Destined

Chapter Three

Elena

I couldn't stop crying, and the poor lady doing my makeup seemed more anxious than angry as she calmed me down. Nonna stayed close to me, holding my hands and offering as much comfort as she could. My mother and I had fought the night before, and she proved she was still angry in the far corner of the room as she downed an entire bottle of wine.

I had begged her the other night to get Enzo to call it off, but she was still mourning for my father, and our fight escalated, and our screams grew. Enzo interrupted our argument by dragging me out of my mother's room and back to my room.

He had gripped my elbow so hard that he left bruises, and my fingers skirted over them absentmindedly. I didn't know what was worse, the bruises or the fact that his abuse didn't relent.

He threatened me that night, and his words ran like knives through my heart. I sat in a wedding dress with tears falling down my face, and I still couldn't wrap my head around the fact that I was getting married in a few hours.

It was cruel of Enzo to do this to me and even crueler, he waited for our father to pass to force me into this marriage. My father would have never done this to me, and the thought of my father had me crying harder.

Pamila set her makeup brush down on the table and pulled me in for a hug, rubbing my back and attempting to comfort me. But it didn't comfort me. I didn't want to get married to some man I didn't know. I didn't want to get married and be shipped to Florida. My life was here in Henderson with my family.

I couldn't fathom a life where I couldn't see my mother, my nonna, my cousins or wake up and get dressed to head to the bakery and bake. My heart ached tremendously, and even though I was still shaking, the crying somewhat seized, and Pamila pulled away.

Wiping my tears away with a wipe, she began the process all over again. Finally, I was able to stop crying long enough for her to finish my makeup. She began working on my hair, and I refused to even look in the mirror. I didn't want to see myself.

I wasn't a blushing bride. I wasn't a happy bride. I was being forced into this, and I hated it. I hated the dress, the flowers, the makeup, and the hair. I hated the revenue, and I hated my brother.

How could he do this to me? Didn't he love me? I knew we weren't always so close, but we were family. He was my brother, my only brother, and yet he felt no remorse. He didn't regret anything.

I sniffled as Pamila did my hair, adding too many pins to count and offering me small smiles. My nonna squeezed my hand in reassurance, and I looked down at our joined hands. She was weak and fragile, yet she was stronger than me. My nonna was a blessing, and I love her so very much.

"Starai bene." She murmured in a shaky voice.

(Translation: You'll be fine.)

Her pearly white hair was in a neat bun, and she was in a knitted two-piece skirt and blazer. My nonna hated jewelry and only ever wore her wedding band around her finger. She was the most sophisticated person I ever knew, and I treasured her with all my heart. I kissed both of her hands and placed them on my chest. 

My chin trembled, and I smiled through the sadness. "I will be," I assured her.

Thirty minutes later, Pamila was pulling away and tidying up my veil from behind as she encouraged me to look in the mirror. It's not that I wasn't beautiful or that I was insecure. I wasn't. I loved myself and learned to love my body.

It's that I was in this beautiful wedding lace-sleeved silk dress that I didn't want to be in. I held a bouquet of flowers that I hated. I hated roses. Pamila had tamed my wild curls, forcing them into a textured low updo.