Strong-willed, badass and bounded by the chains of an arranged marriage, Isabela Arias dreams of the freedom to live and love as she chooses.
Being sold to the Italian mafia wasn't exactly on Isabela's to do list...
As she's forced to navigate the r...
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Wedding dresses.
The life-changing moment for every bride. It's the same in every movie — finding the magical dress to make them feel like a princess. They stare at themselves in the mirror in awe, twirling around like they're in a fairytale.
That isn't possible for me.
No matter if I find an extraordinary dress, the person I'm meeting at the end of the aisle ruins it. Damien wrecks every aspect of my life. Thank god, he's too busy in Silay to fly out here for my dress fitting. However, that doesn't mean Damien hasn't picked out his preferred dresses. Or graces me with the presence of his infuriating family.
"Isabela!" Mama Moltisanti yells, banging her knuckles on the door. "I brought two more dresses for you to try on! They're Damien's favorite."
I mentally bang my head against the wall and consider leaping out the window. Death surely would beat this, right? Cracking the door open, Mama Moltisanti squeezes through the cracks with her arms full of dresses, crushing her back from the weight. I would help, but I don't care enough.
It might make me an awful person for not helping an elderly lady, but she birthed the spawn of the Devil. The dresses drop from her hands, slipping into a massive pile on the ground of the dressing room.
She heaves in and out, wiping the sweat on her forehead. "Those were heavier than I thought. Try on some more, darling! I'm going to go get another glass of wine."
"Great!" I say with sarcasm.
Grabbing one of the dresses on the floor, my arm nearly plops off like a doll piece from the weight of the fabric. From a single glance, I already know I will hate it. A ruffly feathery strap dangles across my shoulders, connecting at the waist to form a train. It's horrendous. How did this end up in Damien's top ten picks? He had to be high. I don't even want anyone to see me in it, but Mama Moltisanti will come in and check to make sure I try on every single one.
Shuffling my feet to the podium, I sigh, staring at myself with disgust. "Option two-hundred and twenty-four."
Mama Moltisanti gasps. "Oh... That's something."
Rumbling laughter explodes behind me, along with the pounding of a pair of legs. "What the fuck is this? You look like a fucking flamingo. Who picked this?"
My resting bitch face shines bright. "Your brother."
"Of course," he scoffs, shaking his head. "Damien always had poor taste." I blink, twisting my head to the side and staring at Lorenzo indifferently. "Except for you, sweetheart." He winks, flashing a million-dollar smile. "You're his only good decision."
My stomach churns with nausea. "Wow. How nice of you. Damien does set the bar really high."
Lorenzo rests his tumbler on the table and boosts himself to his full length, causing me to crane my neck. His blonde hair is gelled to the left side of his head. It's more like a strawberry blonde from the amount of gel on it. Lorenzo's hair is so stiff-- I think a bug can run into it and die from the force.
