Chapter 1: The Wedding I Refused to Have
The first thing I heard when I stepped into the bridal suite was my six-year-old daughter screaming, “Daddy! Daddy, please!””
The second thing I saw was a thick, golden-brown section of her hair lying on the marble floor.
And the third thing I heard was my fiancée laughing as she pressed electric clippers against my little girl's head.
“Don't worry,” Bianca said.
“I trim my dog's fur regularly.””
For three seconds, I couldn't move.
Then I crossed the room and took the clippers from her hand.
“Touch my daughter again, and I swear you'll regret the day you met me.””
My name is Alessandro Moretti. I'm forty-one years old, a father, and the owner of a construction and luxury property company that took me twenty years to build.
I'd negotiated million-dollar contracts with men who thought intimidation was a business strategy. I'd survived a hostile takeover, a lawsuit that nearly destroyed my company, and the sudden death of the woman I loved.
But nothing had prepared me for the sight of my daughter pressed against a vanity, trembling in an ivory flower-girl dress while the woman I intended to marry stood over her with a pair of electric clippers.
Livia's beautiful curls had always reminded me of her mother, Isabella.
Before cancer took Isabella two years earlier, she'd spent hours brushing those curls, twisting them into braids, and kissing the top of Livia's head.
She used to tell our daughter, "Your hair is sunshine, sweetheart. Never let anyone make you believe you need to change it to be beautiful.""
Livia had remembered every word.
For three weeks, she'd talked about walking down the aisle at my wedding. She wanted to carry white roses, wear tiny pearl shoes, and have her curls pinned back with the silver butterfly clip her mother had bought her.
Now half her hair was gone.
Rosalie, Isabella's older sister, had thrown herself between Livia and Bianca. Her arms circled my daughter protectively, and her face was white with fury.
"Alessandro," Rosalie said, "get her away from this woman.""
Bianca rolled her eyes.
"Oh, for heaven's sake. It's hair. It grows back.""
I stared at the clippers in my hand.
"Why were you shaving her head?""
"I wasn't shaving her head," Bianca snapped.
"I was correcting a problem.""
"What problem?""
"She refused to sit still for the stylist. She kept crying and moving. I told her she needed to behave, and she threw a tantrum.""
Livia shook her head violently.
"I didn't, Daddy. I didn't!""
Bianca pointed at her.
"See? This is exactly what I'm talking about. She never listens.""
I crouched in front of my daughter.
"Baby, look at me.""
Her wet eyes lifted toward mine.
"You're safe now," I whispered.
She grabbed the lapels of my jacket with both hands.
"She said I was ugly.""
My stomach tightened.
"Who said that?""
Livia pointed at Bianca.
"She said nobody would look at me if I stood next to you. She said I had to look different because I wasn't pretty enough.""
For a moment, the room seemed to tilt.
I slowly stood.
Bianca folded her arms.
"Don't twist my words. I was trying to make her presentable.""
"By shaving a six-year-old girl's hair?""
"She wouldn't cooperate!""
"She's six, Bianca!""
"And she's spoiled rotten!"" Bianca shouted.
The makeup artist near the doorway froze, holding a brush above an open cosmetics case.
Bianca continued as if nobody had spoken.
"Everyone treats her like a princess because her mother died. You let her get away with everything. Someone has to teach her that the world doesn't revolve around her.""
Rosalie's expression changed.
"Say one more word about Isabella.""
Bianca gave a short, contemptuous laugh.
"What? Are we pretending Isabella was some perfect mother now? Alessandro needs to move on. This entire family needs to stop using a dead woman as an excuse to control his life.""
I heard Livia gasp behind me.
That was when I understood something I should have recognized months earlier.
Bianca didn't merely dislike my daughter.
She resented her.
For fourteen months, Bianca had presented herself as the patient, understanding woman who could help me rebuild my life. She remembered my favorite wine, sent flowers to my office, and charmed my business partners with effortless confidence.
When I'd first introduced her to Livia, she'd knelt down and said, "I'm going to be your friend, sweetheart. You and I are going to have so much fun.""
I'd wanted to believe her.
After losing Isabella, I'd convinced myself that allowing someone new into our lives was a sign that we were healing.
I hadn't realized I was asking my daughter to trust someone who had never truly accepted her.
"Put your things down," I told Bianca.
She blinked.
"What?""
"Your handbag. Your phone. Everything you brought into this room. You're leaving.""
Her expression hardened.
"Alessandro, don't be ridiculous.""
"I'm not repeating myself.""
She glanced at the clock on the wall.
We were less than two hours away from the ceremony. Two hundred guests were gathering downstairs at the private estate I'd rented for the wedding. My business partners were arriving. Photographers were setting up near the gardens.
Bianca knew exactly how much the day meant to me.
She also knew how much I'd spent making it perfect.
She smiled suddenly, as though she'd found the right argument.
"Think carefully before you do something you'll regret. Your investors are here. Your family is here.
The press is here. If you cancel this wedding over a little haircut, everyone will think you've lost your mind.""
I looked at my daughter's uneven hair.
Then I looked at Bianca.
"My daughter is crying because you hurt her. And you're worried about what people will think?""
"I didn't hurt her!""
Livia flinched at the sound of her voice.
I stepped between them.
"Lower your voice.""
Bianca stared at me in disbelief.
"You're taking her side against me?""
I almost laughed at the absurdity of the question.
"She's my daughter.""
"And I'm supposed to be your wife!""
"Not anymore.""
Silence fell over the room.
Bianca's mouth opened.
For the first time since I'd met her, she seemed unable to find a clever response.
Then her face twisted with anger.
"You can't do this to me.""
"I just did.""
She reached for my arm.
"Alessandro, darling, listen to me. You're upset. I understand. Let me explain everything properly, and we'll get someone to fix her hair before the ceremony.""
I stepped away from her hand.
"You won't touch her again.""
"You're throwing away our future for a child who doesn't even understand what marriage means!""
Rosalie made a strangled sound of disgust.
I didn't move.
"Marco," I said into my phone, "come to the bridal suite. Bring two security officers. Bianca is no longer welcome near my daughter.""
Bianca's face went pale.
"You're calling security on your own bride?""
"Former bride.""
She snatched her handbag from the chair and shoved her cosmetics into it. A lipstick fell to the floor. She kicked it beneath the vanity.
"You're going to regret humiliating me," she said.
I watched her closely.
"Is that a threat?""
"It's a promise.""
The door opened, and Marco, my head of security, stepped inside with two uniformed guards.
Bianca straightened her dress and lifted her chin.
"Tell him he's making a mistake.""
Marco glanced at me, then at Livia.
He'd worked for me for eleven years. He'd attended Isabella's funeral. He'd carried Livia on his shoulders at her fourth birthday party.
His expression hardened.
"Miss, please come with us.""
Bianca stared at him as if she'd never expected another person to refuse her.
Then she looked at me.
"You'll come crawling back.""
"No," I said.
"I'll spend the rest of my life making sure my daughter never has to see you again.""
The guards escorted her through the adjoining door.
Her heels struck the marble floor with sharp, angry clicks.
Just before she disappeared, she turned back.
"You have no idea who you're choosing over me, Alessandro.""
Then the door slammed.
I didn't understand the warning.
Not yet.
I dropped to my knees in front of Livia.
"Can I hold you, sweetheart?""
She threw herself into my arms.
I held her tightly while she cried into my shirt.
"I'm sorry, Daddy," she whispered.
I pulled back.
"Why are you sorry?""
"Because I ruined your wedding.""
Those seven words hurt more than anything Bianca had done.
I pressed my forehead against hers.
"You didn't ruin anything. You haven't done one single thing wrong.""
"But your bride—"
"Listen to me, Livia. A wedding is a party. You are my daughter. There is nothing in this world more important than keeping you safe.""
She sniffled.
"Even if you don't get married?""
"Even then.""
Rosalie knelt beside us and brushed the tears from Livia's cheeks.
"Your daddy loves you more than anything, sweetheart.""
Livia nodded, but her little hands were still trembling.
I glanced at the fallen curls on the floor.
I wanted to gather every strand and somehow put them back where they belonged.
Instead, I took off my jacket and wrapped it around my daughter.
"Let's go somewhere quiet," I said.
As Rosalie helped Livia toward the door, my phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number appeared on the screen.
*If you cancel the wedding, you'll lose more than a bride. Ask Bianca what she did with Isabella's last letter.*
I read it twice.
My wife's last letter.
I had never told Bianca about it.
And I had never told anyone outside Isabella's family where it was supposed to be kept.
I looked up at Rosalie.
"Did you tell Bianca about Isabella's letter?""
All the color drained from her face.
"Alessandro," she whispered, "we need to talk.""
May you like
Then she locked the bridal suite door behind us.
And I realized the nightmare might have started long before I walked into that room.
