Chapter 3

"No. I'm going." I forced myself upright, and pain shot through my wound. My vision went black for a second. "That is my father's funeral. Why can't I go?"

Bianca didn't answer. Instead, I heard Vincent say over the phone, "You're injured. You can't sit through a funeral like this. Let Bianca stand in. Everyone there knows us anyway. Nobody will say a word. Don't be so mean. My family raised Bianca like a daughter. She isn't a nobody."

"It doesn't matter. I am my father's daughter. I'm a Colombo. Who is Bianca?" My hand curled into a fist. The IV site swelled, and blood flowed back into the tubing. "I already said it. At my father's funeral, I belong at the front. No one else."

Vincent lost his patience. "All right, calm down. We'll talk tomorrow."

The next morning, the funeral director went over the new service arrangements with me and helped me choose a plot for my father.

Eleanor sat on the couch with Bianca behind her. "Ms. Colombo, given your injuries and the fact that only the memorial and burial remain, Ms. Hayes will stand in for you."

"No." I refused.

Eleanor set down her coffee cup and frowned at me. "What do you mean, no? Look at you. If you drag yourself there and something goes wrong, you'll embarrass both our families."

I frowned. "The man who died is my father. You want me to stay home while she goes? Does that sound right to you?"

Bianca lowered her head. "I don't have Louisa's standing. I'd embarrass everyone. But she's hurt. What if she can't make it through the service and ruins the whole thing?"

Eleanor nodded. "Exactly. The fire ruined it once already. We can't let anything go wrong again."

Vincent came through the door with a box under his good arm. He opened it. Inside was a new black gown. "If you want to go, go. Look, I bought you a dress. It's the brand you like."

The tension inside me eased a little.

He tapped the tip of my nose. "I only wanted you to stay home because I was worried your wounds might get infected. Are you really angry about that?"

His voice was gentle, with a helpless smile on his lips. I wavered. Maybe there really was nothing else behind it.

I looked into his eyes and saw my reflection in their deep blue. Maybe I had read too much into everything. Maybe he hadn't changed at all. Still, I held my ground. "I am going."

Vincent nodded. "All right. Whatever you want."

Just as I started to relax, Bianca spoke up. "But this dress is my size."

Vincent froze for a second. I checked the tag. It was one size larger than mine.

Before I exploded, Bianca hurried to explain. "Your black dress burned, and it was the only one you had, so Vincent had me try this on for you. He went out of his way to pick your favorite brand."

"Vincent, you don't even remember my size?"

Vincent gave a strained smile. "There's been a lot going on these past few days. I forgot."

He rested a hand on the dress. "But I got the brand and style right. You like both. Only the size is wrong. We'll exchange it."

I snorted. "While she's at it, why doesn't she try on the groom for me too?"

Eleanor slammed her coffee cup down. "Louisa, watch your tongue!"

Vincent's face darkened too. "Louisa, what nonsense is this?"

I put the lid back on the box and ignored them. "None of you need to come to the funeral. He's my father. I'll be there. That's enough."

Bianca looked at me, her voice thick with tears. "Louisa, please don't be mad at Vincent because of me. I can stay away, but he has to be there."

I shook my head. "None of you is going. Vincent and I aren't married. We're not husband and wife yet."

Vincent sighed. "Don't say things you don't mean. You're the fiancée I chose. You'll be the wife of the Winston Don. That isn't changing. Of course I should be at my father-in-law's funeral. I promised to look after Bianca for the rest of her life. Stop being jealous of her, all right?"

"I'm not jealous," I said.

"Then stop saying childish things." He glanced at the funeral director and waved him on. He had dismissed everything I'd said as jealousy over Bianca.

The director brought out the drawings for the plot. Once we chose one, he would take us to see the cemetery. We should have arranged all this while Dad was alive, but he'd died in a sudden shootout. There had been no time.

One glance was enough. I tore the drawings to pieces in fury. "Who gave you permission to paint the headstone pink and carve Hello Kitty on it?"