Mom forces a smile. “Then try the satin. If you must.”
As the assistant helps me into the satin dress, longing pierces my heart. It’s a beautiful gown with off-the-shoulder straps and an hourglass silhouette. A low draped bodice makes it both elegant and sexy, and the long, lustrous skirt has a daring slit. As I stare at my reflection, I imagine myself walking down the aisle toward Damiano wearing this dress. I can picture the glow of love in his face as he watches me draw closer and closer and hear the music swelling around us.
The assistant meets my gaze in the mirror. “You love this one, don’t you? I can tell. This is the happiest you’ve looked the whole time you’ve been here.”
I stroke the lustrous fabric. “It’s a dress to wear to marry the man of my dreams.”
She beams at me. “Your husband-to-be is a lucky man.”
I’m still dreaming about Damiano when I step out of the changing room to show Mom. It takes her a fraction of a second to shake her head. “All wrong. Completely improper. No daughter of mine is going to have that low of a neckline on her wedding day, and that’s an indecent amount of leg for a bride to show.”
I look down at myself and then back up at her. “Mom, it’s not like I have that much cleavage showing, and when I reach the altar, I’ll make sure I stand so that the slit is barely open.”
Just let me have this, I beg her silently. I won’t be marrying Damiano, but I’ve already set my heart on him seeing me in this dress. He’s to be one of the groomsmen, and with him at the altar, I’ll be able to pretend for as long as it takes to walk down the aisle that I’m marrying him. At least I’ll get to see his face when he sees me in this dress, even if I’ll be promising myself to Andreas.
My protests fall on deaf ears. Mom turns to the assistant. “No cleavage. No slits. My daughters are traditional, virginal brides. Not a pair of whores.”
The assistant turns an embarrassed shade of red, and Mom realizes she’s let her nasty temper show in public. She quickly smothers her fury with a smile. “I apologize for my language. It’s a stressful time for us, planning two weddings. Lucy, try on the lace gown again. Now.”
Defeated, I follow the assistant back to the changing room. I hate the lace gown even more the second time. Maybe I could find a compromise between the tight, stuffy dress and the sexy satin one, but what would be the point? I could wear the most beautiful gown in the world, but I’ll still be marrying Andreas.
By the time I’ve taken the hateful lace dress off and emerged from the changing room, Mom has put a down payment on it, and that’s that.
Mom turns to my sister, who hasn’t said a word the past ninety minutes. “We may as well have you try on a few dresses as well, Ariana.”
“Yes, Mom,” she says automatically.
“I’ll select a few options for you. You may accompany me if you wish.”
Mom crosses the room to a wall of dresses, but Ariana stays where she is on the sofa. It’s been decided that I will marry before Ariana. I suppose Mom and Dad trust me less than they trust my sister, and they want to get my wedding out of the way.
Ariana parades before us in a succession of wedding gowns. Mom orders her to turn left, turn right, do a twirl, and Ariana joylessly obeys. Mom smiles, and her eyes glow. She’s like a doll Mom is playing dress-up with.
Finally, I can’t stand it anymore. “I know you don’t give a damn about me, but you love Ariana. Doesn’t it bother you that she’s miserable?”
“Of course she’s not miserable,” Mom replies, and calls out to Ariana, “I’m not sure about all that beading on you, darling.”
“Why don’t you look at your daughter? Really look at her. She’s miserable.”
Mom spares Ariana’s face the briefest glance, and her lips thin in what might be dismay. Even she can’t deny how unhappy Ariana looks. “Every bride has a certain amount of nerves. You’re happy to be marrying Cristiano, aren’t you, Ariana?”
“Yes, Mom,” Ariana says quietly.
Mom gives a nod of satisfaction. “Good girl. Let’s see you in the tulle again.”
Nearly two hours later, Mom has narrowed Ariana’s potential wedding dresses down to four that have a full tulle skirt, but she hasn’t decided which one.
While Mom talks to the salesperson about meeting with the designer for a longer consultation, I turn to Ariana beside me on the sofa.
“Are you okay?”
Away from Mom, Ariana doesn’t bother to pretend, and she replies flatly, “Of course I’m not okay.”
“I’m sorry this is so hard for you.”
“I don’t need sympathy from someone who fucks her own brother.”
I was expecting her to say something like that, and it doesn’t deter me from my point. “If you don’t want to marry Cristiano, then you should say something to Mom and Dad. I’m beingpunished and forced to marry Andreas, but you’ve never done anything wrong.”
