A bell trills overhead as I push through the door of a high-end bridal boutique on Michigan Avenue.
Grace officially begins her search for the perfect wedding gown today, and my head swims with the reality that her relationship with Matteo has progressed at breakneck speed.
A year ago, my brother hit the town every night of the week with a different beautiful woman hanging off his arm. He wasn’t the least bit interested in settling down with one specific female.
He avoided intimate relationships altogether. That changed the moment Grace became a part of his life. I guess what they say is true—when you meet the right person, you just know. Love has the power to change your entire world.
It saddens me that even though I have those same emotions for Roman, there doesn’t seem to be a way for us to make our relationship work. I’ve tried breaking down his resistance, but he continues to hold steady. There’s nothing more for me to do but accept the cold, hard reality that the relationship Roman and I have will eventually end.
That thought is so painful that it leaves me gasping for air. I sweep it from my mind to numb the ache and focus on the reason I’m at this boutique at ten o’clock on a Saturday morning. I focus on the joy of helping Grace choose a beautiful gown for her impending nuptials to my brother.
My mother is already camped out on a sleek white couch in the viewing area at the back of the store, leisurely flipping through a bridal magazine.
“Morning, Mama.” Tucking all thoughts of Roman into the back of my mind where they belong, I give her a cheerful smile. The last thing I need is for her to catch a whiff of what’s going on. The woman is tenacious and will drag the information from me in a matter of minutes.
Then I’ll never hear the end of it.
Setting the magazine on the glass and chrome coffee table, she rushes over to greet me. “Hello, darling!” She enfolds me in her arms and crushes me to her as if she hasn’t seen me in years instead of a little over a week.
Because I’m hurting, I allow myself to sink into her warm embrace and savor the comfort of her strong arms. We’ve always been close. In the past, she was the first person I sought out when I had a problem.
I imagined growing up to be just like my mother when I was little. She was always such a strong force to be reckoned with. Although my father presides over the family business, my mother rules the family itself. She’s the one we all run to. My parents, despite their traditional values, have always been true partners in every sense of the word.
As that thought flits through my head, I realize how much I want that with Roman and how powerless I am to make it happen. I again have to tamp down all my rioting emotions and redirect my attention. Matteo and Grace are getting the happily-ever-after they deserve. I don’t think the same will happen for Roman and me, which is painful to admit.
Roman’s secret is wedged deeply between us. Until he trusts me enough to let me in, we’ll forever be stuck having each other, but not really belonging to one another.
My mother’s hands flutter to my face and caress my cheeks as if she has the power to read my thoughts with the stroke of her fingers. I widen my smile in defense as she studies me with narrowed eyes. Mama is the most intuitive person I know. Not much gets past her.
“Is everything all right, Sofia?” she asks, concern coloring her words. “Has something else happened?” Her brows knit together. “Your father tells me nothing.”
Not wanting her to worry needlessly, I shake my head. “Nope, it’s all good.”
Tilting her head to the side, her gaze continues to probe mine. “How is it with Roman at the house?”
“It’s fine. There are no problems.” I give her a careless shrug to throw her off the scent.
But she’s much too clever for her own good, and follows up with, “Are you two getting along any better?”
I roll my eyes. “We’re fine, Mama. Roman is Roman, just like he’s always been. We don’t spend much time together. I’m at school most of the day and only see him in the evenings.” I feel bad for lying, but I can’t tell her that he sleeps in my bed every night. If she continues her interrogation, she’ll see through my paper-thin façade and everything festering inside will pour out in a torrent.
She makes a clicking sound with her tongue. “Sofia?”
I blink back to our conversation. “Yes, Mama?”
“I’m not sure what’s going on, but you don’t seem like yourself this morning. If something’s bothering you, tell me.” She pauses, giving me ample time to jump in and spill my guts.
It’s a tried-and-true tactic. When I was a teenager, I would usually implicate myself for any committed infractions. All my mother or father had to do was silently stare at me for about three minutes, and I’d sweat bullets before folding like a house of cards.
To a certain extent, I’m still like that.
I keep my lips firmly pressed together. As much as I want to confide in her, I need to go it alone. “I told you before, everything is fine. It’s been a long week. I’m tired.”
She pats my cheek affectionately. “You work too hard.”
I glance around the elegant shop, taking in the mirrored tables, crystal chandeliers, and mannequins dressed in the latest designs. I need to change the subject before Mama begins discussing my dating situation or the grandbabies she’s not-so-patiently waiting for. “Has Grace arrived yet?”
“They’ve already whisked her away to a fitting room to try on the first gown. I’m sure she’ll be out shortly.”
We sit on the couch as a saleswoman in a fitted suit, her hair pulled back into a tight chignon, offers us flutes of champagne from a gleaming silver platter.
A second, older woman dressed similarly comes out of the fitting room clapping her hands. “Ladies! Are we ready? I think you’ll both agree that Grace looks absolutely stunning in this Badgley Mischka gown.”
My mother and I turn as Grace joins us in the main salon. Mama gasps, her hands flying to her mouth. And it’s easy to see why. Grace is a vision in a strapless, blush-colored ball gown with a gathered bodice and dramatic ruffled skirt. The saleswoman spreads out the cathedral-length train around her. Grace’s blond hair has been swept up high with a few curls left to frame her face.
Tears sting my eyes. “You look like you’ve just stepped out of a fairytale.”
The smile on her face grows impossibly wide. Her cheeks look like they might burst.
I glance over at my mother, who has yet to say a word. Wetness shines in her eyes as she stares at her future daughter-in-law. I slip my fingers into her hand and give a little squeeze as Grace gathers up her train so she can twirl in front of the three-paneled mirror.
“I know this is the first dress you’ve tried on this morning, but I can’t imagine anything else fitting you more perfectly,” Mama says, her voice thick with emotion. “You look like an angel.”
“We’ve picked out three others for her to try on,” the saleswoman chimes in. “A bride rarely finds her dream gown the first time around, but I have to agree that this one may be a winner. We’ll try on the others, just to be sure.”
Looking dazed, Mama nods. “Of course.”
With the help of the staff, Grace returns to the fitting room to try on the next dress.
I take a sip of champagne. My stomach convulses when the fizzy liquid hits it. I set the flute on the end table and sand as the two pieces of lightly buttered toast I ate this morning revolt.
“Sofia? What’s the matter?”
I wave off Mama’s concern. “I’m going to use the restroom.”
“You look pale.” She frowns. “Are you feeling all right?”
“I’m fine.” But I’m not. “I think the champagne just hit me wrong. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
With that, I dash to the restroom around the corner. By the time I get inside, I’m so queasy that I’m worried I might vomit. I rack my brain for an explanation.
Did I eat something funky?
Do I have food poisoning?
Or is this the flu?
I work in a school where bugs and viruses are always floating around. Last year, it seemed like I caught something every other week. My immune system has improved this year, and I’ve been healthier.
I stagger to the sink, gripping the edge with both hands while hanging my head. I close my eyes and focus on drawing fresh air into my lungs. It takes a few minutes for the nausea to subside. Once it does, I glance in the mirror and notice that my mother was right—I look ghastly. I splash cool water on my face and reapply lipstick and blush to add some color.
“Feeling better?” Mama asks when I return to the showroom.
“Much.” I sit on the other end of the couch, leaving room between us. I don’t want to get too close in case I’ve come down with an illness. “I’m not sure what that was about, but it seems to have passed.”
She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Good. I’m glad you could join us this morning.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it, Mama.” Grace is like a sister to me, and I’m honored to be part of this special day.
My mother gives me a wink and thrusts a glossy magazine into my hands. “It’s never too early to start thinking about your bridesmaid dress.” She points to a girl on the page. “I was thinking about something along these lines.”
I groan and sink into the cushions.