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Bella
I’d picked out two dresses.
A white one that I’d dreamed about since I was a little girl, knowing my dad would give me away, imagining the look of love on my groom’s face and the look of downright grief and pride on my dad’s.
I wasn’t one of those girls who had a wedding vision book or anything, but what I did have was an obsession with dresses. Every scenario in life could be fixed with the right costume or, in my opinion, armor and dresses were the very best kind. When you think of a dress, you think of something that shows you off. When I think of a dress, I think of something that tells a story for you and helps you find the beginning, middle, and end.
Dresses solve puzzles because they’re puzzles in and of themselves, not one is really the same, and they’re always drawing the eye.
When I thought about my wedding dress, I wanted something that would bring out the best in me, something that would make the love of my life focus on my eyes and only my eyes.
I went for a chic silk slip dress with a long train; it had nearly invisible ivory straps that went to my lower back, exposing all of it.
It was simple.
Beautiful.
And I didn’t want a veil. I didn’t want to cover my joy.
The other dress, however, that I dreamed of, was the statement dress, a dress you wore in order to tell a story and make sure everyone knew that you would be the one writing the ending.
It was red.
It had see-through lace across the stomach, chest, and sleeves, was daring, sexy, and it made a statement with its long blood-red train, but most of all, because the sleeves were see-through, you could see my small Abandonato tattoo in black writing down my left arm, it ended right at my wrist, close to my ring finger.
My branding.
My oath.
My life.
I wanted him to see it; I wanted him to see me and know that I wasn’t going down without a fight, and I wanted the world to know the sacrifice I was making.
May as well be a blood sacrifice—bathed in an expensive dress.
I sighed and looked at the white one. That was the fantasy.
The red was my reality.
So, I very slowly started to change into my wedding dress, opting for matching red heels.
A knock sounded at the door just as I finished.
My makeup was already flawless, my dark hair was pulled back into a loose braid, and my eyes were alert.
“Come in,” I whispered.
When I looked over my shoulder, I was a bit surprised to see my uncle Chase, not my sister, not my dad, not my mom… but my uncle.
“It looks the same.” He let himself in. He was wearing an all-white tux with no tie, and if it was even possible, still looked like he was only thirty years old as he walked into the room. It really was impossible to take the men in my family everywhere. Chase was just another example, fully tatted down both arms, up to his neck, captivating smile that held secrets, crystal blue eyes and thick dark brown hair.
They’d make a killing with a mafia calendar. Then again, he was a senator and had the ear of every powerful politician in the world, it seemed.
“Is it time?” I looked around him.
His eyes locked on me before he crooked his finger and then sat down on the floor. “Sit.”
“I’m in a dress.”
