Page 1 of Burn for Me

ONE

Laura

Preparing to be a bride is exhausting. Even more so when you barely know the groom.

The clipping of the gardener's shears outside the floor-to-ceiling window lined up with the thud of my footsteps as they hit the treadmill. Running had to be invented by the devil himself; I detested it. After my short but furious workout session, the mirror showed how red and shiny my face was, sweat dripping down and making me look like an overly oiled tomato.

The sun beamed into the home gym, adding more heat to my already melting body. I had to convince Daddy to get some blinds. Bill, the gardener, shuffled from one hedge to another as I tried to keep up some sort of pace. My lungs felt like they were going to explode, my pulse contributing to the cacophony of noise in my ears. Hitting the lower speed button, I gave in to defeat.

Three weeks to my wedding day wasn't enough to try to shave off the extra pounds I had. I didn't even care about them, really, but my mother sure did.

'Laura, should you be eating pasta?'

'Laura, look at the way your stomach bulges in those trousers.'

‘Laura, have you come across this new diet?'

I tried to reason with her that Massimo had seen me in all my not-entirely slim glory, and he still wanted to marry me, but she was having none of it.

'There will be pictures, my dear. Pictures last forever.'

By twenty-six, I'd expected my life to have been a bit more exciting than sitting around waiting to marry the man my father chose for me. Thank god he was my type, at least. Tall, dark, and handsome, the classic trio. Massimo Ricci wouldn't have been out of place on the cover of one of those rippling ab magazines. By far, he’s hotter than any of the guys I'd briefly dated at university. Other than those illicit dalliances, my parents kept me on a tight leash—and not even in a good way. My parents filled my days with dinner parties and events, gallery visits whenever another one of my mother’s friends decided to pick up a paintbrush or have some other wealthy mid-life crisis.

A life of champagne and caviar wasn't so bad, but recently things had become more strained between my parents. While they hadn't exactly married for love, their relationship has always been easy. Mother hosted, Daddy worked. Elijah, my brother, and I followed them about in a suitably gendered manner. Elijah followed Daddy into business, while I spent my days with the same fake smile plastered on my face as my mother did.

Would it be any better becoming Massimo's wife? The letters he sent me every few weeks promised passion and desire, a marriage filled with excitement. Maybe I could finally put my degree to use by starting a business. I found it laughable that my brother would inherit everything, despite me having a business degree. At least, laughing spared me from crying about it.

I leaned my sweaty head against my hands, elbows resting on the treadmill's console, attempting to convince my pounding heart that it needn't burst out of my chest. After all, people exercised daily and lived to tell the tale. The wobble in my legs only added to my body's protest. It wasn't even like I disliked my body; a little softness felt good on me. However, my mother's dismay at being slimmer than me, at fifty and after having two children, was hard to ignore. She seemed oblivious to the fact that while Elijah took after her willowy appearance; I favoured my father. I inherited his overly large blue-green eyes and his pale English skin tone. Even our hair was the same mousy brown colour. No wonder Elijah was the golden child; he was her spitting image, with his blond hair and long legs.

What she despised the most was that I didn't hate myself. If I had, she'd at least have known I was suffering and striving to change, which would have validated her feelings about me.

But fuck her. Massimo was going to marry me as I was, and I would finally be free. I'd have my own home, my own allowance, and I’d be able to do whatever I wanted. I couldn't bloody wait.

After wiping off the equipment, I headed to my room, stopping by the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. As I leaned back against the counter, it occurred to meI had no idea what my new home with Massimo looked like. He wasn't one for social media, and he'd never sent pictures. According to my mother, he had a few homes, mostly in Southern Italy, but his primary residence was in London. That’s where we'd begin our married life.

Sipping my ice-cold water, I glanced over the sleek expanse of my mother's kitchen. It was the heart of our home and was as perfect and controlled as she was. Hell, the entire house was like the inside of a brand-new fridge—all spotless, white and chrome. And cold. There wasn’t an ounce of warmth or comfort. Everything shone, yet nothing made me feel any sense of belonging. We'd only moved into the new mansion two years ago, in a leafy suburb of Manchester. I'd wanted to stay in the south, near my friends, but Daddy had insisted we move. The house was bigger than our old one, but felt a million miles away from my old life. And far too sterile. A little colour would liven it right up.

'Oh, sweetie, you've been working out,' my mother said as she walked into the room, eyeing my red face. I focused on her and forced a smile. 'Good, good. This came for you.'

She thrust an envelope toward me, her eyes glittering at Massimo's neat, cursive writing on the front.

My pulse leapt all over again as my mind raced to what delicious words it might contain.

'Aren't you going to open it?' she asked, a little too eagerly, pressing a button on the coffee machine. It whirred into action, depositing a dark, heavily scented espresso into a petite white cup.

'After I shower, I'm sweating like a pig.'

'Laura Eloise Redgrave, you are a woman. You do notsweat like a pig.' My mother's face hardened, and I struggled to hold back a laugh.

'So what do you call this?' I showed my sweat-stained t-shirt.

'Just a light sheen, sweetie.'

'Well, my light sheen and I are going to shower off. What are we doing for dinner tonight?'

My mother set one of her fake smiles on me and glazed over as though she was checking a mental diary of events. 'I have dinner with the girls from the country club. Daddy is out with Elijah on some business thing. You'll have to fend for yourself.'

I maintained enough decorum not to punch the air with my fist and say fuck yes.

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