“It’s one o’clock in the morning!” Her screeching was so loud I had to pull the phone back a little and winced. “A well-educated girl should not be out so late. We have a wedding in ten days!”
“Mother—” I started, fully intending to change the subject and cursing myself for not remembering the wedding dress fitting that was to take place in the morning. She didn't let me finish though. The mood she was in led me to believe Dad didn't spend the night at home either.
As I’d discovered in the last few months, their married life was just a charade, and right then, I couldn't blame my dad.
“I don’t want to hear it. I don’t care when you show up in the morning. You will go to this fitting.” She hung up the phone, and I was left standing there with a racing heart as a nurse on the phone pointed for me to go to the room where a patient needed his daily dose of medication.
The rest of the night, I was constantly busy, and once my shift was done, I sat on the bench in the locker room and wondered when the hell control of my life was given to my family.
During the ride home, I remember the words Piero told me, and in that moment, I intended to end it.
Even if it meant losing my family in the process.
Florence, Italy
September 2017
Rosa
“Oh my God, this dress is perfect,” Ciara squealed, wiping away the tears sliding down her cheeks. Female gasps followed, while women in the bridal salon seemed mesmerized by the vision I made in white.
It was a lace-up mermaid dress, made out of the finest material, with a corset, which hugged my waist perfectly, emphasizing the fullness of my breasts and my tiny waist. The skirt trailed after me several inches, and since Mama and Ciara planned some kind of waterfall hairdo for me, it was decided I didn't need a veil.
Yeah, beautiful.
Too bad my insides screamed at me to rip it off and throw it away, and then run for my life, far from here. From the voices in my head that cried at the idea of my marriage with Oliver.
“He’ll fall in love with you all over again,” Ciara added, and something akin to pain flashed through her expressive green eyes, but it was quickly replaced with happiness. Her black heels clicked softly on the carpeted floor as she placed the empty champagne glass on the table, and it allowed me to study my sister closer. Her knee-length, strapless, green, summer dress highlighted her naturally tanned skin, which somehow glistened in the sun. Her shiny brown hair fell down her back in wild locks, bouncing with each sway of her hips. She had a fit form, except her ass. Her perky bottom attracted attention from men wherever we went.
In other words, my sister was a knockout who enjoyed men immensely.
At least, that was the observation I had made in the months spent in her company. “How was Paris?” For the sake of my sanity, I decided to change the subject. Ciara’s favorite thing to do was sing the praises of my fiancé, and between her and my mom, I wasn't sure I could take it anymore.
She wiggled her nose in disgust. “Awful. Seriously, Jean is not the man I thought he was. I was bored out of my ever-loving mind. Next time I decide to date some artist, remind me it’s a bad idea.” She stood up from the blue couch and adjusted her dress, sliding it lower to cover up her thighs. “In all honesty, giving up men seems like a good plan at this point,” she proclaimed, and with this, finished her glass and picked up another.
Shaking my head in amusement, I replied, “You said the same thing the last time. With… was it Dino or Dan?” My brows furrowed, while my mind searched for the name of her last boyfriend from a few weeks ago.
“I dated both of them at the same time,” she added and laughed. “Those idiots.” Ciara didn't elaborate on the reasons for her breakups, just always said they were either boring or idiots. I couldn't help but wonder if this excessive dating was normal. Not the idea of it, because women sure as hell could date whoever they wanted to. But how she breezily acted with men, changing them like gloves, didn't add up with her personality as a whole.
“Ouch,” I exclaimed, as the seamstress, a young woman in her thirties, dug painfully into my skin with a needle, and she murmured, “Sorry, it’s just that you keep losing weight, and we have to adjust the size.” She pulled the corset together tighter across my back, almost squeezing the breath out of me.
How could I even think about food when a life-altering decision was nine days away and it scared me to death?
“Thank God, I convinced you to change your mind about green,” Mom said, as she joined us with a pair of open-toed five-inch heels covered in white silk. She placed them beside my feet and motioned for me to try them on. Pushing my right foot into it, I asked with a frown, “What do you mean?”
Ciara rolled her eyes, took her phone from her purse, scrolled up on her photo timeline to about a year ago, and stopped on the picture of a mesmerizing emerald ballerina-like dress with a long lace train like my current dress. “Remember how you tried it on and scared the shit out of both of us? Imagine attending the wedding wearing this.” Grabbing the cell from her hands, I zoomed in, studying myself in the picture.
Somehow the girl in the photo was me but not me at the same time. She posed, leaning to the side and blowing a kiss to the camera, while her eyes beamed with happiness as they sparkled with laughter and mischief. Her skin glowed while her high cheekbones stood out on her gorgeous face. A diamond ring shined on her finger, reflecting the sun, and the picture could easily have been used in a bridal magazine; that was how photogenic she was.
A freaking ring that weighed heavily on my hand and one I dreamed of throwing in the ocean and never seeing again. My favorite part of the day was the evening, where I could hide in my room, remove it, and not suffocate at the mere thought of Oliver.
Raising my eyes to the mirror in front of me, I focused on my reflection, almost crying out in desperation because I couldn't find the woman from a year ago.
My eyes held only pain and confusion while my face was somewhat different along with my shape, even if I had lost a bit of weight. My shoulder-length hair had just recently started to grow. My neck, collarbone, and several other places still held burn scars, which no amount of plastic surgery had fixed.
Shaking my head from the memories, I smiled weakly and stepped down from the high bench, removing the dress in the process along with the shoes. “I still want to explore Florence before we go back. Can we schedule the same time next week?” Tara, the tailor, agreed eagerly and before Mom could protest, because apparently the woman was a momzilla when it came to wedding preparations, I pleaded, “Mama, please.” Her face softened as she sighed in defeat, while Ciara thumbs-upped me, essentially giving me the green light to go, understanding I needed my privacy.
Quickly changing, I rushed outside and inhaled the scent of the city, and some anxiety left me.
