Page 10 of Urgent Vows
The outer chamber is luxurious, two walls lined with immaculate, tufted, white benches. A vanity and mirror stretch the entire length of the third wall. The fourth has the opening to the bathrooms. This room is large enough to accommodate at least a dozen women but there is only one. And she is clearly waiting for us.
Dressed to attend the wedding in a modest but elegant gown, the older woman's hands do not have the pampered softness of the other women here. Her grey hair is in a severe bun, and she doesn't wear any jewelry except a simple gold band on her wedding finger.
Aria smiles. "This is our housekeeper, Emilia. She has worked for our family since before I married Enzo. When she married, her husband also joined our staff."
I like that Emilia was invited to the wedding, and I extend my hand to her. "Thank you for coming."
"The pleasure is mine." Though the look on her face says she's holding her judgment in reserve as to whether she truly believes that, or not.
What she thought of Carlotta.
"Emilia is very good with a needle and thread," Aria says. "She will do a quick alteration to your gown."
"Oh, thank you," I say sincerely to Emilia. "I'd love to be able to walk without tripping. Right now, I don't know how I'm going to dance when I need both hands to hold up my skirt."
"Don't worry, Signora De Luca, I know just what to do."
"Catalina, please," I say automatically. I've always been uncomfortable with formality between myself and family staff.
Then I realize I might be overstepping and look to see how Aria has taken the invitation to call me by my first name. She is smiling. "Emilia will call you Catalina when it is just family, but like the rest of the staff will address you as Signora Severu to distinguish between you and myself when others are present."
Aria is instructing Emilia and myself and I appreciate it. I haven't spent the last three months having dinners at her home and figuring out how to behave as a don's wife like my sister has.
Emilia gets to work on my dress and a few minutes later, there's three sets of ruching on the front of the skirt, creating a scalloped hem that barely brushes the floor. The extra three inches on the back of the skirt is like a mini train I'll be able to manage.
"There, that looks like the skirt was meant to be that way." Aria's voice is filled with satisfied approval.
"Thank you so much, Emilia," I say with a relieved smile.
Aria examines my face. "Your makeup is holding," she pronounces.
"Good." I don't want to add more goop to my face, otherwise known as foundation. "I suppose I'll have to get used to wearing makeup now, but this feels so stifling, like my skin can't breathe."
"You'll be able to use a lighter foundation once your bruise heals and you can choose to wear minimal makeup, but I'm afraid you are right. You will have to get accustomed to wearing it daily." Aria's lips purse, her green eyes troubled. "I do not know what your father was thinking to strike you like that."
He was thinking that smacking and kicking me would get me to comply with his plans, but I don't say that. Aria is already distressed. I hope that means she's never witnessed that kind of violence in her home.
When I return to the ballroom, less than twenty minutes have passed. Severu is waiting for us. He puts his hand out to me and tugs me onto the dance floor. He pulls me into him, close enough that the silk of my dress brushes against his legs, and he settles his hands on my hips.
My hands land against his chest and I'm not sure how they got there, but I don't move them. I stare at the pulse beating in his throat and wish I could lean forward and place my lips against it.
The music changes to a pop ballad, one of the few things my sister showed any interest in choosing for her wedding day. The singer is one of her favorites, but I feel no connection to the lyrics.
"You didn't join in the toasts," Severu says quietly.
Pulled out of my fantasy of kissing his neck, I ask, "What do you mean?"
"You only pretended to drink. Why?"
Is he angry? I cannot tell. He's so self-contained.
"I do not respond well to opiates." I tell him the truth because I have nothing to hide. "I was already feeling nauseated and did not think adding alcohol to the mix would help."
"Why didn't you tell me you felt ill?" He makes his question sound like an accusation.
"What difference would it make?What cannot be changed must be endured." It was one of my mother's favorite quotes and has become one of mine.
She used to say it a lot, which makes sense, considering the life she had to endure with my father. I looked it up when I was a teen and discovered it was fromLord of Chaosby Robert Jordan. I've never read the book, but I've said the quote to myself over and over again.
