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“If it stops all the fighting, it’s worth it,” I say firmly, as much for myself as anyone else. “I mean that. I want all this to be over.”
“It’s not your fault,” Ana says, echoing Sofia from earlier. “Really, Caterina, it isn’t.”
“I know,” I say quietly.
Sofia has told me a dozen times that if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s her own. Ana was trying to help her when she was caught. It helps a little, but not enough. Still, I know Ana will want to talk about something else, so I just leave it at that as Sofia opens the door for Ana to wheel herself through.
The manager of the salon is waiting, a peppy blonde named Diane, and she smiles broadly at the three of us as we head inside. “Welcome!” she says brightly. “Which one of you is Ms. Rossi?”
A tiny, reluctant part of me can’t help but appreciate that Viktor—or his assistant—made the appointment under my maiden name. However, the more cynical part of me, though, retorts that it’s only because he doesn’t want to remember that I’ve been married before, a widow instead of a blushing virgin.
“Caterina.” I shake her hand, forcing a smile in return. “I’m here for my appointment?”
“Of course! And these are your friends?”
“Sofia Romano and Anastasia Ivanova.”
Diane’s face changes when she hears Sofia’s last name, her attitude even brighter and more eager than before. “Well, come on in, there’s champagne waiting for you. The salon has been rented out for two hours for your appointment, so we’re all here for you and no one else. All of the girls are ready to help you with your every need.”
She’s not kidding, either. When we walk into the main part of the salon, where dressing rooms are flanked by velvet couches and floor-length, three-way mirrors with a round platform in front of them, Veuve Clicquot is chilling in a bucket and five girls in their black work uniforms lined up, apparently waiting to help me. It’s honestly a little overwhelming, and I glance over at Sofia pleadingly, who instantly walks forward and claps her hands.
“I have an idea of what Caterina might like,” she says briskly. “So how about we give her a minute to settle in, and I’ll go with you to pull some dresses for her to start with?”
“Sure!” one of the girls, who has a nametag markedLead SalesandMarnie, says, gesturing for Sofia and the others to follow her. I sink onto the velvety pink couch, accepting a glass of champagne from Diane as I steel myself for the two hours to follow—although if I can find a dress sooner than that, I fully intend to.
It quickly becomes obvious, though, that they’re not going to let me off that easily. The first dress I try on is nice enough, a long white column silk gown with fluttery cap sleeves that skims over my slim frame without clinging too much. I’m not sure if it’s fancy enough for the wedding that Viktor has planned—I haven’t been given all that much information about it—but it looks pretty on me. I turn towards the waiting girls and Sofia and Ana, trying to look as excited as possible. “This one is perfect,” I tell them, trying to infuse my voice with some enthusiasm, but it’s very clear that they aren’t buying it.
“You’ve only tried on this one,” Marnie says disapprovingly.
“Your fiancé rented out the salon for two hours.” Diane gives me an encouraging smile. “So you might as well use it up! Try on some more styles. Make sure this is what you really love.”
I have to grit my teeth not to retort that there’s no chance of me lovinganyof the dresses since I don’t want to be married again at all. But I bite my tongue, catching a glimpse of Sofia’s sympathetic face as Diane hands me another glass of champagne, and I dutifully follow Marnie back into the dressing room.
The next gown I try on is a full-on princess dress, with a ballgown tulle skirt, a sweetheart, strapless bodice, and seed pearls scattered over the entire thing. I have to suppress a laugh at the expression on both Sofia and Ana’s faces when I walk out, but the other girls look entranced.
“That’smore like it,” Diane says. “You’re getting married at the Orthodox Cathedral I’m told, for goodness sake, not a barn. Your dress should reflect it.”
“That’s all well and good,” I tell her as diplomatically as I can, turning to look at myself in the mirror. “But this is abitmuch. I’m not really interested in looking like Cinderella on my wedding day.”And this is hardly a fairytale.
And so begins the parade of dresses. I try on gown after gown, silhouette after silhouette, trying to look interested in each in some way without much success. All the girls helping me are absolutely over the moon, rushing back and forth to find more dresses and accessories to match them, lavishing me with attention. I feel bad that I can’t force myself to fake more than an average level of excitement. I hear Sofia murmur to one of them that I “just really don’t enjoy shopping,” and I feel a pang of guilt that she has to make excuses for me. Most girls would love this, to have a bridal salon rented out entirely for them, any dress in the store paid for no matter how lavish or expensive. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t find any joy in it.
At the end of the day, I’m being married against my will to a man I’ve never met and am rightfully terrified of. I feel mired in misery, aching down to my bones with it. I think with a sweeping rush of despair as I walk into the dressing room again that I’ll never know what it’s like to be in love and excited about getting married. I’ll never feel the thrill of trying on dresses because Iwantto. I would have had some of that with my marriage to Franco—I’d at least been hopeful about that marriage even if not in love—but the events surrounding it had destroyed any chance of excitement or joy. I’d been in mourning when I’d picked out my dress last time, and this time I’m just filled with dread.
You’re just going to have to get through it,I tell myself as Marnie buttons and clasps me into yet another dress.You’re going to have to be tough and brave, and accept that this was always going to be your life.Lovewas never in the cards for you.
The sooner I manage to accept that again, the way I did before my first marriage, the easier it will be to get through this.
I just wish that my life wasn’t always something toget through, that for once, I could just be happy. But there’s no point in wishing for impossible things.
Sofia found her happiness with Luca, and I’m glad. I wanted that for her, even if it couldn’t happen for me. She’s found her place in this life, and once upon a time, I thought I had too. But nothing has turned out the way I thought it would.
I’ve lost everything, and now I’m being traded to the Bratva for peace.
When I step out in the next dress, everyone lets out a gasp. Even Sofia, who’s done her best to look entirely neutral throughout this whole thing, lets out a softohas I walk to the mirrors. And despite how much I don’t want to feel anything, there’s a gentle flutter in my stomach when I look in the mirror. I have to admit, as unhappy as I am with my own appearance these days, I look beautiful. With some makeup to help my pale, drawn complexion and my hair done, I might even approachglowing, though I think I’ll fall short ofradiantno matter what.
It’s hard to be radiant when you don’t fucking want to be there at all.
“It’s lovely,” Diane says, coming to stand next to me. “Girls? Find a cathedral-length veil.”
