“We’re based on a lie.”
“But your marriage will be real. Keep arguing, bitch.” Her eyes lift above my head. “Let’s go.”
“What are we doing?”
“Making it real.”
“That’s the one.”
“You like it?” I turn in the mirror. Lace trim meets ivory satin above my hips. Delicate straps hold the open back and cowl neckline. The gown hugs my body as if it were tailor-made.
“It’s perfect.” Stephanie fans her eyes and lifts her phone. “You’re getting it.”
“What?” I huff a laugh.
“And take your hair out of your braids to wear it with your natural curls.”
I squint. “Did they put drugs in your champagne? We’re signing a marriage certificate. There is no wedding.”
Benny never mentioned one, not that I asked. I wouldn’t mind a cake, but we don’t need to pretend we’re more than we are.
Stephanie waves me off for another sip of champagne. Her lemon maxi dress glows against the copper undertones of her chocolate brown skin. She looks like Olivia Pope about to fix the White House in the embellished scarf draped down her back.
“We look good,” I say to our reflection.
She passes me another glass and eyes me heavy inso what we doing?
“Want to play dress-up this weekend?”
“Like we did in my auntie’s good casino dresses and wigs when we were little?” She beams.
“It’s a date.”
We squeal.
“Benny is always busy. We can kick him out, watch movies, and stuff our faces with food and liquor.”
Stephanie raises her glass with a shimmy. “To the citrus grove!”
“The citrus grove!” The almost-forty crew is not above a sleepover and will do it up in couture.
I hand the attendant Benny’s credit card he’d given me. The dresses need alterations, so we might be in bonnets and pajamas this weekend.
“We have a private exit for you to use,” the attendant says with a wide smile. She switched to English after hearing us running our mouths.
“Thank you. That would be nice.” I pick up my lingerie bag and follow her and Stephanie out the back door.
The bridal store is a cozy boutique in a historic building off the main street Stephanie and I found. Sunlight spills into the alley and the text message I send Aldo. I spot him across the street when we’re halfway down the paved passage.
“There he is.” I wave at Benny’s driver. My smile dissolves at the large iron gate closing at the end of the alley. “We’re still back here!” I shout in Italian.
“I know Paolina or whoever didn’t forget us.” Stephanie doubles back to pound on the door we’d left.
My heart races and my stomach drops.
There’s banging on the other end of the handleless gate, too high to climb. It fades under the blood pounding in my ears from the man walking down the other end of the alley with a gun. The warning for Stephanie to run catches in my throat. My voice cracks at the crunch of his boots over the gravel, inching closer.
“Unni vai?“ the stranger teases with a menacing glare.
