Page 12 of For Pleasure Or Worse

“It’s about security, Talia. God forbid this doesn’t all work out for you, because you’ve become entirely dependent on Mateo to keep you off the street.”

Keeping our content creating a secret was never an issue, because no one ever asked. No one ever cared. But having togrin and bear it knowing how independent I truly was made me bitter. I could see where Mom’s worry came from, but there was also something so disingenuous about only caring when there was a ring on my finger.

Before I could say something I’d regret, a lovely young woman with a measuring tape around her neck and a pin cushion fastened to her wrist spawned at the edge of the viewing floor.

Her blond bob wiggled as she took in everyone on the couch until she had to focus more intently on differentiating the sea of white between us four Russo women. “Good afternoon everyone, I’m May.” She waved with both hands. “Who is my bride?”

I stood up to shake May’s hand. “That’s me.”

“Let me steal you away for a few minutes and get you in a gown. Don’t get too emotional out here, ladies, but there are tissues on the tables if you need them!”

Despite having a dress picked out already, I tried on whatever fugly, ridiculous thing was hanging on the mystery rack to placate my mother for half an hour. That way when I finally put on the gown I’d had shipped to the store specifically, I could sell the fact that it was pure coincidence.

I was shuffled into a room and stripped down, every limb shoved into a jungle of tulle and ribbon, bodice cinched like a medieval corset. I took one look at my reflection, at the ballgown of my nightmares that needed nothing more than a pair of elbow-length white gloves to turn me into Mia Thermopolis, and blanched.

There was no way I couldmove, let alone dance in it. It would take me more time to get in and out of a limousine without ripping the fabric on the door hinges than it would to say our vows. Never mind the heat of Key West in June and the gymnastics it would take just to go to the bathroom. I wouldhave to wear a diaper to my wedding. I would have to voluntarilypeemyself at my wedding.

Mia and Bella’s faces screwed into narrow amusement the moment I emerged from the dressing room. Making matters worse, I tripped over the ledge of the circular pedestal in front of the mirrortwicebefore Anna and the dress consultant leaped to my rescue to lift the twenty pounds of material around my knees.

“You look like a princess,” Mom said.

“I look like you just cut the rubber bands from around my arms and neck and took me out of my cardboard box.”

“I think I actually did have a Barbie with a dress like that.” Mia pointed at me. “And she left Ken at the altar and went and scissored her other Barbie friend in the backseat of her convertible.”

My saucer eyes swept to Mateo’s mother apologetically.

“It is a beautiful dress,” Anna said, unperturbed.

“But it’s notthedress,” I replied. “It’s too big, too heavy, too…”

“Preteen wet dream,” Bella finished. “Nobody wants to fuck you in that.”

It was like watching a trainwreck happen in slow motion. Mateo’s mom was getting the full Russo treatment from top to bottom. There was nothing I could do to keep my mother’s misplaced opinions and my sisters’ unfiltered commentary from colliding and starting a fire.

“My son would do you in a chicken suit covered in grease, honey,” Anna shot back to the shock of absolutely everyone. My jaw unhinged and Mia’s eyes glimmered in satisfaction. “Everyone knows you can’t choose the first dress you try on. Let’s see another.”

“Agreed.” My mother clapped twice. “The winner is in there somewhere, Talia, you just need an open mind. What about something with a train?”

My eyes flickered to hers in the mirror. “I don’t want a train.”

“A train is classy,” she argued. “Just like the veil.”

“I’m not wearing a veil either.”

“Next you’ll say you don’t want your father to walk you down the aisle!” She threw up her hands.

“Trains get stepped on, dragged through the mud, and end up looking filthy and tattered halfway through the night. Then all anyone is doing is pointing and whispering about how dirty the dress is, and how hard it’s going to be to dry clean like I’d ever wear it again.”

“You could get it preserved,” May suggested. “Put it in a beautiful box, frame it in a closet so that you can look at it whenever you want!”

“So every time I walk into my closet I think the Corpse Bride is there to murder me until I flip on the lights?”

“Trains are kind of out, she’s right,” Bella agreed. “But the veil is still doable.”

“A veil is an old, outdated, and ridiculous symbol of the patriarchy.” I crossed my arms over my jeweled bodice. “So men knew they were getting a pure, modest,virginwife—who, let’s be honest back in those days, was probably the ripe age of thirteen.”

“The theatrics with you, Natalia.” Mom sighed.

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