Page 117 of For Pleasure Or Worse

I heaved out a sigh. “I’m having it done how I want it.”

Mom didn’t get it, and never would unless someone spoon-fed it to her on a gold platter. There was no getting through to a person so deeply invested in their own self-importance. Sistine Russo had great moments in motherhood overshadowed by the simple unwillingness to take a step back from underneath the shining disco ball at the center of the room. Sometimes I wished I’d known my mom before she had kids. I wondered if she was always this way, or if it was a cry for help. A vie for attention she’d been fighting for since having four daughters.

She crossed her arms petulantly. “You have long, beautiful hair that you’re going to hide away, Natalia. You might as well just cut it all off.”

I mimicked her posture and pushed out of the chair.

What a fine fucking idea.

There was no time to dissect how crazy it was, how my first instinct when overwhelmed was to do something manic like jump in a pool with all my clothes on, and this was fitting in the same unhinged category. I’d already decided that it didn’t matter if everything went wrong today, anyway. I was embracing that. Maybe a gesture like this was what it would take to finally,finallybreak through to my mother.

Without putting any more thought into it I grabbed the pair of styling scissors tucked into the bag beside me in my dominant hand and twisted my hair into a ponytail with my other.

“Oh my fucking god, Talia, what are you doing?” Mia stood like she was going to stop me, but it was too late. I chopped away at the hanging hair and felt it skim my shins and fall at my feet.

When I snipped through the last piece the room fell utterly silent.

“I guess there’s only one option now,” I quipped, shaking my hair out like a dog.

Camilla popped another grape into her mouth. “This wedding needs its own reality TV show.”

The video crew and the beauty team were trying to become one with the walls and I couldn’t blame them. I would end up in a trending Instagram reel as the bride who lost her shit and gave herself a jagged bob an hour before her wedding. Mom still hadn’t recovered her jaw from where it had fallen to the center of her chest. I delicately put my hands on her shoulders, staring into her warm brown eyes and seeing myself in the reflection. It might have been a bit dramatic, but I succeeded in my intention.

“I love you,” I started. “But I’m notyou. I’ve been trying to tell you this my whole life. I want to make you proud, Mom. But I want you to look at me and be proud of what you see because I’mnota mirror image. Because I became something different, all on my own, and I didn’t need a handout or a connection to the Russo name. Because I found happiness in my own imperfect ways. I don’t want you to loosen the leash, I want you to let go of it.”

She inhaled a short breath, swallowing it down, and her fingers crept up my shoulders and tugged lightly at the freshly cut ends of my hair.

“We can fix it,” I told her, then turned toward the hairdresser. “We can fix it, right?” She gave me a weak thumbs-up.

“It’s very French,” Ophelia noted.

I sucked in a hissing breath. “Yikes.”

“I am very proud of you,” Mom said then. “I’m only ever trying to do my best and help you succeed. Sometimes that’s the only way I know how to be close to you, but it falls short.”

“I read something once that said, “Be kind to your mother because they’re also living life for the first time.” I should remember that. There’s time for everything. Change, growth,” I added with a grin, motioning to my head. “You did your job with me, and I think I turned out pretty okay—for the most part. Maybe the spontaneity could use a little reevaluation.”

“Everywhere it counts.” She patted the underside of her eyes dry with the pad of her finger and squeezed my shoulder.

There was more to talk about, a whole world of unpacking under the surface. I had a feeling my mom knew it’d only been scratched as well. As long as she was willing, I was hopeful. Even if the change didn’t happen overnight. At least for the time being I’d unlocked a door that we could step inside.

“I hate to rush anyone,” Phee cut in, fidgeting with her hands, “but we are seriously running low on time to get Nat ready and do photos before the ceremony.”

“Oh, fuck.” I checked the time on my phone. “Quick, bring it in, group hug.” My sisters flitted a short distance across the room and wrapped their arms around us. Ophelia squeezed in, and Anna gussied up to her side. “You guys, too.” I motioned for the photographer, the hairstylist, the makeup artist, and the coordinator. We were all huddled together like a team.

I had no idea how I was going to explain my impulsive new haircut to Mateo, who had seen me five hours before with a mane down my lower back. But I sure knew how to keep it interesting, and walking down the aisle to him was going to be interesting to say the least.

chapter forty-six

Mateo

There werethree instances in my entire life that I felt complete and utter calm. When I was seven, my father carrying me half asleep from the car and tucking me into the warmth of my bed after a whole day at Coney Island. Again in Delta, the day our helicopter went down in South America with Pike in the pilot seat, because in those final moments with my brothers around me I had accepted death.

Then this moment.

Waiting for my bride to walk down the aisle to me.

The ceremony was everything Tally had planned. Cozy yet sophisticated, elegant and effortless. The ocean was the most jaw-droppingly beautiful backdrop to the altar, and a string quartet plucked away at their instruments while everyone was buzzing in anticipation in their seats.

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