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“Is there no one you could talk to?”
“That would only make him more determined, probably. Tizziano is a spoiled idiot, he thinks that that manic smile and muscular, tattooed body are irresistible to the point that no woman will be able to truly say no to him.”
“Muscular body, huh?”
“What? I'm not blind!” she responds, crossing her arms in front of her chest and making me laugh.
“But if you're attracted, what's the problem?” She laughs a squeaky laugh.
“Oh, my friend, there are many problems. To begin with, a man needs to please much more than my eyes for me to consider him worthy of my attention. Tizziano uses women as if they were disposable handkerchiefs, I'm not that type of woman. It may be a romantic idea, it's probably a stupid idea, since I won't even have the right to choose my own husband, but I want a man who wants all of me, every piece of me, my personality, my flaws, my dreams and my body. The underboss is not that man, and although I have no choice in what I get, I can still choose what I don't get. For Tizziano, it's definitely a no. And if all that wasn't enough, I would never embarrass my father like that.”
“For getting involved with the underboss? I thought this was a good thing.” I furrow my eyebrows, confused. “I understood that marrying someone high up brought status and prestige in your world.” Rafaella laughs loudly.
“Tizziano doesn't want to marry me, Gabriella. He wants to fuck me, and I'm not going to give my virginity to that pig. My family may not have enough status for the Don to care about his brother dishonoring yet another daughter of thefamiglia, but I do.”
“Vitto...” I correct myself then, but Rafaella gives me a mocking look. “The Don doesn't mind?”
“The women who sleep with Tizziano know what they are doing, they are just foolish enough to have the illusion that it will be different for them. He will fall in love with them and put a ring on their finger. I don't even want a ring, let alone one from him.”
“Sounds sensible.”
“Sometimes, I pretend to be, you know?” she jokes and gives me another wink, making me laugh. “The idiot is just being capricious, when he realizes that cornering me in the corridorsisn't going to get him anywhere, he'll give up and move on to the next victim, a willing one, probably,” she pauses, but then continues. “Although it's not like he stopped fucking anything that moves just because he's giving me hell. Either way, it's been weeks now, he must be close to reaching his limit.”
“I don't know how to respond to that.”
“Then don't answer,” she says, already getting up. “Recess time is over. Move on!”
I whimper but drink all the water that's still in the glass in my hand and set it on the table next to the couch before standing up. Rafaella plays the music on her cell phone, and I position myself in front of her. She puts one hand on my waist and the other holds my outstretched palm.
Her face lowers slightly in silent command, and I nod. We start the movements, and I let out a deep exhale, concentrating on not making mistakes in what little I've already learned, but it doesn't take a minute before I step on the teacher's foot.
“Ow! Good God! You are terrible! Terrible!” she complains, and I burst out laughing.
***
The huge open box on top of my bed makes me sigh, or rather, the dress that arrived inside it and that is now stretched over it does.
The piece made of emerald green satin has a one-shoulder neckline, its single sleeve goes up to the wrist and, from the arm onwards, the fabric drapes. Subtle pleats contour the bust and twist at the waist where a side slit leaves skin exposed. There, the fluid skirt with a straight cut and a huge slit descends in a perfect cut.
“I'm jealous,” Rafaella says, standing next to me, looking at the dress with as much admiration as I do.
“And I think I'm going to throw up.”
I'm not stupid, Vittorio's request made it very clear from the beginning that he intended to make a statement by my presence, and that this was an important night. My doubts about how useful I had become to the Don were put to rest four days ago when he asked me to pretend to be in love.
Vittorio needs a fake girlfriend and, for some reason I don't know, I was chosen for the role. He probably just didn't want to expose a woman in his family to the comments they were making about me. It makes sense.
But that's not the focus here, the focus is that this dress in itself is a statement and not just possession. Vittorio is going to put me in the window, not as the pet that almost everyone inside this property thinks I am, but as a piece of art.
There are dresses in my closet, at least a dozen of them, all undeniably beautiful, none like this one. Even the red dress I wore to the event in Rome was amazing, but this one? No matter what level of intensity I put in front of the word “beautiful,” it just doesn’t seem like enough.
“Then turn the other way, because I swear to God if you ruin this dress, I will murder you.” The comment is the perfect trigger for the uncontrolled laughter that escapes my throat.
I start laughing and I just can't stop, I was feeling nervous before, but the dress simply exploded my anxiety sensors, and my body decides to relieve them with an uncontrolled laugh that makes me bend forward, feeling my stomach hurt and my eyes water. Rafaella looks at me like I'm crazy and, God knows, I must look like one.
I don't know how long it takes before I'm exhaling deeply and taking back control over myself.
“Better?” Rafa asks, and I nod. “Ready?” I shake my head again saying no. “Then you better pretend like you are, because we need to start fixing you up.”
