Alessandra Torre - End of the Innocence

♦♦♦

I was taken for a reason. To win a battle, a battle of control and emotions and pride. Step one was to take me. Step two involved making sure I would never be a part of the Magiano family. That step could be accomplished in two ways, one of which was death. The other option’s viability would depend on how I reacted to my capture.

I did not react well.

“Did I miss something?” Becca barged through the doors of Noche with a ferocity that startled half the women in the spa’s lobby.

Olivia shot her a look of warning. “Stop yelling. This is the type of place where you whisper.”

“Ten, right? I checked my text messages. We were going to meet here at eleven. Look.” She thrust her cell out, forcing Olivia’s eyes to focus on it. “Hair and makeup appointment at eleven at Noche. From that scary ass assistant of Brad’s. Did you get one?”

“Lower your freaking voice,” Olivia hissed, sending an apologetic look to the woman to her right. “Yes, I got one. And I talked with Julia last night. She said she’d be here.”

“So where is she?” Becca didn’t wait for a response, she pressed a button and held the phone to her ear. “I’m calling her again. She hasn’t responded to my texts.”

Their names were called, and they stood, Becca taking a long look at the clock before following the uniformed attendant through the frosted doors. 10:19 a.m. Julia was late.

As they walked through the quiet hall, Becca’s phone buzzed, her eyes catching on the lit screen and reading the message quickly, then passing it to Olivia.

I won’t make it to Noche. I need time to think. I’ll call you later.

Their eyes met in the dim light, and Becca frowned.

♦♦♦

White uniforms converged on Fleur De Lis like maggots, bits of white weaving with a rapid pace through the stone halls, placing gloved hands on every available surface. Flower arrangements were wheeled in, tablecloths ironed, place cards straightened, then straightened again by nervous fingers. Corsages were pinned, bobby pins placed in curled hair, and wedding programs were unwrapped and placed in the hands of eager ushers. The final moments were completed in an orderly and excited fashion, everything unfolding exactly as to plan. And, an hour before the ceremony was to begin, limos began the slow, precise journey through the front gates. The guests were starting to arrive.

The world ran on appearances, and that day was no exception. Brad disagreed with that mandate, but you had to play the game to win it, so he played along. And, as usual, he seemed predestined to win, the details handled perfectly by Rebecca and the two wedding planners’ capable and expensive hands. And, as he glanced through the open doorway off the lobby, everything seemed in place. Just missing one thing. He moved into the drawing room, set off to the side of the chapel and scowled, settling into one of the high stools. Lucas walked over with a smile, moving around behind the bar. He poured a shot of whiskey and held it out.

“Bottoms up.”

Brad shook his head, sliding his phone in his pocket.

“What’s wrong? Pre-wedding jitters?”

The comment earned Lucas a scornful look, and Brad stood and walked to the window. “Can’t get ahold of her.”

“Julia? She told you—you couldn’t see her today.”

“I want to talk to her. Hear her voice.”

“Brad. The ceremony’s in an hour. Then you’ll have the rest of your life to talk to her. Relax and take a damn shot.”

“I can’t just sit here. The waiting is driving me crazy. Let’s head outside, Stevie is down there.” He stood, shouldering into his tuxedo jacket.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were nervous.”

Brad met his eyes. “When it comes to Julia, I’m always nervous.”

“It seems a little early to panic.” Olivia’s voice rang out in the lavender-tinted room, causing six updo’d heads to turn her way.

“Early?” one of the wedding planners said, her over-plucked eyebrows coming to a point in the middle of her lined forehead.

“It’s eleven-thirty,” the other planner said anxiously, as if everyone in the room wasn’t aware of the hour. “The ceremony starts in thirty minutes. And no one knows where she is. A bride, missing from the wedding ...” She started to breathe quickly, in terse gasps, on the verge of what appeared to be a nervous breakdown.

“She cancelled on us for hair and makeup,” Becca said flatly, shooting Olivia a look, their argument already hours in the making.

“Which would make sense if she ...” Olivia shrugged suggestively as the words dropped off.

“If she what?” Becca shot back.

“I’m just saying ...” Olivia said airily, “maybe she changed her mind. Decided she was making a mistake.”

“Making a mistake?” The female linebacker, who worked for Brad, stepped forward, her arms crossing in front of her ample chest. “Making a mistake by getting married? Have you been in the same room with them? Spoken to either one of them in the last year? They were made for each other; I’ve never seen two people more perfectly matched. Not to mention this is Brad-Fucking-De Luca. Women don’t ‘change their mind’ about Brad, they hunt him down like rabid animals.” She snarled the final words, now officially inside of Olivia’s bubble, her teeth bared and claws out.

Olivia wilted slightly, glancing away and studying her fresh manicure. “I’m just saying that we could give it a little more time. You already drove by her house. She’s not home so she’s probably on her way here.”

“I think we should tell Brad,” Martha spoke from her post at the window.

“No,” the two planners spoke in unison, panic crossing their faces. One stepped forward. “It’s common for brides to flake. It’s better that the groom doesn’t know. It can taint the ceremony for him, or cause a fight right before the wedding.”

The room was silent, her logic making sense. Rebecca nodded. “Brad will lose it if he knows.”

“So what do we do?” Julia’s mother spoke from her seat in the center of the room, her features tight, mouth pinched.

“We wait. We wait for her to show up. She’ll show up,” Becca spoke from the doorway, and it was the last words spoken for a while, no one having a better solution to offer.

Rebecca knew this was bad. This was beyond bad. She ground into nothing the soft napkin, the one with Brad & Julia perfectly printed, just as she’d wished. It seemed ridiculous that she’d ever cared. Why did napkins matter when a bride was missing? And it didn’t matter what the bimbo in the other room thought. Julia wasn’t flaking out. It was impossible. She wasn’t that kind of girl. And Brad wasn’t the kind of man who got left at the altar. Something was wrong, she could feel it in her gut. She looked at her cell and wondered, for the thirtieth time that day, if she should call Brad.

♦♦♦

Debra Campbell paced, her heels snagging on the carpet when her steps got too hurried.

“Please, dear. Sit.”

“I can’t sit. Something is wrong. I should have known it earlier. Her not returning our calls this morning?”

“She’s always hard to get ahold of by phone.” The man stood, stopping his wife’s journey with firm hands, pulling her over to a loveseat and pushing her down. “Your blood pressure has to be sky high. Please. Panic isn’t helping.”

His touch grounded her, as it always had. She took a trembling breath, reached out and gripped his hand. “She wouldn’t stand him up, would she?” There was hope in the last word. Hope that her daughter was abandoning this marriage. A humorous development, considering she had been thanking her lucky stars just one day prior. Julia had done well. Her new husband was successful. Adored the ground she walked on. Would do anything to make her happy. But now, there were only two possibilities. Something was terribly wrong, or Julia had cold feet. She prayed for the latter.

Her husband held her gaze steadily, more moisture in his eyes than she had seen in quite some time. “I don’t know, Debra. I really don’t know.”

Down the hall, there was the sound of shouting, and she wiped her eyes. “Let’s go back. See if anyone’s heard anything.”

She was not responding. They had found her on the floor, still tied to the chair, a pool of blood around her head. One man had panicked, calling the man who shouldn’t have been called. And now they stood, in a circle around her body, repeatedly checking for a pulse and untying her limbs. They carried her to a bed, a bed that had already hosted its share of dead bodies, and prayed that hers wouldn’t join the ranks. If she was to die, it was only by his order. Now was not the time, and failure was unacceptable.

♦♦♦

In actuality, I never had a chance to walk down that aisle. It was never in the cards, plans made to remove me from the equation long before I ever tried on wedding dresses, long before invitations were sent. I don’t think dramatics was their intention. Perhaps they thought that snatching me the night before would be enough advance notice to hold the ceremony—to call guests and cancel the event. As it happened, my absence was not discovered in time, and even then, was suspected to be a case of pre-wedding cold feet.

♦♦♦

“Can we panic now?” Rebecca screamed into Olivia’s face, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her roughly, the girl’s thin body shaking like wet spaghetti. “It is time, the guests are seated, and they are about to start the damn music!”