Page 59 of The Scandal Behind The Italian’s Wedding

“I’m not as pretty.”

“That’s a lie. It’s all about how you present yourself. And there’s nothing wrong with being you. There’s nothing wrong with not being flashy. I can’t be anything else. I have to wander around with a pound of my product on my face all the time.”

“I would look silly that way.”

“Yes. You would. Not because you aren’t beautiful, but because it isn’t you. Different is fine. Different is good. But don’t accept less.”

“So what should I do? Put on the red dress and demand that he love me?” The very idea made her skin crawl.

She’d cared about a boy once, and she’d thought he’d cared too. Instead he’d humiliated her on a dance floor.

“Yes. Have you ever considered demanding that he love you? Because it might not be the worst thing in the world.”

“Or it might be,” Minerva said darkly.

“Or it might not be.”

“I don’t even know if I love him.” But she was beginning to accept that that was a lie.

“Then I guess the question is... Are you going to stay with him even if you don’t love him?” Violet asked.

“He can be Isabella’s father...”

“So what? Set her aside for a second. Or, don’t even set her aside. Would it be good for her to watch you live with someone you’re miserable with? And who cares about Dad and Dante and their business thing? They can work that out on their own. It’s not up to you, Minerva. If you love him, then you should demand more. If you don’t love him, then you should demand more too.”

“When did you become an expert on love?”

“I’m not.” Violet’s denial was vehement. “This isn’t about knowing anything about love. But I do know a little bit about life. I know that if you are successful people are going to come after you, and it’s easy to get caught up in trying to please everyone. No matter how independent and strong someone seems. You’re caught up in this idea that you’re not special, and I think because of that you work too hard to please everyone around you. And you don’t work hard enough at pleasing yourself.”

“The red dress?”

“Whatever makes you happy. Not what you think will make him happy, or even me happy. And not what you think you should wear. What do you want to wear?”

She got off the phone with her sister and she looked at the dresses again.

The red one.

She really did want to wear the red one. And why wasn’t she wearing it? Because a boy had embarrassed her four years ago? Because she’d let the kids at school make her feel like she was ugly, like her family was the only interesting thing about her?

Because she’d chosen to get lost in the quiet nooks and crannies of her home when she was a child, lived in books, lived in her head, and then wondered why she felt left behind sometimes?

She wasn’t like everyone else. But did that mean there was something wrong with her? Or did it just mean she was her?

Slowly, and with great care, she took the dress out of the bag and took it off the hanger.

She slid the glorious fabric over her body. It was slinky and perfect, molding to the curves that she had, making the most of her figure.

She worked on her hair, and her makeup, employing tips from videos that Violet had posted online.

She didn’t do them quite like Violet. She did them like herself. And when she was finished, she felt...beautiful.

She felt like she was stepping out into the spotlight. Into something new and frightening. And she didn’t know why it should seem that way. Because it wasn’t as if any of this centered on her. Not really.

Except it felt like it did.

When she emerged in the living room, Dante was standing there looking beautiful in a suit, a crisp white shirt and a black jacket that conformed perfectly to his masculine physique. His dark eyes were unreadable, and passive as they took her in. “Are you ready?”

Her kneejerk response was to ask if she looked ready. To ask him why that was even a question. If there was something wrong with what she had chosen. But she knew that she looked amazing, and she didn’t need to be insecure. She didn’t need to question anything.

She lifted her head and squared her shoulders. “Yes,” she said. “I’m ready.”

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