Page 17 of Fatal Sloth

I remember the drive home from my engagement brunch. My father practically glowed with pride. It was a rare sight that still filled me with a strange mix of emotions. It's as if I've finally done something worthy of his approval.

Meanwhile, Karen takes charge of the wedding planning, making decisions that don't exactly align with my tastes. But rather than protest, I bite my tongue to keep the peace. With my time at home dwindling, I just want to make the most of it and avoid unnecessary conflict.

As I stand in my wedding dress, looking at my reflection in the mirror, I can't help but feel like a stranger in my own skin. Before I can dwell too much on my doubts, Cameron strides into the private suite.

“You look like the most beautiful cupcake I've ever seen. I bet that husband of yours will want to lick you all up,” he quips, handing me a glass of champagne.

Taking the glass, I gulp it down in one go, the bubbles doing little to calm my nerves. The reality of what I'm about to do hits me, and suddenly, I'm not sure if I'm ready to take the plunge.

Glancing back at the mirror, Cameron's right; I do look like a cupcake. I can't help but chuckle at the sight of myself in this over-the-top dress. Layers of tulle give it that unmistakable cupcake poof, and I can't deny the resemblance.

The gown stretches down to the floor, a cascade of white lace with a train that seems to go on forever. My arms are enveloped in delicate lace sleeves that extend past my elbows, and a bold red satin belt cinches my waist—Karen's favorite color, of course. And topping it all off is a veil, cascading elegantly down my back in a matching lace.

Initially, I had my heart set on a different dress, one that felt more like me. But Karen, taking charge of the wedding plans, had other ideas. Given the dynamics and not wanting to rock the boat, I bit my tongue and went along with her choice.

“Thank you, you don't look so bad yourself,” I say back to him.

“Oh, this old thing,” he remarks casually, and I do another once-over. Cameron's navy suit fits him perfectly and shows off his muscular frame. The crimson tie pops against the white collared shirt. I know he chose the red tie to match me.

“You’re never alone; I'm always here with you. Even though I won't be right by your side today, you know I always have your back.” He comments.

From the engagement to the wedding, this is nothing less than a proper Italian affair. Sebastiano and I will have only one person beside us as witnesses during the ceremony. I wanted Cameron as mine, but Karen wouldn't stand for it, going on about the traditions and what's proper. I think her true motive was to flaunt her recent enhancements, courtesy of my father's generosity, of course.

The tears cloud my vision, but I refuse to let them fall. “I wish it were you next to me; I don’t want anyone else by my side.”

I internally cringe at the thought of her being next to me. Karen and her new assets on full display is the last person I want by my side on my wedding day. Still, she had to find some way to make this about her. Since my dad was walking me down the aisle, she pouted that she didn't have a significant role until she concocted this idea.

Cameron's humor cuts through the solemn atmosphere, lifting my spirits. "At least Fake Barbie and her new tits will grab some attention if you end up puking in front of everyone," he remarks, mocking Sebastiano’s nickname. It’s the only way Cameron refers to her now.

The hairstylist starts spraying my hair with hairspray, setting the updo in place. Pins dig into my scalp, holding half my curls up in a fancy twist just as the makeup artist applies the final touches to my face.

Cameron holds out a bouquet of red and pink roses. This thing weighs a ton and has got to be the largest bouquet I’ve ever seen. My chest constricts as I wait for my queue to walk down the aisle.

Just as Karen sashays in the room, we hear a commotion outside the suite.

“Where’s dad?” I ask, feeling butterflies in my stomach, hoping it's not him who’s causing any issues.

“He’s right outside, ready to give you away,” she answers, applying more lipstick to her overfilled lips.

So, then, it probably is him. I want to go out there and see what's going on, but Karen stands in front of the door, placing her hands on my shoulders. ‘You are a vision, Mia.”

Yeah, your vision is what I really want to say, but I don't. Instead, I bite my tongue, smiling politely at her, when the door opens.

An unfamiliar older woman enters the room, her hands trembling as she wrings them in front of her, her voice faltering as she begins to speak, informing me that there's a slight delay but promises to let us all know when it's time to proceed.

Before her words fully settle, my father burst into the room, his tone angry. “Sebastiano isn't here, and no one knows where he is.” His words hit me like a shockwave.

This only adds to the tension in the room, and I can't help but feel a knot forming in my stomach. I fight back the tears that are threatening to drop, refusing to let anyone in this room see me upset. Dad’s anger escalates into yelling, and I’m afraid of what he will do next, but the entrance of Don Antonio provides a brief solace.

“My son is just stuck in a little traffic but will be here very soon, dear. No need to worry.” He smiles gently, offering me a moment of comfort.

His announcement of a traffic delay isn’t very believable, but no one dares to question the Don. The tension in the room shifts from frustration to anxious anticipation, causing my heart to race. It's just another unexpected layer to this already stressful wedding day. At least Dad has calmed down. Well, he's as calm as he’ll get, but knowing he won’t act up now makes me feel a tinge of relief.

A ringtone breaks the silence as Don Antonio excuses himself to take the call in the other room. “He better be here in five minutes, or you’ll have a bullet with your name on it,” is all he says before Sebastiano barges into the room disheveled, the scent of alcohol wafting off him, making me want to gag.

Sebastiano’s hands clench into tight fists, making his knuckles white. His face is flush with a deep, angry red that creeps down his collar. You can see the frustration brewing between him and his father as they exchange a look. I guess he had a change of heart about being forced into this marriage. Resentment oozes off him as he looks at me with disgust.

"Let’s get this shit over with," he barks, grabbing my elbow and exiting the room. I was reluctant to marry him, and I knew it seemed too easy when we met. For me, this is the only way to break free from my father's grip. I'm not looking for love at first sight, but did he have to waltz in late and piss drunk, acting like an asshat?

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