Page 2 of His Two Hidden Masks

“Earth to Bella,” Leo said, waving the magazine in my face. “This is the part where you tell me what is going on with you. You look like you’ve eaten something that tastes bad. Your face is all,” he screwed up his mouth, “Ewww.”

“Rude.” I laughed. “Nothing is going on. I’m hot.”

“Of course, you are hot. It’s Venice in July.” He enunciated the month as if I were his elderly aunt. “It’s always hot, which you know because you’ve lived here since birth. You and Roberto picked this date.” His eyes narrowed. “Something else is bothering you.”

The room felt small, my dress too tight and I couldn’t stop thinking about all the people on the other side of the church door, waiting to watch me walk down the aisle and promise to love Roberto until death parted us.

I wanted to believe it was the heat, but I knew that this rising anxiety was all my fault. I wished I was assembling beautiful white boxes of my chocolates, instead of pitting out in my ivory satin and beaded dress. I was the worst bride, ever.

“Seriously, Bella,” Leo said, putting down the magazine. “Talk to me before you barf all over that enormous, yet beautiful, dress.”

I feigned a smile. “The fan helped. I’m feeling better.”

Leo gave me a look.

“Fine, it’s heat and nerves and nothing important,” I said. I ran my fingers through the ends of my hair. It was loose and held back by a rhinestone clip on one side, ends curling on my shoulders.

“Do you need a mirror?” Leo asked.

“Did I screw up my lips or my lashes?” I panicked. “I don’t want anything sliding off my face on the altar.”

Leo laughed and pulled a hand mirror out of his bridal support bag. He was the most prepared Man of Honor ever.

I glanced at the mirror, relieved to see that it was still me. Coppery eye shadow shimmered above my brown eyes. My cheeks flushed. I worried my red lipstick was too dark.

I wasn’t melting or dissolving on the outside, but on the inside, something was not right. I wasn’t sure how a bride was supposed to feel, but the emotional cyclone swirling inside me felt like a fail.

“Am I making a mistake?” The words tumbled out unplanned. I looked into Leo’s bright blue eyes.

“Bella.” My words stunned him.

“I can’t believe I said that,” I said.

“I can’t answer that for you, darling.”

“I know,” I said, closing my eyes and tapping the toes of my white, silk high heels.

“Did something happen?”

“It’s me. I happened,” I blurted. “I did something so stupid last night.”

“After the rehearsal?”

I nodded. “I got nervous and I asked Auntie Aurora to read my cards.”

“Isabella,” Leo said. “Why would you do that?”

“I know I looked calm last night, Leo, but I wasn’t,” I said, remembering how my stomach had been in knots as I walked down the black-and-white marble aisle of San Polo, clutching a paper plate bouquet made of shower ribbons.

“Never mind. I sound like a crazy woman. I’m fine. It’s fine.”

“Stop it,” Leo said, his voice even and firm. “First, crazy woman is sexist as fuck. Second, you have the right to feel not fine. What happened?”

I pulled on the beads on my skirt. “At the rehearsal, I broke out in goosebumps when I passed our family crypt. It was as if I wasn’t supposed to be there. It felt wrong.”

“Beside the crypt where your grandparents and Sara are buried?” Leo said.

“Yes, they are all there. Nona, Papa and my sister.”

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