My wedding dress featured a sculpted satin bodice, a gently rounded neckline, and a slim crystal belt defining the waist. Instead of flaring into an enormous skirt, it opened gradually, and I had chosen the material specifically because it flowed naturally whenever I moved.
I had discovered it nine months earlier inside a small bridal shop in Buenos Aires.
Luciana had been there with me.
She sat on an ivory sofa as I modeled six different gowns, finding something wrong with five of them.
The first made me look too young.
The second was unflattering on my body.
The third, according to her, was “far too plain for a wedding in our family.”
When I emerged wearing the sixth and final dress, Luciana remained silent for several moments.
Then her lips curved into a smile.
“That’s the one,” she said. “Mateo is going to adore it.”
At the time, I had interpreted the intensity of her attention as genuine admiration.
“Did she duplicate every detail?” my mother asked.
Sofia gave an uncomfortable nod.
“She isn’t wearing a veil.”
“That hardly makes the situation better,” my mother replied.
I turned toward the mirror.
My makeup had been completed only a few minutes before. My dark hair was arranged in an elegant low bun beneath the veil, and delicate earrings made of pearls and diamonds rested beside my jawline.
The bride reflected in the glass appeared calm and controlled.
Inside, I felt nothing close to calm.
“What was Mateo’s reaction?” I asked.
“I’m not certain he has seen her yet.”
My mother immediately reached for her phone.
“I’ll take care of this.”
“No.”
She stopped and looked at me.
“No?”
“I don’t want an argument breaking out inside the hotel.”
“Then Luciana needs to put on another dress.”
“I understand.”
“Would you like me to go and tell her?”
