Outside the door, I can hear the quiet shuffle of soldiers moving in the hallway.
“And I’d want any daughter of mine to have a choice.”
Our eyes meet in the mirror, and for a moment, neither of us speak.Even in a case like this?
I don’t ask the question, though.
No one here, except me, will believe my family is innocent.
Mrs.Henderson breaks the tension.“Makeup is on the way.”
“Is it okay if I stay?”Alessia asks.
Her question surprises me.“You actually want to?”What does your husband think?
“Look…” Bella takes a sip of her drink.“Being in a mafia family is hard.Being a Moretti wife is hard.Loving men who…” She stops herself.“Sorry.”
I attempt a small smile.None of this is her fault, and I appreciate everything she’s trying to do.
“I think what my sister-in-law is trying to say is that we all need friends,” Alessia finishes.“You’re going to be part of the family.”
Again, I am surprised by their attitude, especially since I don’t know how her brother feels about this whole thing.Or how the former don’s wife feels, for that matter.
The makeup artist introduces himself, and as he works, the clock seems to accelerate.
Outside the door, the murmur of voices rises and falls, distant and indistinct.Every sound reminds me that the world beyond this room continues to move forward whether I am ready for it or not.
“Perfect,” the makeup artist says at last.
He steps back so I can see the finished work in the mirror.
For a moment, I don’t recognize the woman staring back at me.Her eyes are too calm.Too controlled.
“Excellent,” Mrs.Henderson notes.“You look beautiful, and you’re right on schedule.”
Alessia finishes the last of her orange juice and sets the empty glass on the table.
She comes closer, resting a light hand briefly on my shoulder.“I’ll let you finish getting ready.”
Then she slips from the room, along with Mrs.Henderson.
The door closes behind her with a soft click.
“Do you mind if I’m the one to help you with your dress?”Bella asks.
“Please.”There’s no way I can manage this by myself.
She slides the fabric from the hanger.“Your dress really is beautiful.”
I agree.I just wish I wasn’t forced to wear it.
The material settles into place perfectly.
She helps me into the heels that are in another bag.
Then things become a whirlwind.The stylist returns to help with the veil that I’ve never seen before, and Mrs.Henderson brings in a photographer.
The woman is remarkably efficient, asking for a few shots near the mirror and another near a stained-glass window where soft morning light spills across the silk gown.
