Her face softens as she responds. “Okay. Tonight, we pretend.”
Shay, the makeup artist moves in front of me, blocking my view of the mirror. “Okay, close your eyes for a second while I spray this mist to set your face.” She shifts her eyes around to make sure my mother is not listening before she leans into whisper, “You’re a fucking knockout, Isabella. Never doubt that girl!”
Blushing. “Thank you.”
She winks at me before spraying the mist over my face.
I suck in a breath as I open my eyes to see the sight in front of me. My makeup never looks like this when I try to do it. Makeuptutorials are just that, tutorials. Shay does exactly what I asked for. Simple but elegant. She nails it. She blends browns on my eyelids makes the blue around my irises more enhanced. To the subtle fake eyelashes add enough volume but not over the top. Trailing down my face, she adds a little bronzer to highlight my features with a little blush on my cheeks. My lips have a soft pink gloss across them to give a natural look. I feel beautiful.
I asked for my brown hair to be off my shoulders so I would not have it sticking to me most of the night and it would drive me crazy. She put it in a messy bun with the back pieces curled. There are a few strands of hair around my face framing it.
“Well, we don’t have time to fix your hair, Isabella. It will have to do for now.” My mother rolls her eyes as she dismisses the glam team as if they are servants.
Sliding off the chair, I hold my navy-blue robe tight covering up any skin that might pop out. I walk into my closet to put my dress on. Switching the light on, I wince at the brightness with my gaze landing on my dress that hangs on the back wall. A black one shoulder with a high slit on the right side. I chose this dress for a few reasons. It’s black and will hide most of my problem areas.
I discard my robe in front of the full-length mirror. Letting it pool at my feet, my gaze is locked on my body. I stand back at me just standing in my black lacey thong and black strapless bra. My breasts are practically spilling out of the cups, and I try to arrange them to make them fit. My fingers trace every single stretch mark on my large stomach. The tips of my fingers run over the rolls, the wideness of my hips, down to my thick thighs with the cellulite having them look like cottage cheese. Turning to see my backside, my head looks over my shoulder to get a good look. There are rolls on my back. My eyes to my ass. Just like my legs there is a good amount of cellulite but at least its bigwith a nice roundness to it. I reach around to grab a handful. I jiggle it. It has some movement. No where near firm enough.
I let out a sigh before I turn myself around to grab my dress off the hanger. Pulling down the zipper and remove the one shoulder strap, I let the dress pool around my feet before I step in. Gently, I pull the soft fabric over my body, I shimmy my hips to get it over them. I pull it up over my bra, I slide one arm in and tuck the tiny strap inside. Reach with one hand behind my back, I pull the zipper up and I slide my hands down over the font.
I bend down ever so slightly and make sure that my dress does not split open, I slide my feet into the black strappy heels that make me feel powerful. They give me an extra inch. Once they are buckled, I turn very slowly to face the mirror. My eyes stare blankly at my reflection. The dress is stunning, but not who is in it. The little fat roll between my arm and chest is showing. My arms are the farthest from firm and have some jiggle to them. The dress only hides so much of the rolls on my stomach. The slit has my right leg being the star of the show, putting on display the cellulite.
I can feel the water works forming behind my eyes at hearing my parents words.
“Isabella, you should really try the cottage cheese diet that I read about in my magazine. It’s the fastest way you can lose a few pounds quickly. Just not eat all day and then have a few spoonfuls.” My mother says as she pushes the magazine toward me.
My father laughs at my mother’s words. “Trust me Isabella, no one wants a fat wife to come home to. It’s not very becoming of a mafia wife. We don’t need you ruining the family name because you don’t know when to shut your mouth when it comes to food.”
Dabbing my face lightly with my fingers, I mumble to myself, “Maybe my new fiancé will like me for me and my body.”
My heels echo off the marble floor as I make my way to the stairs leading down to the main entrance to my parents’ house. Though it has never felt like home. My feet step one in front of the other as I make my way down the stairs, gripping the railing so I don’t make a fool out of myself by falling. I’m sure that would send my parents over the edge. I can’t have that.
By the time I reach the middle art of the stairs, I hear voices traveling up to me. I try my hardest to listen and to make myself not be heard.
“This engagement could not have come at a better time, Ciro. I think it’s time to finally be done with the ways from the homeland and start making our own set of commandments. There are too many opinions, especially from Enzo Ricci.” His voice is rough and makes my skin crawl.
“I promised you a daughter in exchange that I would help with dissolving the four families.” My father’s voice is thick with annoyance. “Though, my daughter is not what your son is probably looking for with her…weightissue.” Hearing him talk about it with so much disgust makes my stomach sink. “But do we ever just have one woman? There are just so many more out there who are prettier and who fuck better.” He laughs loudly.
I hear Eduardo laugh along with him, and I try my best not to get sick on the stairs where I’m standing. I push down the bile that has pushed its way up my throat, then I continue to make my way down and they both stop talking when they hear me. I’m met with both of their soulless eyes that stare back at me. Empty.
Once I reach the last step, I keep my gaze locked onto them.
My father is the first to speak to me. “Isabella, are you ready to meet your future husband? I’m sure you will be a good wife to him as what is expected of you.”
Smiling, my voice is soft with a response. “Yes, father.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see that Don Eduardo Di Marco is trailing his gaze up my whole body making me feel extremely uncomfortable.
I turn as he opens his mouth to be respectful. “Ciro, you did not tell me your daughter was beautiful.” He licks his lips. “I’m not sure what my son will think or say. But I do know if the offer was on the table for me to marry you, I would.”
I want to vomit right here. Right now, on this fucking floor. I feel like a piece of cattle that is being sold at auction where they are going to cut me up and sell me in pieces. Keeping my face soft and not showing how disgusted I feel all while trying to push down the bile rising from my stomach.
“Isabella, if you are done throwing yourself at your future father-in-law, yourfiancéis waiting for you. Stop whoring around.” My father’s hardened voice pulls me from trying to not throw up on his precious marble floor.
A big sigh exits my mouth as I follow my father and Mr. Di Marco into the family room where everyone is waiting for us. Or well, me. My mother is there chatting with Mrs. Di Marco with wine in their hands. In contrast to my mother’s blonde hair, that is not natural by any means. Antonia Di Marco’s is a soft Carmel color with a red tint when the light hits it. She is thin like my mother but with a little more curves. Her makeup has not one crease.
My sister is off in the corner chatting with our older brother, Joseph. They are hushing to themselves, and my brother’s lips are formed into a fine line at whatever Lucia is saying to him. But they both stop talking when I enter the room and both of their expressions soften. Our brother looks so handsome tonight. One day he will settle down, and I want that for him. My brother is a spitting image of our father, but with dirty blonde hair compared to our father’s black hair.
I’m standing next to the mantel near my mother when I feel a hand land on my lower back making me jump. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” His voice is hot against my neck, a cold shiver runs down my spine.
