76 – The Big Day

76 – The Big Day
Leonor…

Hate. That’s what I feel right now.

Dragging several pounds of wedding dress out of the house, layer after layer of fabric, with some half-hearted help, all I can think about is how much I hate my life. That’s my word of the day. My feeling for everything and everyone, all the time.

And after this long tide of grief and exhaustion, today I woke up smiling, or rather, laughing. Not a normal laugh. I woke up from a nightmare I can’t even remember and started laughing like a lunatic.

It took half an hour and a full liter of water to calm me down. I didn’t drink the water, by the way, it was thrown in my face as a desperate attempt to stop me.

I laughed even harder when I realized my horrible mafia father had splashed me after my controlling mother, the same one who’s about to abandon me, had shaken me until she couldn’t handle my hysteria anymore.

I’m better now. The laughter control part.

The car waiting for me isn’t the same one that took my parents to the ceremony. That’s part of Damien and Leonora’s brilliant little escape plan.

I hate them both too.

What I hate most at this exact moment, though, are these absurdly uncomfortable shoes that will definitely give me blisters if I have to wear them the whole day.

Lucky me, I’ll get to take them off in the car while I flee toward some unknown destination. Next stop: freedom.

It’s everything I ever said I wanted. So why can’t I be happy about it?

“Miss, we need to go before Mrs. Moretti’s cars arrive,” the driver says.

I want to tell him exactly where he can shove that sentence. I take a deep breath. No need to hate the guy driving me to my hateful freedom.

I look around, and whoever was helping me with the dress has vanished. Hate!

“Then could you please help me with this damn dress?” I sound too harsh, not that he seems to care. “Please?” I add, and it doesn’t make me feel any better.

What a wonderful, shitty day.

He finishes helping me, and I curse the attendants who were supposed to bring me to the garage. No one mentioned I’d need assistance getting into this monstrosity of a car, and of course, they all disappeared.

Inside the car, limousine, to be specific, the clock shows the exact time I was supposed to leave. I’m a little late, since I stalled while making sure my parents left first. But early enough to dodge the escort cars that were supposed to follow me.

There’s so much security and “care” that I start to wonder if I’m secretly a judge or maybe a missing princess. I’ve never seen so much fuss over one person.

I shift in my seat. Despite the space, I feel trapped, suffocated by the weight of this dress.

It’s just a fake wedding that’s never going to happen. I didn’t need this much lace and tulle to play pretend.

I crawl awkwardly toward the small window separating me from the driver, slide it open, and stare at his serious face, waiting for him to speak first. He doesn’t.

“Been working for the mafia long?” I ask. It takes him a while to answer.

When I'm about to give up on his answer he finally speaks:

“My whole life.”

His whole life? What does that even mean?

“What do you mean? Did you sign your first contract in the maternity ward?” I regret the joke as soon as it leaves my mouth.

“No. I’m like you. My parents were part of this life, just like their parents, and just like my children and their children will be.”

His words hit me harder than I expected. I remember the couple I saw die at Damien’s hands, at the house of the grandmother I never knew, at least not that I remember. I only remember the shock of that day.

An endless curse, passed from generation to generation.

He’s a killer. No matter that he’s been the one to watch over me this past week, comforting me against my mother’s wishes. Damien kills people. And I doubt those two were his first.

“And what about him?” I ask. “Is Damien a good boss?”

That earns me a faint smile from the driver.

“I don’t work for that branch of the family. I’m loyal to Carlota Moretti. I’m doing this job for her.”

I catch his eyes in the rearview mirror. He must be kidding.

I slam the divider shut, pull out my phone, and text Damien, asking if he sent the right car.

This is supposed to be an escape mission. And if I remember right, Leonora made it very clear that I needed to run from my grandmother, too, not just my fiancé and my wretched father.

He replies quickly: We’ll meet at the arranged location. The real operation happens after that.

I think I get it. Maybe. The plan must be to make me flee in my grandmother’s car so she thinks she’s in control, and then later escape from her too. That must be it. I think.

I’m confused. I open the window again as the driver follows the indicated route. According to the map, we’re heading exactly where we’re supposed to: the escape route.

Maybe the universe, that cosmic bastard, is trying to tell me something. And I can’t ignore it. I need to talk to my mother.

“What’s your name?” I ask. He answers, but I can’t make out the pronunciation. “Okay, listen, I just realized something very important that’s going to change the course of this big day.”

I wait for him to ask what, but he doesn’t.

“Life’s a bitch that fuck everyone over. I think the phrasing is sexist, but I learned it from a guy I dated ages ago, and he was kind of sexist, so I guess it fits.”

I pull off my awful shoes. Sweet relief.

“I need to talk to my mother. So if you could turn around and head back to the wedding, I’d really appreciate it.”

He looks stunned, and completely unwilling to change course.

“Did you hear me?”

“I can’t change the route, miss. I have higher orders to follow.”

Perfect. I’m being kidnapped during my fake kidnapping. Great idea, Leonor. Pretend to be abducted on your wedding day, only to end up actually abducted.

I take a deep breath. Then another. Then another. Doesn’t help. Panic claws at my throat. I threaten to jump out, even try, but the doors are, of course, locked.

I grab whatever I can reach and throw it at him, my uncomfortable shoes. I sincerely hope they hit his face as hard as they hurt my feet.

I grab my phone and call Leonora. She doesn’t answer the first time. Or the second. Finally, on the third try, she picks up.

“Leonor, are you all right? Did you make it to the rendezvous point?” Her voice is low, she must be hiding somewhere to talk to me.

“I can’t do it. I’m not ready. I can’t just leave like this, we didn’t even say goodbye properly. I’m not ready, okay? I just need to see you one more time. I need to say goodbye the right way.”

“My daughter, this is your only chance-”

“No, it’s not. I’m in Carlota’s car. Damien said it was part of the plan, but if you want to know what I think? If I’m just trading one captor for another, then I at least want the damn chance to hug you and say goodbye properly.”

Silence. She doesn’t hang up. The call timer keeps ticking. She must be processing everything.

“Put the driver on the phone.”

I hand it over immediately. Two minutes later, the car changes direction.

Bastard.

I take my phone back, waiting for whatever else Leonora has to say.

“I’m waiting for you, sweetheart,” she says softly. “I’ll be right at the door. We’ll do this together.”

All I can do is nod and follow her instructions. The driver takes my phone, dismantles it with professional precision, and tosses the pieces out the window, into a trash can, I think. Points for recycling, at least.

Fine. I lost a phone. Focus on the positive points:

Positive point 1: I'm getting married. What a joy.

Positive point 2: Damien will probably try to sweep me off the altar from the groom's arms.

I start laughing again, loud and uncontrollable, and all I have for company is a silent driver and no bottle of water to throw in my own face.

God, I hate this.