, and I immediately notice he keeps pulling at his cuff.
“Can I come in?” he asks.
“Of course,” I say.
Savannah and Rose exchange one look, then drift toward the other side of the room with the tact of women who deserve better friends than me.
Alessio walks in and stops a few feet away.
“You don’t look happy,” he says. “You don’t want to marry?” He’s curious.
I glance at the mirror again. I don’t want to burden a child with my life’s problem. “I am happy,” I tell him, because I hate seeing worry in his eyes. “I get to be your new mom now, don’t I?”
He goes pale.
The change is so quick my heart drops.
“Ale?” I turn in the chair. “What did I say wrong?”
He looks at the floor. “My mom didn’t like me very much.”
The room falls quiet behind us.
I lower myself carefully until I’m kneeling in front of him, dress pooling around my knees. “What do you mean?” I know the child has been traumatized, but before now, I didn’t know the extent.
His fingers twist in his sleeve. “She liked me at parties. When people looked. She’d fix my hair and call me handsome. At home she said I was too loud, or too slow, or too much trouble. Dad was busy. He said I wasn't heir material.”
Tears burn the back of my eyes, and I struggle to keep it from clouding my vision and flowing down my cheeks.
“Are you going to be like that?” he asks. “Nice when people see, then mad after?”
“No.” The word comes out fast. I take his hands before I can overthink it. “No, sweetheart. I promise you. I will never do that.”
His face crumples, and I pull him into me.
I don’t care about the dress. I don’t care about photos. I don’t care that Savannah makes a small sound behind me. I hold him tight, and after a second, his arms come around my neck with desperate little strength.
“I won’t try to replace your mom,” I whisper. “You already had a mother. You’re allowed to miss her. You’re allowed to be angry at her too. Both can be true.”
He sniffles. “That sounds wrong.”
“I know. Love gets complicated.” I smooth a hand over his back. “My parents hurt me too sometimes. They say things that make me feel small, and I get angry, and then I feel guilty because I still love them. If they were gone, I’d miss them. I’d still be angry but I’d miss them.”
He pulls back enough to look at me. “Is your love for Valerio complicated too?”
My throat tightens.
Leave it to kids to find words for the deepest parts of us.
“Yes,” I say. “But not that way.”
“What way?”
“Not in the way that makes me afraid of him.” I can’t believe I am discussing my love life with a child. “With Valerio, the complications are grown-up and annoying. But I know he would never hurt me on purpose.”
Alessio nods. "He's not bad. He’s boring."
"Definitely needs more fun in his life," I agree. Then I stand and take his hand. “Come on. Apparently I’m getting married, and someone here agreed to be my flower boy. I'm not gonna have to find a replacement at the last second, am I?”
He puffs out his chest. "We pinky-swore." Excitement has returned to his face.
I laugh and turn to the door.
I stop when my eye catches Valerio standing in the doorway.
Black suit. White shirt open at the throat. Hair still damp, jaw freshly shaved, shoulders filling the jacket so perfectly I resent every designer involved. His expression lacks any sign of life, but the rest of him is a problem.
My heart kicks against my chest. He’s drop-dead gorgeous.