Page 116 of For Pleasure Or Worse

“What have you guys been doing all morning?” Mia asked.

He listed it all on his fingers. “We went out for breakfast, hung by the pool, played a little bocce ball. Sam went for a run, and Angelo was still asleep the last time I checked.”

“The ceremony is in two hours,” Anna stressed.

“I’ll make sure he’s there, Momma D.” Frankie reached into his pocket and took a white envelope out of it, waving it in my direction. “For you. From the mister.”

The pulse in my neck thrummed and warmth crept across my cheeks. I shot my arm out and made grabby hands until he brought it over to me. It was a small white card, printed with two delicate gold rings on the outside, and when I opened it, I recognized Mateo’s handwriting.

“We’ll finish this after.” The makeup artist stepped away with a warm smile.

I swallowed a hard lump forming rapidly in my throat. I didn’t want to cry this early, but I was an emotional woman with easily provoked tear glands. Plus, ugly crying in front of a room full of people was as embarrassing as it was unattractive, and the videographer was laser-focused on me. Steadying myself with a deep breath, I silently read the letter.

Natalia,

My world will forever be split into two parts; there was before you, and now there’s after. I know even in the next life I’ll crawl to wherever your flowers are planted to water them. I’ll end up on your doorstep somehow ringing the bell. We’ll be two butterflies circling one another in a field, or two worms digging side by side in the dirt. If you’re a falling leaf I’ll be the wind that carries you, and if you’re a passing face on a train I’ll recognize you. My soul is yours to consume, my body yours to own, and my heart beats only because you bring it to life. You are as much a part of me as the blood in my veins. Mine to cherish, to hold, to possess, to love. From now until the ends of the earth, Tally. I promise to be your warmth in thecold, your torch through dark tunnels, the man who follows you into the water when you want to jump or wades at the edge waiting for you when you want to swim. The wolf beside you howling at the moon.

For pleasure or worse.

I love you, Natalia Duran.

How’s that for poetry?

P.S. Don’t cry, you know there’s only one way I like to ruin your makeup.

Big fat teardrops were cascading down my face before I even got to the final line, falling and ricocheting onto the card. I read it again, and then again after that, each time thinking I might keep my composure and fooling myself. When I finally got it together I folded the message back up, slipping it somewhere safe, for me and only me.

The makeup artist told me that crying as much as I did gave my skin a dewy glow that couldn’t have been recreated by her products. So in the end, it worked out better than planned. In fact, I was inspired to cry as much as possible for the remainder of the day if it meant my natural blush could have its moment in the sun.

I sat back while the hairstylist took over, removing all the tight curlers from my long dark locks. It was no shock how hot it was in June, even being on the coastline, and the temperature for the evening wasn’t dropping below eighty degrees. I wanted my hair off my shoulders and back, to not have to worry about the wind whipping through the beach and sending it in a hundred different tangled directions during the ceremony, to be able to dance like no one was watching at the reception, and formy dress to be the center of attention—all while maintaining a flawlessly messy updo.

This displeased my mother greatly.

“Curls,” she protested, fluffing the back of my head. “You have such luxurious hair, Talia. It’s so much more feminine to leave it long.”

“I think it’ll be just as good pinned back,” I rebuked.

She frowned at me in the mirror. “What do you girls think?”

Mom opened the floor to my sisters and the only thing she received was uncomfortable humming. That was a complete one-eighty from my god-awful dress fitting so many months ago. No one was outright taking her side, and that was equivalent to catching a stray bullet for Mom. Her ego was immediately struck. She wasn’t used to that.

“Camilla?” she pressed.

My sister popped a grape into her mouth and shrugged. “I think a low bun is trendy.”

“Big curls are timeless,” Mom fought back. “Your face looks rounder when your hair is pulled back. Length elongates the jaw.” She turned to the poor hairstylist retreating away farther and farther by the second. “Tell her.”

A tiny scoff shot out of my throat. “It’s my day, shouldn’t I get to choose how I look?”

“Yes,” Phee cut in. “Totally agree.”

Mia and Bella nodded. There was a blood vessel twitching in the side of my mom’s neck, threatening to burst.

“I don’t want you to regret it when you’re looking at photos from today wishing you would have listened to your mother. No one else is going to tell you what you need to hear.”

My jaw clenched, and I didn’t even try to hide the roll of my eyes. “You’re impossible sometimes.”

“It’s my job to be.”

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