Married to My Enemy

“Let’s do it next week.”

“The wedding?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Why not? The sooner, the better, right?”

* * *

The last 24 hours had been a whirlwind, to say the least. But it was a relief to know that things were finally on the right path.

I ventured into the kitchen, where I heard my parents making breakfast.

“Good morning,” my mother said, smiling. “Did you have a good night with your friends?”

My cheeks began to burn, and I suppressed a smile that would have surely revealed how my night had ended. “Yeah,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Good.”

Daddy turned toward me with a mug of coffee in his hands. “Well, I’ve spoken with the Romanos and—”

“Wait one second,” I said, cutting him off. “That’s actually what I want to talk to you both about…”

Daddy raised his eyebrows, and Mama turned away from the oven, where she’d been removing a batch of buttermilk biscuits.

I took a seat at the kitchen table. “Well, I don’t know how else to say this, so I guess I’ll just keep it short and sweet—Giovanni and I are going to get married. The wedding is back on, and we want to do it next week.”

Mama remained perfectly still, and Daddy set his coffee down on the table.

“What did you just say?” he asked after a prolonged pause.

“The wedding is back on. Me and Giovanni—we just had a terrible misunderstanding. It’s all been worked out now though. And we want to be married again.”

Daddy scratched his head. “Ari, how—?”

But with a swift motion of her hand, Mama silenced him. “Are you sure this is what you want, honey?”

I nodded and smiled. “Yes, it’s exactly what I want.”

“Well then—as long as you’re happy.” She came to the kitchen table and wrapped me in a hug.

“Are you doing anything today?” I asked. “I’d like to get a wedding dress.”

“Oh, you only had to say the word,” Mama said, unable to hide her excitement. “I’ll clear my entire schedule, although I don’t even think finding the perfect dress is going to take long.” She grinned and grabbed my hand, pulling me to my feet.

The two of us began running through the house, giggling in excitement like a pair of schoolgirls.

In a mere matter of hours, I was at a boutique, being sized for the dress I’d be wearing in a week to marry Giovanni. The dress had been hanging in my mother’s closet for over 20 years, waiting to be passed down to me. It had served my mother perfectly when she wed my father, and now it was perfect for me to wed Gio. Only slight alterations were needed around the waistline and shoulders.

I stared at my reflection, admiring the intricate lace designs covering the bodice of the dress, and loving the way it flared out at the bottom. Through the mirror, I could see my mother dabbing her eyes with the Kleenex she clutched in her hand and smiling at me. And I was struck by how much I suddenly favored her.

“Now, Ari—don’t feel pressured into using this dress if you don’t want to wear it, all right? I’ll understand if you want your own dress,” Mama said.

I turned toward the dressmaker of the boutique. “Can you have this dress altered and ready for me by next week?”

“I most certainly can,” she said with a smile.

Tears welled in my mother’s eyes all over again.

* * *