Page 12 of Unholy Union
The bridal shop attendant is on his payroll. Which means she’s already received very specific instructions from the Valente camp on what they wantmygown to look like.
As Tessa joins my side, still haughty from her confrontation with the paps, I’m more distracted by how matronly I look.
The dress they’ve put me in reads more asmotherof the bride than the bride herself. It’s old-fashioned and dull, showing hardly a patch of skin anywhere. The satin fabric is stiff and heavy and swallows up my slender frame. The cut does nothing for my shape and the bodice is plain while the three-quarter sleeves feel restrictive.
It’s as if the Valentes went with the most puritanical dress they could find.
Perfect for the little virginal daughter forced to marry their asshole son.
I roll my eyes and shake my head at the reflection in the mirror. The bridal attendant comes up on my other side and beams wide.
“It looks gorgeous on you! I just think we need to take it in a touch at the waist. But it’s so perfect for you! Something elegant and timeless.”
“More like something out of the Stone Age,” Tessa mutters from my left, and I snicker.
“I’ll be back with the pins. Hold that stance just like that.” The attendant rushes off to go fetch the sewing pins.
I turn to Tessa. “This is a nightmare.”
“It’s not a nightmare,” Tessa says, crossing her arms. “It’s a hostage situation.”
“For life. Do you think I’ll go free if Cato Valente chokes on a cannoli and dies?”
“Knowing the men in our world, they’ll marry you to Don Valente next.”
“He’s already married. I guess that’s some comfort.”
“There’s still the role of mistress,” she says, shuddering. Casting a glance over our shoulders, she checks for the attendant and lowers her voice. “You know, there’s still time to run. We can fake our deaths. Vanish to Antarctica. It’ll be a little cold, but I’ll pack some thermal blankets and plenty of mulled wine. We’ll be fine.”
I roll my eyes. “And then what? Mate with some polar bears? I’ll pass. Cato Valente is an insufferable, garbage human being, but I’d rather spare myself the frostbite.”
“If I ever have to marry a man like that, put me out of my misery. The least they could’ve done is let you pick your own damn dress,” she says, sighing. “My friend Viola—the one who went into bridal design—would have you looking like a fuckingqueen, Sab. I’m talking thigh slit up to your hip and low-cut neckline that makes your tits lookah-mazing.”
Before I can answer, my phone buzzes from the ottoman nearby. I glance down to find it’s another slew of texts from Matteo.
Ever since he found out I was being married off to Cato, he’s been spamming my phone 24/7.
still going with it???
still time to back out and elope w/ me instead
say the word brina
i’ll swing by in my Camaro and pick u up
“Two marriage proposals in one week,” I say dryly. “Don’t I feel special?”
Tessa peers over my shoulder, then makes a sound of disgust. “Ugh, I swear. Is there anyone in the world more delusional and annoying than he is?”
No less than five seconds later, Tessa’s question is answered.
The door to the bridal shop swings open, and in struts none other than Giada De Rossi.
“Oh great,” Tessa whispers. “Speaking of delulu and annoying…”
The long, willowy, raven-haired ex of Cato Valente casts us a smirk hello.
“I thought I would find Cato’s little bride here.” She pauses to allow her gaze to sweep the length of me, cruel amusement flickering over her pinched features. “Nice dress. It’s very… 1982.”
