Page 17 of Keeping My Bride

“No, no, no, no,” I chant as I search rack after rack, searching for the beloved dress.

After I’ve searched the entire closet and torn my whole room apart and come up empty, I find my feet moving before my brain can even catch up. Logical reasoning is completely thrown out the window at this point, as I leave my room and go the short distance down the hall for the door that Benito told me earlier was the door to Luca’s room.

My tiny fists bang against the wood, rattling the frame. It takes him several seconds to answer; but when he does, I instantly regret my decision to confront him.

No longer in his suit, Luca is shirtless with a pair of dark gray sweatpants hanging off of his hips, his hair dripping wet from a recent shower.

“May I help you?” he asks, agitated.

“M-my stuff!” I blurt out, stammering because I’m so upset. “What did you do with my clothes?”

“Let me guess,” he says while crossing his arms across his chest, his muscular biceps on display, “You don’t like your new clothes.”

“I don’t care about the new clothes!” I yell. “I care about my old ones!”

He rolls his eyes. “For a princess such as you, I would think you’d be happy to be rid of those ugly rags.”

“They weren’t rags!” Tears burn in the back of my eyes, but I refuse to back down or show any weakness. “I want them back. Now!” I demand.

“Now?” He uncrosses his arms and takes a step forward, towering over me. “Those clothes belonged in the garbage, and that’s exactly where they are.”

I swallow hard against the lump in my throat. If I lose my mother’s dress, the only thing I have left of her, I just don’t know what I’ll do.

He steps even closer to me and leans down to whisper in my ear, “If you come to my room in the middle of the night again, it better be because you either want to sit on my face or get on your knees.”

A hot blush creeps up my neck and cheeks as I lower my gaze to the floor, all the anger and fight in me quickly depleting. I’ve never had a man talk to me like that before. I was always off-limits to anyone who dared look in my direction. But I have a feeling Luca isn’t used to being told no.

“Trash doesn’t go until Tuesday. Maybe you can still save your rags,” he remarks, fueling my anger and making it instantly spark back up again.

Furious, I turn away from him and go down the hall and steps. I run to the kitchen, searching for any garbage bins where my clothes might be.

Benito is sitting at the kitchen island, eating a sandwich with a glass of milk. “Something I can help you with?” he offers.

“My clothes. What did you do with them?”

He stands, leaving his half-eaten sandwich sitting on the counter as he leads me outside to a row of garbage cans at the back of the house. “Luca told me to throw them away.”

“I know,” I tell him with a sigh before I open one of the garbage can lids. I find a black plastic bag and rip it open. The smell of rotting food hits my nose, and I turn away in disgust. “Do you know which one you put them in?”

Benito goes to the next one and opens it. “Maybe this one.” He pulls out some bags, and underneath all the trash are my old clothes.

“Oh, thank god,” I exclaim before I dig into the pile and pull out my mother’s dress. I bring the fabric to my chest and press it against me. It reeks of garbage, but I don’t even care. I’ll wash it tomorrow and bring it back to life, just like always.

I catch Benito’s confused expression. “It was my mother’s,” I explain to Benito. “It’s the only thing I have left of her,” I whisper.

“Ah,” he mutters in understanding.

Hurrying into the house, I hold on to the dress for dear life. I’m still fuming by the time I make it back to my room. Luca thought he could just take my things and throw them away as if they meant nothing. I wish I knew what he cared about so that I could throw that away. But a part of me thinks he doesn’t care about anything at all.

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