A few days before my welcome home party Rachel dragged me to the high-end boutique in town. Apparently her dressmaker had finished with my dress - one I’d yet to be consulted on - but needed a final fitting.
As soon as we arrived at the store, I knew this party would not be like any I had ever attended. The custom dress boutique was on a whole other level, and it was safe to say I didn’t fit in amongst the beautiful silk and hand-stitched beading. I may have been raised by Anton, who did nothing to hide the fact that he had money, but that had never been me. He had liked the flashy things, the status symbols, I preferred to blend into the background.
It made me think that I’d had two families and I didn’t fit into either one. The only place that I’d felt like I was wanted had been Nikolai’s. It was peaceful there, comfortable.
My heart ached as I thought of it. Soon...
Rachel rushed delicately to a woman arranging a range of puffy dresses on a rack. They kissed and hugged like they were lifelong best friends. It was strange to see my mother's reaction to the woman. Obviously I hadn’t known her very long, but I’d still had time to pick up on a few noticeable idiosyncrasies.
While Rachel hadn’t been cold or standoffish towards me, I had noticed she was towards other women. Even women she had introduced as her friends.
This tall, rail-thin woman clearly meant a lot to Rachel.
With childlike hype, Sara handed me a garment bag and shoved me into the lavish changing room. After about a dozen relented sighs, some pinching and a lot of awkward twisting, I looked into the mirror.
I was stunned. The dress was beautiful. The red satin clung to me in all the right places. With a sweetheart neckline, a jewelled bodice and a fluffed out tulle skirt, it looked like something a princess would wear. I tried to remember if I’d ever worn something this extravagant before.
The party dresses from my former life at Anton’s were always beautiful but there was something different. They somehow seemed informal in comparison, like cocktail dresses.
“How’s it going in there?” Rachel called out. She giggled as she continued her conversation with Sara.
I quickly swiped at a tear that had escaped as I was lost in my own reflection. My mind raced, my heart thundering in my chest. I wondered if this would have been my life if I’d grown up in the Varela household. Beautiful dresses, parties filled with obnoxious people and a mother that only extended care for me when she had something to gain.
It didn’t sound all that different to living with Anton, and he had kidnapped me. Somehow though, it was so much different.
I chose this.
I chose this.
I chose this.
I repeated the mantra over and over in my head until my breathing levelled out. A few deep breaths and I had myself under control.
This was all for a reason, a desperate purpose.
Thinking of which, I wondered what Nikolai would have said if he’d seen me in this dress. I hate that he was missing such a sight. Would he have laughed at my silly dress or would he have smiled and made those eyes at me - the ones that I’d come to recognize as his ‘kiss me’ eyes.
But, I also hated the dress. While fantasizing was nice for some, glamour was not something that I fantasized about. While its beauty was unrivalled, the dress wasn’t me, or who I wanted to be perceived as.
Fixing my posture and sighing one final time, I plastered on a smile and pulled the curtain open. Just as I had expected, Rachel and Sara were settled on the edge of their seats. After squeals and a few more alterations, Sara promised to deliver the dress personally when it had been perfected.
As we stepped out of the shop, I sucked in a deep breath, I didn’t realize how much I needed the fresh air. Rachel tugged my arm in an effort to increase my speed. I sent her an apologetic smile but it went unseen as she began talking a million miles a minute.
She seemed so excited about this party. Her and Kaleb both. I had started to feel the guilt set in about three hours ago. They were putting in so much effort for a welcome home party for me. For a girl that would rather be anywhere but here. For the daughter that thought her childhood just might’ve been better with the man that kidnapped her.
It was true, and after that realization, I had begun to think long and hard about Anton’s death. I had hated him anyway, but then I sunk to a deeper sort of loathing for him after reading Carol’s letter. After less than a week here, I’d begun to think he’d done me a favor. He didn’t deserve my anger. If he stood in front of me right then and there, there was a very good chance that I would have forgiven him.
With Rachel and Kaleb keeping me busy enough that my feet seemed to barely touch the ground, the days passed quickly. I had feigned as much interest as I possibly could until a few hours beforehand.
In my room, the air was quiet around me as Rachel’s make-up artist worked on me. After spending the afternoon following Rachel’s primping regime, which was a headache on its own, Rachel had also found a way to fill those hours with meaningless conversation. It had impressed me how much the woman could talk… but it felt forced, as though she had been trying to fit the last two decades into one afternoon.
I closed my eyes, insisting on relaxing through this portion of the evening…until Rachel blurted out something that piqued my interest. For the first time all day, I willed her to keep talking. And the subject that had perked me up, Marco Bellucci, my soon to be husband. She had finally shown her hand, this party was less about me being welcomed home and more about me meeting Marco - and his entire family, of course.
Marco Bellucci.
My betrothed. Eww.
I couldn’t believe my supposed ‘parents’ had sold me off like a piece of property. Who even did that? And who the fuck still arranged marriages in this day and age?
