“Buddha! You can’t fucking leave me in here!” Dior yelled as she pounded her fists against the metal door, which automatically locked from the outside once it was closed. “I’ll never fucking marry! You hear me, you half-Italian asshole…never!”
I looked at Lorenzo as he tried to suppress his laughter. He bent his head, pinching between his eyes before looking at me.
“Just in case you need a reminder. You’ve got apetardo, (firecracker), my friend,” Lorenzo said, giving me a sympathetic pat on my shoulder.
“Tell me about it,” I said, walking away so I could take my ass to sleep. This night had been long as fuck. Snow was right, I did meet my match.
*****
“How else will we know if the wedding dress fits, Phillipe?” I looked at my mother, holding the Balenciaga gown, and wanted to scream so fucking badly. I grabbed my forehead, aggravated that I had to have this stupid ass conversation with my mother.
“Because I just know it will,” I answered her dumb ass question, rubbing my temples.
I had to marry Dior tomorrow, and I’ve never felt so stressed in all my fucking life. After Dior’s escape stunt, I had to let my father know what she did and that she was now banished to the dark room. My father told me I did what was best and that he trusted my judgment.
My mother wasn’t too keen on me locking Dior away; she told me there were other ways I could have dealt with it. It was safe to say that Dior had somehow won my mother over. She didn’t push too much because she knew to let Ricci men do what was needed. Now that the wedding was almost here, all my mother had been doing was planning for the bull-shit.
“I think you should bring her up and have her try it on so I can be the judge,” my head snapped back at what my mother said. She must have lost her mind. I looked over at my father as we sat in the living room of the main house.
“Can you talk to your wife, please?” I suggested taking a sip of the bourbon I had in my hand. My father turned to my mother and gave her a look. She immediately threw her hands up in defeat.
“Fine, have that girl looking crazy on the biggest day of her life,” my mother pushed the wedding dress to the side as if she was truly offended. I frowned at her disappointed face.
“You do know that this wedding isn’t real and Dior and I aren’t really in love…right?” I asked her just to be sure she remembered why this was happening.
“Phillipe, there will be our business partners in attendance. A farce wedding or not, everything needs to look legit.” My mother looked at her manicured nails as she spoke.
“Victoria’s right, Buddha. At least take the dress down to Dior and have her try it on. There’s nowhere for her to run in the dark room,” I looked at my father, not at all surprised. He sided with my mother. My father would agree if my mother said the sky was green and the grass was blue.
Knowing that I was defeated, I tilted my head back as I threw the remainder of alcohol down my throat. Getting up, I poured myself another drink before I walked to my mother. Saying absolutely nothing, I took up the Balenciaga gown protected in the bridal bag and began walking away.
“Thank you, dear, snap a picture of her so I can see if the dress needs adjusting,” I snorted at the back of my throat. I didn’t care if this dress fitted Dior like a mothafucking parachute. I was about to tell my mother it fit like a dream.
With the dress draped over my left arm and my glass of bourbon in my right hand. I made my way to where Dior was being kept. I low-key couldn’t wait to see her. I hadn’t checked in on her since putting her in the room. I would contact Lorenzo to ask how she was doing. He would come to my house, and I gave him clothes for her to wear, but that was it. I cut all contact with her, until now. There was a toilet and something resembling a shower in the dark room, where she could attend to her personal hygiene.
Descending the stairs, I walked until I saw Lorenzo seated in front of the door. He stood up when he saw me, confused at what I was doing there.
“How is she?” I asked unenthusiastically.
“She’s not too bad today. She only threatened me twice.” Hearing Lorenzo say that, I couldn’t help but laugh. Dior sure was fiery.
“I guess it was a good day then. Why don’t you take a twenty-minute break? I got it for now,” I patted his shoulder before I grabbed the door handle and opened it. Lorenzo nodded, wasting no time to excuse himself.
Making my way inside, my eyes found Dior, who was lying on a makeshift bed, curled up in a fetal position. She looked up when she heard me enter the dimly lit room. She sat up slowly when she realized it was me and not Lorenzo.
“Get your ass up and try this on,” I told her, unzipping the bag that stored her wedding dress. Pulling the simple but very elegant designer dress out, Dior made a face when she saw what it was.
“I told you, I’m not marrying you,” she immediately started with her bull-shit, and I released an exasperated sigh.
“Can we please not do this today? Now, before I get upset and pull my gun out of my waist, get up and try on this dress,” I dropped it on her lap, waiting for her to do as she was told.
“Will I be able to leave today? I think I’m going insane being locked up in here,” Dior said, getting to her feet. She was wearing shorts and a tank top, her hair disheveled. However, she was still the prettiest female to me.
“I’ll think about it. Now hurry up, I got shit to do,” I said, going to sit on the chair she occupied the first time she was brought into this room. Sighing loudly, Dior began to strip out of her clothing. I took a sip of my alcoholic drink as I took in all of her. Usually, she would try to hide so I couldn’t see anything, but today, she could give a fuck.
She took off everything except her bra and underwear. I stared at her curvaceous body, enjoying seeing her half-naked because she was sexy as hell. She shimmed into the form-fitted wedding dress that hugged her in all the right places. I stretched my long legs, never taking my eyes off her as she slipped her arms into the low-cut dress.
“Can you zip it up, please?” She asked, her eyes sad.
