CATARINAThe dress was a fucking nightmare.I stood in front of the full-length mirror in my childhood bedroom, staring at the monstrosity of white silk and lace that had taken three people to wrestle me into. The bodice was so tight I could barely breathe, the skirt so voluminous I couldn't see my own feet, and the train—Christ, the train was at least six feet long and weighed what felt like twenty pounds.I looked like a wedding cake. An expensive, suffocating, ridiculous wedding cake."Oh, mia bella," my mother sobbed from somewhere behind me. "You look so beautiful. So perfect."I caught her reflection in the mirror—Rosa Vitale, matriarch of our family, dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief while she gazed at me like I was some kind of masterpiece.She had no idea how much I wanted to take one of my blades to all this fabric."Mama," I said, trying to keep my voice even. "I can't move in this thing.""You don't need to move," she said, still crying. "You just need to walk d
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