Chapter Five

It's been a slow day, and I haven't been this irritated in a while.

My conversation with Mary has ruined my mood entirely. I should be relieved that she's genuinely excited about this but something about this whole affair reeks to me. I have a bad feeling about all of this and I can't explain why. I just do.

Mary and I didn't speak for the remainder of the day. It's not that I'm upset about her answer—I should actually be relieved about this. It's that I know that her words are a projection of our mother, and so she might not be genuine about this. It's no secret that mom wants her to marry that guy, and what Mary is doing is bringing mom's wish to life with her acceptance. It's sad and there's nothing that I can do about it.

It just is.

I wanted to leave earlier to have lunch with Victoria and Brett, but Constance told me that mom wanted us all together when she arrived, and so this ruined my plans. I'm beyond irritated at this point, and it feels like the world is conspiring against me. This will be the most I've interacted with mom in weeks. Maybe months. On normal days, we barely talk. There's not a single conversation we have had that didn't end in an argument. We simply don't get along. I'm against everything she says, and she thinks I'm unreasonable because I don't accept her words the way Mary does.

This whole affair with the Ferrantes is grating on my nerves. I hate that we have to pose like the perfect family when the truth is far from that. Dad and I are close; we barely talk because he's usually busy, but we never fight about anything. We're almost always on the same page, but when we aren't, it's never a big deal, not the way it is with mom. Not agreeing with her is taken as a direct affront, so being around her is like walking on eggshells. Mary agrees with her so she doesn't catch the heat. I don't care. She's taken much from me over the years and especially during my childhood, and I won't allow her to take any more parts of me.

If we never get along, that's fine by me. I've been doing just fine without her, anyway.

I hang around in my room for her to arrive, but she's taking her time. This is what she does. I don't know why dad doesn't have to be around for her speech, so I'm guessing that he already knows what all of this is about. That, or she'll inform him last minute. Dad won't have a choice but to agree to whatever she has to say, even if it inconveniences him. I've noticed that even dad avoids conflicts with her.

Lunch rolls around, and she's still not back. I'm beginning to worry. I don't know what she'll have to say, and I only hope that it won't be anything involving the Ferrantes. I don't know when we're supposed to meet again, but I'm hoping it won't be anytime soon. I haven't recovered from the bottle of champagne that Luca sent to me last night, and I wouldn't trust myself around him if I saw him. I'm not confrontational, but there are certain things that I can't allow. This is one of them. He can't follow me around and send me gifts. He's sending the wrong message and if he wasn't aware of that, I'll make him aware. It's an invasion of privacy.

I'm not his wife, and I'll never be. And even if I were, I still wouldn't allow him to follow me around. Who does he think he is?

Of course, this could all be a big coincidence. Maybe he was at the club and he saw me. Maybe he was trying to be nice. But if he wanted to be nice, he would show his face. He would greet me like any normal person. No, this was something else. He sent a message. He wanted me to know that he was watching me. That he knew the places I frequented. The fact that he watched me when I was feeling at my best and feeling absolutely free makes me shudder.

A knock on my door interrupts my train of thought. I sit up straighter even though I don't have to and say: "Come on in."

Constance peers into my bedroom through the crack in the door and says, "Your mother is downstairs."

I stand up quickly and ask, "What the hell does she want? Do you know?"

"When can anyone predict your mother's behavior?" she asks in a hushed tone. "You're going to have to dive into this well blindfolded."

I groan and walk past her on my way downstairs. I'm anxious to get this done and over with. She made all of us wait the whole day for this, so if better be good. And it better not have anything to do with those people.

She's already downstairs with Mary, and they both turn to look at me as I approach them. What were they discussing that I couldn't hear? It makes me sick that Mary has secrets with her now. There are two huge shopping bags on the couch beside them. Mom notices my eyes on them and picks up one of them. She hands it to me, but I don't take it just yet. "For you."

"What for?" I ask suspiciously. And I don't care that I sound suspicious.

"Rita and Tommaso's wedding."

I barely know Rita. She was Mary's friend. Also, I never got along with her. "I don't see what I have to do with this. I don't want to go."

"The whole family has been invited, Laura,” mom says in a strained voice. I’m already annoying her. Good. I hope she feels a third of what I’m feeling at the moment. “You have to come. It won’t seem right if you don’t.”

“Rita never invited me personally. And anyway, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind my absence. I wasn’t even at the engagement.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she says forcefully. “There will be a lot of people present and we have to be together. I’ve already spoken to your father. When he gets off work, he will meet us there. It’s not negotiable, Laura.”

“I have plans. I can’t drop everything because of Rita.”

“It’s not about Rita, it’s about society. Can’t you understand that?” She’s raising her voice, and it’s making me feel more upset.

“Mom, I’m not a kid anymore,” I remind her. “You can’t make me do this. You can’t force me to go someplace I don’t want to go to! I’m sure Mary is thrilled to go there, but I’m not. I don’t care about Rita or Tommaso, and I care even less about society!”

Her nostrils are flared, that’s how upset she is. And she’s looking daggers at me. I fold my arms and glance at Mary. She’s staring at her feet. Her face is blank. Mom says, “Laura. You will do this. I don’t care that you think you’re a grown woman. I assure you that you are not. I let things like this slide most of the time, but this time, you have to attend the wedding. It’s imperative. When you move out, and pay your bills, and stop relying on us fully, you will be able to make whatever decision you want. But while you’re under my roof, you will go. That’s the end of it.”

She hands me the bag forcefully and I take it. My eyes don’t leave her face. The silence is thick and I’m choking on it, but I have to hold it in. I have to let it slide down to my lungs and poison me. When it becomes evident that there is nothing left for her to say to me, I make my way upstairs. It’s hard to ignore the way she’s glaring at me, but it has to be done.

“Be down here in two hours,” mom says to my back.

I reach my room. I throw the paper bag onto the bed and allow myself a few minutes to calm down. The more I process her words, the angrier I feel. It’s ridiculous that she thinks she can get away with this. It’s ridiculous that she thinks she can talk to me the way she does.

I glare at the shopping bag. It was light when I carried it upstairs, so I don’t know what’s inside. I walk toward my bed and pick it up. I part the tissue paper and discover a folded dress inside. I pull it from the bag and hold it up. It’s a beige dress with thin straps and a tight bodice. The skirt is somewhat flared, and when I hold it closer to my body, it ends a centimeter above my knee.

I scoff and throw it back in the bag.

I wonder what mom is up to.