“He was killed in prison,” I say.
“You know?”
I nod.
“Killed while awaiting trial,” he says. “And this,” he points to another marker. “This is Antonio’s grave. Stefan’s brother.”
I catch the date and it makes an impression because he died one day before my birthday. My sixteenth birthday.
When I look up at Rafa, he’s watching me, and I get the feeling he knows how this will impact me. He knows this is important. And I wonder if everything he told me just now was calculated.
He checks his watch. “Let’s go back. You’ll want to shower before your fitting.”
He knows about that, too?
I have questions. So many questions.
But the expression I can’t quite read is gone and he gives me a wide smile displaying perfect, white teeth, if not a little sharp. “We can walk if you’re tired,” he says with a wink
“Haha,” I say, and turn to jog away.
We’re silent on the way back, my mind on what I just saw, trying to work out the details, remembering the flakes of what I knew was blood on that necklace Stefan brought me on the night of my sixteenth birthday.10GabrielaThe seamstress is an older woman who has the personality of a doorknob.
Actually, I think she might be middle-aged, but her pinched face and unfriendly manner make her appear older and when she sticks me with a needle for the third time, I think she better be careful not to swallow all those pins she’s got stuck between her lips as she takes in the dress Stefan chose for the engagement party.
She has two assistants with her who seem to jump at her every command.
I have to say, as I stand on a stool in front of the full-length mirror, it’s not a bad dress. I want to hate it, but it’s pretty. If not a little more showy than I like, leaving more skin exposed than I’m comfortable with.
But it’s a pretty mauve satin with a faded layer of tulle the color of ashes of roses.
I think about my sixteenth birthday party. The pink roses. As much as I hated those, this is pretty. Elegant.
“Ouch!” I say as she tugs at the fabric at my lower back and I wonder how I’m going to get out of this with all the pins stuck in it.
She mutters something under her breath and when she straightens, I turn to look at the back and how the material drapes so low, you can see the swell of my hips.
The seamstress’ assistants, two younger women, help me out of the dress and I stand there in my underwear, my arms folded over my bare breasts as they unzip a huge garment bag and lift out the wedding dress.
My mouth falls open when it takes the two of them to haul the thing out.
“He expects me to wear that?” I ask.
No one answers as they carry the gown with its layers of material toward me. They hold it up to me and it’s not ugly. In fact, I’m sure it’s very expensive and that a lot of brides would die to wear it.
I’m just not one of them.
But maybe that has something to do with the groom.
They help me get into it, tightening the ties at the back of the corset-like top as I push down the skirts that make me think of a royal wedding, a dress for a princess.
“I’m not sure I’ll fit through the door,” I say, knowing no one will reply as I stare at my reflection.
But I stand there and do as I’m told and slip on the high heeled pumps I’m expected to somehow balance on underneath this monstrosity.
Miss Millie comes inside to peek at the dress. She gets a strange smile on her face, her eyes tearing up.
“You’re going to be a beautiful bride for him, Gabriela,” she says with the affection of a mother about her son.
Does she realize this isn’t for real? That I’m being forced to do this against my will?
“Thanks,” I say.
“I’m getting lunch ready for you now. Stefan will be here soon so you’ll want to pack a few overnight things.”
“Overnight?” I ask.
“Yes, didn’t he tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“The engagement party is in Rome. You’ll fly out after lunch.”
“Rome? Why Rome?”
She looks confused. “Your father’s hosting, dear.”
“My father?”
The seamstress says something to her, drawing her attention, and they walk out together as the other two help me out of the dress. Once they leave, I put on a bra and one of the summer dresses because it is too hot for jeans. I go out into the hallway and down the stairs where the table’s been set for lunch for one. At least I don’t always have to eat with him.
I go into the kitchen to find Miss Millie. “What do you mean my father’s hosting?” I ask.