I wasn’t expecting this.
“I'm not putting that on.” My voice shakes a little when I see it.
"It would be wise to." Giorgia lays out the dress on the bed and steps back. “Mr. D’Ambrosio will expect you to wear it.”
"Right." I pull my eyes from the dress, blinking fiercely as I look at her.
She doesn’t argue or try to justify anything. I have a funny feeling that she’s spent enough time around the D’AmbrosioFamily to know better than to convince them–or the women they drag home–to change their mind.
I get out of bed, pick up the dress, and pull it on.
The silk material is cool against my skin and the cut is certainly beautiful in its own way. But it slips the moment I try to settle it across my shoulders. The left strap slides down my arm no matter how many times I push it back up.
I close my eyes and feel the bitter sting of tears stabbing at the back of my nose. This dress wasn’t made for me.
Which isn’t a surprise, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.
I push the strap back up again and hold it there, looking at myself in the mirror. The woman looking back at me has dark circles under her eyes, and I can’t stop thinking about Mom’s look on her wedding day to Frank.
Be brave, baby.I can hear her voice in my ear.
And the sting stabs my nose again. I squeeze my eyes shut and rub my eyes like I’m rubbing the sleep away.
The strap slides back down again.
"Here, dear." Giorgia’s voice rises behind me.
Soft fingers move to the strap and I feel something pinning it in place. When she lets go, the strap doesn’t fall down anymore. I open my eyes and find her looking at me while her gentle hands give my shoulders a light squeeze.
"I know this isn't what you would have chosen," she says quietly.
I let out a shaky breath. "That's a generous way of putting it."
"It is." She smooths the silk once at my waist. "But I have watched this house for a long time, dear. And I've watched that boy for longer than he would like to admit."
I hold still as she works. “Is this the part where you try and make me feel better about marrying a monster?”
"He is many things." Her hands drop from my shoulders. "But he’s not a monster."
"You know I’ve seen him kill people, right?" I retort. "I'm under no illusions about what he is."
Giorgia looks at me in the mirror for a moment.
"I believe Nicolas will surprise you in time. And perhaps in time, you will come to understand him a little better than you do now. I don’t expect you to forgive him for doing this to you.”
That’s the most honest thing I’ve heard ever since I got here.
I look down and turn away from the mirror and take several quick breaths to steel myself. I won’t cry, and I sure as hell won't let Giorgia see me cry so that she might tell Nico later. It takes a few tries, but I eventually manage to swallow my feelings down somewhere just out of reach.
"Thank you, Giorgia," I finally say. "For helping with my dress. It looks beautiful."
“Of course, dear. When you’re ready, come downstairs. There’s no rush.”
And what if I never come down?I almost ask.Will he come upstairs and drag me to the altar?
I’m pretty sure I know exactly what that answer is.
So, I stay quiet and look at myself in the mirror. Giorgia nods, collects the garment bag, and leaves me to it.
