Chapter 5 #2
I had never understood what heartbreak truly was.
I’d experienced breakups with my occasional and temporary boyfriends.
And I had liked and even loved some of them enough to feel pangs of regret whenever things ended.
I had even harbored love for a boy or two back in high school right before I truly understood what it was that my father did.
Back then, I had loved with an unguarded heart.
But all that paled in comparison to this.
This was a love with the power to destroy.
And the power to build me back up again, if only he would love me.
“Is that all?” my mother asked.
My lower lip trembled. “What do you mean?”
“You love your fiancé? That’s what’s troubling you?” my mother asked. “Is it so bad for a bride to love her groom?”
“He doesn’t love me back,” I forced out, my chest heaving in pain.
Even through my blurred vision, I could see the indignation on my mother’s face turn to anger. “That boy is a fool.”
At that point, I collapsed against her, crying on her shoulder, as I finally let the pain out.
With all my suffering cresting through me like a tidal wave, I knew that what would remain after the pain ebbed would be rage.
A blinding fury that would demand vengeance.
For now though, I was wracked by sobs of anguish.
My parents had practically sold me to my enemy, and like a complete idiot I had gone and fallen in love with him.
I loved Enzo De Luca that it was more than a feeling to me.
It was life itself. I loved him with every breath I took.
Every uncontrollable blink of my eyes. With every beat of my heart.
I couldn’t help breathing. Couldn’t help my heart beating.
And I couldn’t help loving him. The sun rose in the east and set in the west. And I loved Enzo with all the blazing fury of a thousand of those suns.
Finally, I stopped crying and pulled away from my mother.
“Do you still want to go through with this fitting?” my mom asked. “With this wedding?”
“It’s too late to ask any of that,” I said, a little more bitterly than I intended.
Pain and sympathy flashed in her eyes. Taking a breath, my mother opened her purse to retrieve a small packet of tissue. She handed me a tissue and I wiped the tears away.
“Maybe we asked too much of you,” my mother said.
Her regret wasn’t going to solve anything now.
And while my mother had influence on our family’s business dealings, it was my father who had the final word.
She couldn’t just break the marriage contract.
The only people with any real say were me, Enzo, and our two fathers.
And truth be told, it was our fathers who had the most say out of any of us.
“Much is asked of us in this life,” I said, trying to cling to some sort of wisdom in spite of the pain. We’d all made huge sacrifices at some point. Especially my mother, who had agreed to be a mafia wife despite all the dangers that came with it.
“Too much sometimes,” Mom said.
I released a shuddering sigh, steeling myself for what was to come. “Let’s get on with it.”
“You’re sure?” she asked softly.
I nodded, not wanting to hold up the inevitable anymore. “Yes.”
Mom pulled out a makeup compact from her purse and opened it. “If you’re going to go ahead with this fitting we’re going to have to make you look presentable again.”
She was right. I certainly didn’t want to make a mess of my wedding gown because I’d been sobbing. A few happy tears were one thing, but a bride sobbing wasn’t exactly a good look.
My mother retouched my makeup for me, and the kind gesture eased a little of the agony. At least I would always have my parents’ love. That meant the world to me. I was grateful for it, especially now.
After my mom redid my makeup, she called the sales associates back into the fitting room.
If the sales associates noticed anything was amiss, they didn’t show it.
They were totally professional as they led me and my mother to the changing area where everyone helped me take off my regular clothes and put on the gown.
When I got the dress on, Mom and the saleswomen assisted me with my accessories and shoes.
Finally, they walked me out of the changing area and back into the main fitting room to stand in front of several full-length mirrors.
“It fits you perfectly,” my mother said, sounding like she was in awe.
I gazed at myself in the mirror. I’d chosen a stark white sheath dress. It was simple and elegant, with most of the drama going into the train at the back of the gown. My mother was right—it did fit me perfectly.
As I took in my appearance, it was clear that I would stun in this dress.
It clung to my curves and complemented my creamy complexion.
But as I gazed at myself, I saw that I didn’t look quite like a bride.
There was a sadness in my eyes that I couldn’t suppress.
While the makeup had brought the color back to my cheeks, no amount of blush or concealer could alter the blank look on my face.
That blank expression was the one I would use to mask my face instead of the alternative, which was one of anguish and heartache.
I forced a smile but it didn’t reach my eyes.
The truth was, I had never looked so beautiful in all my life. But it was a melancholy sort of beauty. As barren as the wilderness after a snowstorm. All it did was signal a desolate beauty that almost hurt to look at. I was a vision of perfect sorrow. I looked more like a widow than a bride.
“What do you think?” Mom asked from beside me as she looked at my reflection.
Our eyes met in the mirror. I saw remorse flash in her eyes.
Her eyes were the same shade of blue as mine, my mother still so stunning that the two of us looked more like sisters than mother and daughter.
In another life, I would have said so, just to make her smile from the praise.
But I couldn’t bring myself to laugh and joke with Mom.
My heart was too heavy from the torment.
“I like it,” I replied. That much was true. I loved everything about the dress. Not only was it exquisitely crafted, the designer dress was also comfortable and breathable. Just the right gown for the happiest day of a woman’s life. In my case, it was likely to be one of the saddest.
“You are the most beautiful bride in the world,” my mother said. “No one will be able to take their eyes off you.”
I would be the center of attention at the wedding.
All eyes really would be on me. They’d be judging me.
Scrutinizing every movement I made. Everyone waiting to see me join my life to his.
There would be thousands of photos taken, including from the press.
My wedding would be the talk of New York for years to come.
While the guests from my side of the family would be there to support me, I couldn’t imagine that the invitees on Enzo’s side wanted me to shine on my big day.
No doubt they still resented me and wished for me to fail.
It would take more than a wedding ceremony to win them over.
Trepidation aside, as I gazed at myself in the mirror, I decided then and there that I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of ever seeing me fail.