Page 24 of Of Oaths and Secrets

“Then it’s important.”

I frown, confused by his sudden concern. He couldn’t escape the engagement party soon enough, and except for the text appointing Lucia to me, I hadn’t heard from him all week. “I haven’t heard from you in a week.”

There’s a brief pause on the other end, and I wonder if I’ve caught him off guard. “Would you have liked to?”

I shrug, knowing he can’t see me.

“You didn’t call me either,” he finally says, his tone a mix of challenge and something else—curiosity, perhaps.

He’s right, of course. I didn’t reach out. I’ve been trying so hard to navigate this on my own, not wanting to seem dependent or weak.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice unexpectedly soft. “But I don’t want to hear about you getting pushed around. You want something, you get it. If anyone’s got a problem with that, they’ll deal with me.”

I glance over at Lucia, who catches my eye. She gives me a subtle wink, and suddenly, everything clicks into place. She wasn’t as disinterested as she seemed. She’s the one who texted Rafaele, ensuring he was aware of what was happening. She’s not just here as a formality—she’s my ally.

“I understand,” I finally say into the phone, a small smile tugging at my lips as I look at Lucia, who returns to her phone with a faint smile. “I’ll get the dress I want.”

“Good,” Rafaele replies, his voice softening just slightly.

I’m about to offer the same courtesy, but then I stop, realizing there’s nothing he could possibly need from me. “Okay. I’ll let you go now. Have a good day.” I hand the phone back to Maria, who is now looking at me with a newfound respect.

“All settled?” she asks, her tone noticeably warmer.

“Yes, I’m taking this dress.”

Maria and my mother smile, though it seems forced. Not that I care. I turn to the saleswoman. “I’ll take this one.”

She claps her hands with a bright smile. “This is wonderful.” It’s only then that I realize I didn’t even look at the price tag. When I do, I almost choke on my saliva. Sixteen thousand dollars for a dress? This is insanity.

“We’ll get the seamstress in, but before that, let’s work on the shoes. What type of heels would you like?”

Ah, here comes the first sore point. “Honestly, I’m not big on heels. Do you have any flats? Something in lavender or white would be perfect—just a little something to go with the dress.”

The saleswoman nods but hesitates slightly. “We do have flats, but they’re usually more for taller brides. You are quite… umm?—”

“Short?” I offer with a dry smile. It’s no secret that at five-one, I’m what you might call vertically challenged.

The saleswoman gives me a tentative smile. “Yes, exactly. Heels can add a bit of height, and they help to elongate the silhouette.”

I glance at my reflection in the mirror, then at the dress, which, despite everything, still feels perfect. “I understand, but I prefer comfort. Let’s see the flats.”

Maria sighs, clearly not entirely pleased with my decision. “Maybe you should look at the heels too, Nora. You are short and a little round… Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” she adds quickly, her tone a bit forced. “But, you know, your wedding is the day you’re supposed to look your best.”

Lucia, who has been mostly silent until now, rests her phone on her lap. “Do you want another call from Rafaele, Aunt Maria?”

Maria’s eyes narrow in warning, but she quickly shifts her attention back to me. “But if you really want flats, go ahead,” Maria says, her voice tight, like she’s swallowing something unpleasant.

My mother, ever the critic, merely shakes her head and makes her way to the champagne table, helping herself to yet another flute—whether it’s her third or fourth, I’ve lost count.

Lucia glances at me, a small smile playing on her lips. “You look amazing in this dress, Nora. Who cares about the shoes? Those flats are just gonna make you look even more like one of those bombshells from the fifties—absolutely killing it,” she says before returning to her phone, her brief words of encouragement like a lifeline.

Her comment surprises me, and a warmth spreads through me that I haven’t felt in a long time. I glance back at the mirror, seeing myself with a fresh perspective. Maybe Lucia’s right.Maybe I can own this look, own this day, and make it my own, even if it’s not the traditional image everyone expects.

I settle for a pair of white satin flats with pearls on them. I’m self-conscious as I reach in my bag for the credit card that Rafaele gave me, which makes both my mother and Maria raise their eyebrows.

“I had no idea your future husband was of such a generous nature. Maybe he’s not the worst pick after all,” my mother says with a fake laugh.

“Are we done?” I ask as we exit the store. I’m exhausted and craving a nap, though I can’t say that out loud. A twenty-two-year-old woman isn’t supposed to need a nap.

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