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He said it so casually. Like he took Brian out for ice cream.
And the worst part of it all? The thing that really made me want to throw up? It wasn’t feeling bad for Brian, who probably would have raped me that night. It was the instant, toxic squeeze of pleasure I felt, learning just how far Elio would go to protect me. If someone tries to hurt me, he will hurt them twice as much.
And then the guilt had crashed in, a sickly green tidal wave, because who the hell thinks like that? Who feels protected and treasured when they find out their fiancé permanently disfigured their ex in one of the most horrific ways?
I didn’t want to let Elio turn me into this. Or maybe this is already who I was, and he’s just revealed that inner ugliness.
But no matter how many layers Elio has pulled back, no matter which parts of me he’s exposed, he’s never once turned away.
There’s relief in that so palpable that it nearly knocks me over, but also pain, because I have turned away from him. Over and over, I’ve pushed him away, told him I would run. Even this morning, when he told me about Brian, I compared him to the tyrant king of that old story.
But not now. Not anymore.
“I’m ready.”
There’s a calm conviction in what I just said. Valentina’s fingers stop poking and prodding at my hair.
“Alright,” she says. She picks up the veil, the sheer fabric rippling in the air as she secures it above the pins at the back of my head. “There. Now you’re ready.”
I turn to look at myself as the veil settles around my shoulders. I feel at peace. Maybe even happy, if I can let go of all the fear and the guilt and just let myself be.
Two of the event coordinators are waiting outside the room with Robbie when we emerge again. One of them speaks hurriedly into a headset about how she’s “got the bride” and I feel like she’s treating this like she’s escorting the Prime Minister somewhere instead of just me.
But I’m not just me anymore, am I?
I’ll be a Titone now.
We all get into an elevator, but even the elevator is spacious, so it doesn’t feel cramped with my skirt and the seven other people clustered around me.
Robbie heads out first, casting his gaze critically over the lobby before he nods and the rest of us come out. The two event coordinators arrange us into a line – the bridesmaids first, then Valentina as my maid of honour, then me at the end. People in the lobby stop and stare, their eyes big and their voices hushed as we pass. A little girl with bouncy curls tugs against her mother’s hand, crying out, “Princess!” I wave at her, acknowledging that in a way, that little girl is right. Elio is the closest thing this city has to a dark prince.
Once through the massive, beautiful lobby, the coordinators lead us down a large hallway with champagne-coloured walls. Two heavy wooden doors are propped open at the end, and it looks like they lead into a sort of antechamber with another set of doors beyond, those ones closed.
Inside the antechamber are our bouquets. Valentina helps hand them out, the blooms pure, glorious white with accents of blue and greenery springing out at artistic angles. My bouquet is the largest. I expect my hands to shake when I take it, but they don’t. I clasp my fingers around the cool stems and watch first Annabelle, then Lucia, then Giulia pass through the doors into whatever lies beyond. I can’t see into the room yet.
“Alright, now Valentina!” one of the coordinators says, peering through the slightly ajar door before holding it wider for my maid of honour.
“Holy shit. Ah! OK.” She turns around to give me a quick, reassuring smile. “You look so beautiful. See you in there!”
And then, in a flounce of dark blue silk and a click of high heels, she’s gone.
And now I’m alone.
I mean, not entirely. Robbie and the coordinators are here, both of them keeping hawk-like gazes on whatever’s happening in the room beyond so they’ll know when it’s my turn. But I feel alone. For the first time, it occurs to me that I don’t have anyone to walk me down the aisle.
And that really fucking hurts. My dad should be here.
He should have been a different sort of man.
I haven’t thought about him or his betrayal in a while now. It was so easy to get swept up in all things Elio, to feel so overwhelmed by him and his world that I could almost forget about the painful way I was forced out of mine. Tears rush to my eyes, and my throat works, and I will not cry over my father right now, goddamnit!
“OK! The song for the bridesmaids is ending! Time for the bride!”
Both the coordinators turn to me in unison. I sniff and blink, squeezing the stems of the flowers between my fingers to give myself something else to focus on that doesn’t include my tears. That doesn’t include the great big hole of pain opening up inside me at the thought of walking down that aisle alone.
But the tears come anyway, especially when I hear the song that starts up as soon as I walk through the doors.
It’s An Eala Bhàn. My mother’s favourite song.
