“We should wait for our wedding night.” My body trembles under the tension of waiting to see what he’ll do. If he’ll touch me. I try to clench my muscles to stop it.
Steffano lets out a low, near growl as he pulls away. “Don’t be late.”
I’m frozen in place until he walks back to the door, opening it and then closing it behind him. I release a massive exhale, the air rushing out of me until I’m doubled over.
It could have been worse.I remind myself.
Steffano’s touch wasn’t unkind or overly lustful. But it’s the first of many, and it rattles me. Maybe it was wrong to learn my body and let Royal show me what good can be.
My phone is sitting on the vanity where I left it. After I toss the robe over the towel bar, I pick it back up and type a message off to Royal.
Leticia:
Thank you for always going at my pace.
I setit back on the counter and go back to getting ready. It still hasn’t vibrated when I’m done curling my hair or when I’ve pulled on a sweater dress.
The longer it’s silent, the more alone I feel, but maybe I should focus on distancing myself from him. Maybe I need to start a Royal detox.
The ache in my heart hits harder.
“Leticia.”Mom practically cries as I step out from the fitting room into the viewing area.
It’s the third dress. The first two she scoffed at and sent me back. They were both big, fluffy ballgowns. Apparently, the bridal stylist thought I would be fitting for a princess-style wedding.
This one is less fluffy, more A-line, and satin. The square neckline is not me at all.
“It sounds like we’re getting closer.” The stylist smiles widely. “Let’s add a veil.”
I stand while they primp, my aunts, Mom’s sisters, Bianca and Marta, looking it over.
“It just doesn’t seem like the right dress. Leticia needs something a little less subtle.” Bianca gives me a coy smile. “She always wears something more modest. It’s her wedding. She should get a chance to shine.”
“Well.” Mom considers her older sister’s point. “We could do something a bit more revealing.”
“Steffano did say he’d like to see my figure.” It’s hard not to bring back that conversation. The way he looked at me? The hunger for something that is his only in name.
“That settles it, then!” Bianca looks to the stylist, and they quickly talk in Italian about dresses and styles before darting farther into the store to find just the one.
The next dress is so tight I can barely breathe, but it’s definitely fitted. I’m constricted from chest to hips in white fabric, and I have to take slow, careful steps out to the pedestal.
“Now, this would be a bit looser when it’s in your size.” The stylist notes how tight it is. “Unless you’re looking for such an intense look.”
I shake my head quickly. It’s a gorgeous gown. The aunts and my mother are drawn to it like moths to a flame. A veil, a bouquet, and shoes are brought out, and my hair is pulled up out of my face.
“Is this the one?” The bridal stylist looks to me for an answer.
“It is.” I agree with the consensus of the room.
It’s not me. The blonde woman in the mirror isn’t me. I know it’s my body, my face, and my hair, but none of how I look right now is anything like me. She’s getting married to Steffano, and I’m just a captive in her body.
I’m finallyout of the gown, into my own clothes, but I can’t shake the feeling of being trapped in a rented body.
I open my phone out of habit and find a new message from Royal.
Royal:
They’re all beautiful, but the one you bought doesn’t look like you.
