XXXII

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ELENA CASSANO

"Holy shit, Mamma!"

"Hold still, Elena."

"I am holding still. It's fucking tight, mamma!" My retort was met with a swift thwack on my shoulder. I hissed, glowering at her in the full-length mirror. "It won't fit."

She glanced up at the mirror and yanked up the zipper trying to squeeze me into a dress at least two sizes too small. "It will." It had been like this all morning with Mamma trying to get me ready for Sunday's lunch.

"Look at this," Mamma snapped, tugging down on my hemline but it was rather pointless. "Dio Mio! All this ass and boob, no wonder it does not fit."

"Or it's not meant for me, mamma."

Mamma pinned me with a menacing glare of her own. "Oh hush. It's all that pasta you've been eating lately." She was finally able to tug the hemline low enough to cover the curve of my ass, goodness gracious.

Mamma's hand clamped my shoulder as she nodded to the vanity, encouraging me to take a look at my reflection but I don't need to.

I couldn't afford to be down on such a beautiful day, circumstances aside.

"You'll be fine, bella. He'll treat you right."

I fought the urge to break out in a loud laugh but instead I covered it up with a cough. The bitterness of the whole situation swirling in the pit of my stomach. "Then you marry him, mamma."

I was met with another loud whack on the back of my head and I groaned out loud.

She muttered something under her breath about how I needed to be saved. Refusing to utter another word to her, I picked up my phone and stormed past her and into the hallway.

It was Sunday afternoon and we had returned back from Mass—which I only attended because it was required. I didn't even remember the last time I had been to confession and I had a hell of things to confess about.

Everyone headed over to the house after Mass where Papà would be holding his Sunday's luncheon. I unwrapped the candy wrapper inside my purse as I slipped out into the patio. Breathing in the fresh, Sunday air.

        My gaze coasted over the newly set patio the maids were perfecting. A seemingly white lace tablecloth ran down the length of the dining table, adorned with silk napkins and bell jars filled with carefully stacked pumpkins and squash.

Outside the French doors, the sky was shining brightly than the Pacific Ocean, the warm weather caressing my skin like soft kisses.

Lively jazz music drifted from under the swinging doors of the dining room and filled the patio. It would be perfect until it eventually wasn't.

Alessio sat next on my left while Adriano's empty seat was placed on the right side of me. There was another seat across which I supposed belonged to a certain Russian, but I doubt he was even going to attend my engagement party. Then again, he always did whatever he wanted.

I was sipping on a glass of red wine in a black dress that was way too tight courtesy of my mamma, my heels too high as usual, with a face thick of makeup mostly listening to the gossips of my papà's men about the marriage of Alessio and the Costello girl.

Half of them bet the Costello would pull out of the marriage before they ever made it to the altar.

I placed a bet as well for the fun of it. The Costello girl didn't look like a woman who wanted to get married but then again who wished for a marriage of conivience?

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