That was a fact. I did look amazing, and I knew Massimo would think the same. The longer I kept looking at myself in the mirror, the clearer it became that I was really getting married. Slowly but surely, happiness came with that thought.
“All right, take it off me unless you want me to start crying,” I said, stepping down from the dais and trailing the train and the veil behind me.
When we freed me from the dress and I returned to the main room, the table by the sofa was already laden with various seafood delicacies. We sat on white chairs and dug into our dinner.
“It’ll be ready tomorrow,” Emi said between bites. “Domenico will bring it to the mansion. I hope you’ll lend him to me for this one night.”
I laughed, hugging Olga, who was sitting next to me.
“I already have a companion for lonely nights, so you can have him.” I turned to the young Italian. “Maybe it’s even better that you stay and watch over her, so she finishes on time.”
“I’m always watching someone. Either my brother’s runaway girlfriend or my own, always sewing something new. That’s my fate, it seems. One is a don, the other a seamstress.”
Emi dug an elbow into his side, shooting him a provocative glare. “You don’t have to watch over me if you don’t like it.”
Domenico leaned toward her and whispered something into her ear, making her lick her lips lusciously. I was jealous. Not of my assistant, or rather future brother-in-law, but of the fact that they had each other and could enjoy one another openly. Massimo and me? It was highly likely we wouldn’t be able to behave like this with other people present.
“What about me?” Olga asked. “With all those things we bought me, there still isn’t a single thing that would match your dress.”
Emi put down her fork, chewing a piece of octopus, and went to one of the hangers. “I can see the hooker style is something you’re familiar with,” she said, returning with a dress. “But it won’t do this time. Not in the church Massimo picked for you. Try this on.”
Olga made a face, but took the dress. Before she vanished into the dressing room, she called out, “Look how I sacrifice my values for you, Laura.” When she returned and stopped by the mirror, she had a change of heart. The dress she was wearing was the same color as mine, but had a different length and shape—it was a pencil dress with shoulder straps made of delicate matte silk. Very elegant. Perfect for Olga’s shape—large, round backside, flat belly, and large breasts.
“I’m glad there won’t be a party after the wedding. I can barely walk in this,” she said. “Only good for slow dancing, but it sure looks awesome.”
I sighed with relief, seeing my friend looking so good, knowing we were ready for my big day.
When we finished our food, it was getting late, and Taormina was already shrouded in darkness.
“Laura,” Domenico said as I was saying goodbye to Emi. “If anything happens, call me.”
“What is there to happen?” Olga asked, annoyed. “You’re worse than her mother.”
“I’ll walk you to the car,” he offered.
“You know what? I’m not that tired. I’d like to go for a walk. How about you, Olga?” I asked.
“Why not? It’s warm outside, and I’ve been here for two days and haven’t seen anything.”
Domenico didn’t look so happy with our idea, but couldn’t exactly say no, especially since we had our security team. “Give me a moment. I’ll call the guys. When you go downstairs, wait for them if they’re not already there. Or… you know what? I’ll walk you downstairs.”
“You’re impossible, Domenico,” I cried, pushing him through the door. “I’m nearly thirty and I’ve always coped without a band of armed men. I’ll be all right, so quit being so overprotective.”
The Italian stood watching me, arms crossed on his chest. “Just wait for them, please,” he hissed as I slammed the door shut.
“See you tomorrow. Bye!” Olga shouted, and we ran down the stairs.
We waited a moment for the stone-faced bodyguards and headed down a street chosen at random.
The evening was beautiful and warm, and the streets of the small town were filled with tourists and locals alike. Taormina buzzed with life, music, and the smells of Italian cuisine.
“Would you ever move here?” I asked Olga, walking arm in arm with her.
“Here?” she asked, surprised. “I don’t know… nothing really keeps me in Poland, but there’s nothing for me here aside from you.”
“Is that too little?”
“I don’t know, but remember how much time it took me to move to Warsaw? I don’t like changes. And I’m afraid of drastic ones.”
Right. It had taken me ages to talk her into moving with me.
I had been living in Warsaw for the past eight years, having moved there to escape Piotr’s pathological love. When I finally relocated to the capital, I had nowhere to live, and the job I had been offered was right for me in every aspect aside from the financial. My mother still couldn’t accept that I had chosen the option that I had, but I knew it had been the right thing to do. There had been two opportunities for me. The first one had been a job as a manager of a five-star hotel, but with the wages of a part-time worker. The pros had been that I would get my own business cards and a boost to my ego. On the other hand, there had been that exclusive beauty salon that had wanted me as a new stylist—that would mean I’d have to serve rich, haughty old crones. The paradox had been that as a manager I earned three times less than what they had offered me at the salon. In the end, the lure of a prospective career that would grow had won me over and I went with the hotel. After that there had been other hotels and other failed relationships—when you work in that industry, your job is your life. There’s no time for anything else. It can be awesome if you’re single, but when you’re in a relationship, it just doesn’t work. The choice between your job and the person you love is a constant struggle. It’s exhausting. So you fuck up either your relationship or your job. In the end, I decided to be single and climb the steps of the corporate ladder, finally reaching the position of sales manager. That’s when something broke inside me. I had saved a lot of money, so I could quit my job and look for something more satisfactory. Martin had supported me in that decision. He used to say they were using me at work. The truth is that he had simply needed a full-time cook and cleaning lady at home.
“You know, Laura.” Olga’s voice brought me back to reality. “I can come here once in a while when the child is born. I know next to nothing about kids, though. They scare me. They shit themselves all the time. But I’ll manage somehow. For you.”
“Better tell me how am I going to manage?” I snapped, shaking my head. “Normally I would call Mom to come to the rescue, but if she sees all this—the armed bodyguards, the house, the cars… she’ll kill either me or herself. Or them.”
“How about Massimo’s mother? Won’t she help you out?”
“His parents are dead. They died in a boat accident. It was probably an attack, but it was never proved that anyone else had something to do with the explosion. Massimo told me his mom was incredible. She loved him very much. He doesn’t like to talk about his parents, but when he does, his eyes change. And his dad? Well, you know… head of the family. More of an authority figure than any kind of emotional support. The only member of his family I’ve met is Domenico.”