Chapter 2
“Isabella, you should really wear your hair down,” My mother scrunches up her nose as the makeup artist is putting the finishing touches on her hair.
“Honestly, when you wear it up, it shows how round and puffy your face is. I highly doubt that your new fiancé is going to want that to be the first thing he sees.” The makeup artist tries to hide her disgust from her sharp words.
I try to not let her words get under my skin, but I’m used to it at this point.
Most of my life it has always been a dig about my weight.
My eating habits. My choice in clothing.
How I wear my hair. My favorite, when I was ten, she told me that it would benefit me if I stopped eating all together.
Basically, starve myself just so I could be skinny and that I would be more attractive.
I tried. I really tried. But it made me nauseous and lightheaded, to the point I passed out in my science class.
The sweet nurse gave me some water and pretzels to help.
My mom didn’t even bother coming to the school, her luncheon was more important.
Expecting to see the young girl I grew up with, I was taken back by how different she looked. The makeup artist made her perfect features more pronounced, and her beauty seems effortless. I know deep down my father will soon beat her confidence and her ability to be head strong out of her.
“Bella, don’t let Mom get to you. You know how she is,” Lucia says as she leans into me, sitting in the chair next to me.
Her makeup is flawless, and her soft curls sit perfectly on her shoulders.
“You look stunning, big sis!” She reaches to squeeze my hand and says softly, “Enjoy your night as best as you can. Let’s pretend our parents are not forcing us to do what they want.
Tonight, we are not their puppets, but queens! ”
A deep sigh escapes me as I stare at myself in the mirror.
“I rather pretend to be someone else, tonight or any day. It would be so nice to not be the daughter of a mafia Don and to live life the way I want to.” Closing my eyes, I turn to face my sister as my makeup artist looks for her setting spray.
“That’s all I can do is dream. Tonight, I will put on the fake smile like I’m the happiest woman in the room marrying someone who dad thinks would be a good move for the family.
Be the daughter they expect me to be, or well demand.
” My voice hardens at the last word out of my mouth.
Her face softens with heartache in her blue eyes. “I hate this for you, me and Joseph. Mostly you because you are the oldest. And Joseph is expected to take dad’s role when the asshole dies. None of us get to choose our paths.”
I smile lightly. “Tonight, we can pretend. We pretend that dad does not control our every move and that I chose Ian. We will let tonight be what it is of showing two people coming together as one. Even though I wish there was a way to not go through with it.”
Her face softens as she responds. “Okay. Tonight, we pretend.”
Shay, the makeup artist moves in front of me, blocking my view of the mirror.
“Okay, close your eyes for a second while I spray this mist to set your face.” She shifts her eyes around to make sure my mother is not listening before she leans into whisper, “You’re a fucking knockout, Isabella. Never doubt that girl!”
Blushing. “Thank you.”
She winks at me before spraying the mist over my face.
I suck in a breath as I open my eyes to see the sight in front of me.
My makeup never looks like this when I try to do it.
Makeup tutorials are just that, tutorials.
Shay does exactly what I asked for. Simple but elegant.
She nails it. She blends browns on my eyelids makes the blue around my irises more enhanced.
To the subtle fake eyelashes add enough volume but not over the top.
Trailing down my face, she adds a little bronzer to highlight my features with a little blush on my cheeks.
My lips have a soft pink gloss across them to give a natural look. I feel beautiful.
I asked for my brown hair to be off my shoulders so I would not have it sticking to me most of the night and it would drive me crazy. She put it in a messy bun with the back pieces curled. There are a few strands of hair around my face framing it.
“Well, we don’t have time to fix your hair, Isabella. It will have to do for now.” My mother rolls her eyes as she dismisses the glam team as if they are servants.
Sliding off the chair, I hold my navy-blue robe tight covering up any skin that might pop out.
I walk into my closet to put my dress on.
Switching the light on, I wince at the brightness with my gaze landing on my dress that hangs on the back wall.
A black one shoulder with a high slit on the right side.
I chose this dress for a few reasons. It’s black and will hide most of my problem areas.
I discard my robe in front of the full-length mirror.
Letting it pool at my feet, my gaze is locked on my body.
I stand back at me just standing in my black lacey thong and black strapless bra.
My breasts are practically spilling out of the cups, and I try to arrange them to make them fit.
My fingers trace every single stretch mark on my large stomach.
The tips of my fingers run over the rolls, the wideness of my hips, down to my thick thighs with the cellulite having them look like cottage cheese.
Turning to see my backside, my head looks over my shoulder to get a good look.
There are rolls on my back. My eyes to my ass.
Just like my legs there is a good amount of cellulite but at least its big with a nice roundness to it.
I reach around to grab a handful. I jiggle it.
It has some movement. No where near firm enough.
I let out a sigh before I turn myself around to grab my dress off the hanger.
Pulling down the zipper and remove the one shoulder strap, I let the dress pool around my feet before I step in.
Gently, I pull the soft fabric over my body, I shimmy my hips to get it over them.
I pull it up over my bra, I slide one arm in and tuck the tiny strap inside.
Reach with one hand behind my back, I pull the zipper up and I slide my hands down over the font.
I bend down ever so slightly and make sure that my dress does not split open, I slide my feet into the black strappy heels that make me feel powerful.
They give me an extra inch. Once they are buckled, I turn very slowly to face the mirror.
My eyes stare blankly at my reflection. The dress is stunning, but not who is in it.
The little fat roll between my arm and chest is showing.
My arms are the farthest from firm and have some jiggle to them.
The dress only hides so much of the rolls on my stomach.
The slit has my right leg being the star of the show, putting on display the cellulite.
I can feel the water works forming behind my eyes at hearing my parents words.
“Isabella, you should really try the cottage cheese diet that I read about in my magazine. It’s the fastest way you can lose a few pounds quickly. Just not eat all day and then have a few spoonfuls.” My mother says as she pushes the magazine toward me.
My father laughs at my mother’s words. “Trust me Isabella, no one wants a fat wife to come home to. It’s not very becoming of a mafia wife. We don’t need you ruining the family name because you don’t know when to shut your mouth when it comes to food.”
Dabbing my face lightly with my fingers, I mumble to myself, “Maybe my new fiancé will like me for me and my body.”
My heels echo off the marble floor as I make my way to the stairs leading down to the main entrance to my parents’ house.
Though it has never felt like home. My feet step one in front of the other as I make my way down the stairs, gripping the railing so I don’t make a fool out of myself by falling.
I’m sure that would send my parents over the edge. I can’t have that.
By the time I reach the middle art of the stairs, I hear voices traveling up to me. I try my hardest to listen and to make myself not be heard.
“This engagement could not have come at a better time, Ciro. I think it’s time to finally be done with the ways from the homeland and start making our own set of commandments. There are too many opinions, especially from Enzo Ricci.” His voice is rough and makes my skin crawl.
“I promised you a daughter in exchange that I would help with dissolving the four families.” My father’s voice is thick with annoyance.
“Though, my daughter is not what your son is probably looking for with her…weight issue.” Hearing him talk about it with so much disgust makes my stomach sink.
“But do we ever just have one woman? There are just so many more out there who are prettier and who fuck better.” He laughs loudly.
I hear Eduardo laugh along with him, and I try my best not to get sick on the stairs where I’m standing.
I push down the bile that has pushed its way up my throat, then I continue to make my way down and they both stop talking when they hear me.
I’m met with both of their soulless eyes that stare back at me. Empty.
Once I reach the last step, I keep my gaze locked onto them.
My father is the first to speak to me. “Isabella, are you ready to meet your future husband? I’m sure you will be a good wife to him as what is expected of you.”
Smiling, my voice is soft with a response. “Yes, father.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see that Don Eduardo Di Marco is trailing his gaze up my whole body making me feel extremely uncomfortable.