Chapter 2: The Secret Behind the Wedding Smile
I stared at Bianca’s phone until the words on the screen blurred.
*“Now make sure he never finds out what really happened to Livia’s mother.””*
For several seconds, I forgot how to breathe.
The hallway around me continued moving.
Guests laughed somewhere near the garden entrance. Waiters carried trays of champagne past the flower arrangements. A violinist practiced the same melody over and over again.
The world kept preparing for my wedding.
But I was standing there holding my daughter, staring at a message that suggested my entire life had been built on a lie.
“Daddy?””
Livia’s small voice pulled me back.
I quickly turned the phone screen away.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?””
She nodded against my shoulder, but she wasn’t convincing anyone.
Her fingers played nervously with the fabric of my jacket.
“Is Bianca angry?””
I looked down at her.
The child who had spent the morning excited about wearing a flower crown was now afraid of a woman who was supposed to become her family.
“No,” I said softly.
“You didn’t do anything wrong.””
“But she said my hair was ugly.””
My chest tightened.
“She was wrong.””
Livia was quiet.
Then she whispered, “Mommy liked my hair.””
That sentence hurt more than I expected.
Because she was right.
My late wife, Isabella, had loved every little thing about Livia. Every curl. Every messy braid. Every uneven ponytail.
She used to say our daughter’s hair looked like sunshine after a storm.
I closed my eyes for a moment.
Three years had passed since Isabella died, but there were still moments when grief arrived without warning.
And now, standing in a wedding venue surrounded by flowers and promises, I suddenly wondered if I had been too eager to move forward.
“Alessandro.””
Rosalie’s voice interrupted my thoughts.
She stood beside me, her face still pale.
“You need to see this.””
I looked at her.
She pointed toward Bianca’s phone.
“You saw the message, didn’t you?””
I hesitated.
“How do you know?””
“Because your face changed.””
Rosalie glanced around the hallway before lowering her voice.
“I’ve been worried about Bianca for months.””
My jaw tightened.
“Why didn’t you tell me?””
She looked down.
“Because every time I tried, you defended her.””
The words hit me because they were true.
Whenever Rosalie questioned Bianca’s behavior, I had always found a reason to explain it away.
She was stressed.
She was adjusting.
She was trying.
I had convinced myself that patience would turn someone into the person I hoped they were.
“What have you seen?”” I asked.
Rosalie looked toward Livia.
Then back at me.
“Not here.””
I carried my daughter to the small family lounge near the ceremony hall.
The room was quiet, away from the crowd.
I sat Livia on the sofa while Rosalie found a blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders.
“Can you stay here for a few minutes?”” I asked Rosalie.
She nodded.
I stepped outside and called Bianca.
She answered after the second ring.
“Alessandro, where are you? Everyone is asking questions.””
Her voice sounded normal.
Too normal.
“You lost your phone.””
Silence.
A short silence.
But enough.
“I did?””
“Yes.””
Another pause.
“Where is it?””
“I found it outside the bridal room.””
Her breathing changed.
“Did you look at it?””
I said nothing.
That was my answer.
“Alessandro…”
“Who is Daniel?””
The silence that followed was immediate.
A cold, heavy silence.
“Who told you that name?””
“So you know him.””
“Answer my question.””
I tightened my grip on the phone.
“Who is Daniel?””
Bianca exhaled.
“This is not the time.””
“Not the time?””
My voice rose.
“My daughter’s hair was cut against her will, and now I find messages about my dead wife on your phone. Tell me when exactly would be the right time?””
“Lower your voice.””
“Why?””
“Because people are watching.””
That sentence made something inside me snap.
“You’re worried about people watching?””
I looked through the glass doors toward the decorated wedding hall.
Everyone was there.
Friends.
Family.
People who had come to watch me marry the woman they thought I knew.
“Bianca, my daughter was crying.””
“I already told you. It was just a haircut.””
“No.””
My voice became quiet.
“It wasn’t.””
She didn’t answer.
Then she said something that made my hands go cold.
“You really think Isabella was perfect?””
I froze.
Nobody said my wife’s name like that.
Not with that tone.
Not with that bitterness.
“What did you say?””
“You heard me.””
“What does Isabella have to do with this?””
Bianca laughed softly.
A laugh without warmth.
“Maybe you should ask yourself why she never told you everything.””
My heart started pounding.
“Everything about what?””
“Forget it.””
“No. You brought her into this.””
“I’m trying to protect you.””
“From what?””
Another pause.
Then her voice dropped.
“From the truth.””
The call ended.
I stared at the phone.
She hung up on me.
On my wedding day.
After hurting my daughter.
After mentioning my dead wife.
I stood there for several moments, trying to understand how the woman I was supposed to marry had suddenly become a stranger.
Then I noticed someone standing at the end of the hallway.
My older brother, Matteo.
He had been watching me.
And judging by his expression, he had heard enough.
“How long have you been there?”” I asked.
“Long enough.””
I looked away.
“Matteo, not now.””
“No. Actually, it is now.””
He walked closer.
“Because I’ve been trying to tell you something for months.””
I shook my head.
“Everyone has something to tell me today, apparently.””
“Alessandro.””
His voice softened.
“You shouldn’t marry her.””
I looked at him.
The words hurt because they came from someone I trusted.
“You came here to stop my wedding?””
“I came here because I thought you already knew.””
“Knew what?””
Matteo looked toward the family lounge where Livia was sitting.
Then he lowered his voice.
“Bianca didn’t meet you by accident.””
A strange feeling moved through my chest.
“What does that mean?””
He reached into his jacket pocket.
He pulled out an envelope.
“I found this two weeks ago.””
I stared at it.
“What is it?””
“Something you need to see before you make another mistake.””
I took the envelope.
My name was written on the front.
Not printed.
Handwritten.
And I recognized the handwriting immediately.
My hands started shaking.
Because that handwriting belonged to Isabella.
My wife.
My dead wife.
“Where did you get this?””
Matteo looked away.
“It was hidden inside an old storage box from your house.””
I slowly opened the envelope.
Inside was a folded piece of paper.
Only one sentence was written.
My eyes moved across the words.
And the entire world seemed to tilt.
*“Alessandro, if you are reading this, it means Bianca has finally shown you who she really is.””*
I stopped breathing.
Below the sentence was another line.
May you like
One that made my blood run cold.
*“Do not let her become Livia’s mother.””*
