AllFreeNovel
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“You said he doesn’t treat women very well, but what does that mean? How so?”
“I’d never let you marry a man who would abuse you. Reputation be dammed. I’d never allow it. But Leo hurts women in other ways. I’m not exactly sure how. But from what Marco has mentioned, Leo likes to toy with women before breaking their hearts.”
“And you’re worried he’ll break mine.”
“I am.”
I shift on the floor, finding a comfier spot for my sit bones. “I don’t know how to feel about Leo. I’m drawn to him, but I definitely don’t trust him.”
“Be careful, ok? Being drawn to Leo is never a good thing.”
“He’ll be my husband soon, Emilia. It’s not like I can ignore him forever.”
“No, but guard your heart around him.”
“How can I when we’ll be married? Am I just never supposed to love my husband?”
Emilia sighs. “Not if you don’t want him hurting you. Leo will use you; I’m sure of it. He’s done it to countless other women. He’ll do it to you, too.”
I pull away from her, wrapping my arms around my knees. “Is it so hard to believe someone could like me for me?” I know Leo doesn’t love me. I know he’s being forced into this marriage like me. I just wish one person would believe I could be loved by another. Instead, I’m always made to feel like the loner destined to remain a spinster forever.
“Fran, any man would be lucky to have you. Leo is lucky to have you. But he’s not a good man. He’s not someone I would have chosen for you. I don’t even understand why he was in your room last night or why you were kissing him.”
“Because I like him!” I snap, my voice echoing through the restroom. Emilia jerks back. “He kissed me, and I kissed him back because … I like him. I don’t trust him. But I do like him. It doesn’t make sense, but it’s how I feel. Just for once, I’d love to have your support instead of you trying to control my life. Leo and I are getting married, which is somethingyouand Marco enforced, remember? You don’t get to tell me what to do with my heart after I’m married. It’s not fair.”
Emilia stares at me for a while. When she opens her mouth to speak, a group of women enter the bathroom, gigging. They stop when they see us on the floor. Then they share a look with each other and laugh more. I stand up and walk past them, only to turn back around and walk past the woman to help Emilia off the floor. We might be in the middle of an argument but, she’s eight months pregnant. Getting off the floor is not an easy feat for her.
She nods her appreciation, but I’m already turning away and walking back into the shop. The only sound I hear is the giggle of the girls.
“Fran.” Emilia calls out. “Wait. You’re right.” I look at her tentatively. “It’s not fair of me to tell you what to do after you’re married. I’m just trying to protect you. But I promise, I’ll let you figure out your marriage to Leo.” She squeezes my hand. “It’s nice to see you standing up for yourself.” I blush under her praise. I’ve been doing that a lot more lately.
I’m not sure if it’s LA that’s changed me. Maybe it’s being away from my mom. Or it’s a certain guy I’m engaged to who has made me be this way.
“Let’s find you a dress.”
And we do.
After a few hours, I’m standing in the full-length mirror, trying on the dress I know will be my wedding dress. It’s sleeveless, with only thick straps on my shoulders that float over my body. The dress is closer to my body, but it isn’t tight. There’s enough give to make me comfortable. It ends with a subtle flare at the bottom. Nothing too extravagant. The entire gown is white. No lace. No frills. No decorations. Just white. It’s simple, yet elegant. Understated, yet so me. I feel classy. I feel … beautiful.
Emilia stands behind me, her hands on my shoulders. “What do you think?”
“It’s perfect.”
She fluffs my hair around my face and steps back. “You’re so beautiful, Fran. You don’t need to hide yourself away. Ever.” She sniffs and wipes at her eyes.
“Are you crying?”
“I’m pregnant. So, sue me.”
I wrap my arms around her in a fierce hug, which she reciprocates. “I really do love you, Emilia.”
“I love you, too.”
The group of women who were in the bathroom pass us by, still chatting and giggling. They’re all in their twenties, judging by their clothes and hairstyles. One of them, a pretty blonde, looks over at me. I’m prepared for her to make a snide comment because that’s what I’m used to, but instead, she says, “You look great. Love the dress.”
“Uh, thanks,” I say.
The other girls nod their approval. “It’s gorgeous on you,” a brunette says.
