Chapter 1: The Little Girl in the Ivory Dress
The first thing I heard when I stepped into the bridal suite was my daughter screaming, “Daddy! Daddy, please!””
The second thing I saw was a thick, golden-brown section of her hair lying on the marble floor.
And the third thing I heard was my fiancée laughing as she pressed electric clippers against the side of my six-year-old daughter's head.
“Don't worry,” Bianca said casually.
“I trim my dog's fur regularly.””
For three seconds, I couldn't move.
Then I crossed the room.
“Put those down.””
My voice was so cold that Bianca's smile faltered.
She turned toward me, the clippers still buzzing in her hand. Behind her, Livia stood pressed against the vanity, trembling beneath the ivory flower-girl dress I'd bought especially for her. Her white roses lay crushed near her shoes.
Rosalie, my late wife's older sister, had thrown herself between them. She wrapped one arm around Livia and used her body to shield the child from Bianca.
“Alessandro,” Rosalie said, her voice shaking with anger, “get your daughter out of here.””
Bianca rolled her eyes.
“Oh, for heaven's sake. It's hair. It grows back.””
I stared at the uneven patch above Livia's left ear.
My daughter had spent three weeks talking about walking down the aisle. Every night, she had practiced carrying her little bouquet through our living room, pretending the carpet was the church aisle and the sofa was the altar.
She had insisted on keeping her curls long because her mother once told her that they looked like ribbons made of sunshine.
Now one side of her head had been shaved nearly to the scalp.
Bianca raised the clippers again.
“I'm not finished,” she said.
“She keeps moving, and if she doesn't sit still, she'll make it worse.””
“Daddy, make her stop!””
I ripped the clippers from Bianca's hand and hurled them onto the vanity. They struck a perfume bottle, sending glass crashing against a silver tray. Lipsticks rolled across the marble, and loose powder scattered over Bianca's expensive makeup.
She stared at the mess.
Then she stared at me.
“You just threw something at my wedding makeup?””
My daughter was crying so hard she could barely breathe, and Bianca was worried about cosmetics.
I pulled Livia behind me and crouched until our eyes met.
“Baby, look at Daddy. You're safe now.””
Her tiny fingers clutched the back of my jacket.
“She said I was ugly,” Livia sobbed.
“She said nobody would look at me if I stood next to you.””
Something inside my chest cracked.
I brushed the loose strands away from Livia's forehead, careful not to touch the tender skin near her ear.
“Who said that, sweetheart?””
She pointed at Bianca.
Bianca threw up her hands.
“Oh, come on. Don't make me the villain because I tried to fix a problem. She was supposed to have her hair styled, but she wouldn't stop crying. I was helping.””
“By shaving her head?””
“By teaching her to cooperate.””
Rosalie's face turned pale with fury.
“She is six years old, Bianca!””
“And she's spoiled rotten,” Bianca snapped.
“Everyone in this house treats her like a princess because her mother died. Someone has to teach her that the world doesn't revolve around her.””
The room went silent.
Even the makeup artist standing near the door lowered her eyes.
My wife, Isabella, had been dead for two years.
Two years of learning how to braid Livia's hair with clumsy fingers. Two years of memorizing which bedtime stories made her smile and which songs she wanted me to sing when nightmares woke her. Two years of answering questions about death without making promises I couldn't keep.
I had also spent two years learning that grief could make a man desperate to believe he was allowed to be happy again.
Bianca entered my life fourteen months earlier. She was beautiful, polished, and confident. She knew which fork to use at expensive dinners and how to make my business associates laugh.
She also knew exactly what to say when I worried about introducing her to Livia.
“I would never compete with your daughter,” she'd promised me during our first dinner together.
“She needs another woman who loves her, Alessandro. I want to be that person.””
I believed her.
When Livia woke from nightmares, Bianca occasionally brought her warm milk. When my daughter drew pictures, Bianca praised the flowers and the houses. She even helped choose the ivory dress Livia would wear at our wedding.
I mistook those gestures for love.
Now I looked at the woman who was supposed to become my wife in less than two hours.
“Explain exactly what happened.””
Bianca folded her arms.
“She refused to let the stylist touch her hair. She started screaming. I told her that if she wanted to look childish, I could make sure she looked childish. Then she moved, and I accidentally cut too much.””
“Accidentally?”” Rosalie repeated.
Bianca pointed at the hair scattered across the floor.
“Look at all that hair! It's not like I planned to shave her bald.””
“You turned on the clippers and put them against her head,” Rosalie replied.
“How is that an accident?””
Bianca's expression hardened.
“Stay out of this. You're not her mother.””
“No,” Rosalie said quietly.
“I'm her aunt. And unlike you, I actually love her.””
Bianca's cheeks flushed.
I stood.
“Get out of the room.””
She blinked.
“Excuse me?””
“You heard me.””
“This is my bridal suite.””
“It was.””
Her mouth opened, then closed.
For the first time since I'd met her, Bianca seemed unable to find the right words.
Then she reached for my arm.
“Alessandro, darling, you're upset. I understand. But think about what you're doing. Two hundred guests are arriving.
Your investors are coming. The press is coming. You cannot cancel a wedding because of a child's haircut.””
I gently removed her hand.
“Don't call her a child as though that makes what you did less serious.””
“I'm trying to help you raise her!””
“Then start by never touching her again.””
Livia buried her face against my side. I could feel her shaking through my jacket.
Rosalie picked up the little white cardigan that had fallen from a chair and wrapped it around my daughter's shoulders.
“Let's take her somewhere quiet,” she said.
I nodded.
But as I turned toward the door, Bianca spoke again.
“If you walk out of here, Alessandro, everyone will know what kind of man you are.””
I stopped.
She mistook my silence for an invitation.
“They'll say you abandoned your bride over a tantrum. They'll say you're emotionally unstable. They'll say you let your dead wife's family control your life.””
I looked back at her.
“You have ten seconds to leave before I have security escort you out.””
Her face twisted.
“You wouldn't dare.””
I took out my phone.
“Marco? I need you in the bridal suite. Now.””
Bianca stared at me as if I'd slapped her.
“You're calling security on me?””
“I'm calling someone who can make sure you stay away from my daughter.””
She snatched her handbag from the chair.
“This is unbelievable.””
“No,” I said.
“What's unbelievable is that I almost married you.””
For a moment, something ugly flickered across her face. It wasn't embarrassment or regret.
It was hatred.
Then she stormed through the adjoining door, slamming it so hard that a framed photograph rattled against the wall.
I waited until her footsteps disappeared before kneeling in front of Livia again.
“Can I hold you?””
She threw herself into my arms.
I held her against my chest while she cried into my shirt.
“I'm sorry, Daddy,” she whispered.
I pulled back just enough to see her face.
“Why are you sorry?””
“Because I ruined your wedding.””
The words struck harder than anything Bianca had said.
I pressed my forehead against hers.
“You didn't ruin anything, sweetheart. You didn't do one single thing wrong.””
“But your bride—”
“Listen to me, Livia. A wedding is just a party. You are my daughter. There is nothing in this world more important than keeping you safe.””
She sniffled.
“Even if you don't get married?””
“Even then.””
Rosalie wiped her own eyes.
I reached for the fallen section of hair, then stopped. I didn't know why I wanted to pick it up. Maybe because it represented something I couldn't give back to my little girl.
“Alessandro,” Rosalie said softly, “leave it.””
I straightened and slipped my jacket around Livia's shoulders.
“Marco is coming. We're leaving this room.””
The makeup artist finally spoke.
“Mr. Rossi?””
I turned.
She looked frightened, but she wasn't looking at Bianca's ruined makeup. She was looking at the small black camera mounted above the suite's double doors.
“I think you should know something.””
“What?””
She swallowed.
“The hotel's security cameras cover the hallway and the entrance to this suite. I saw Bianca send the hairdresser away earlier. She told everyone she wanted to have a private moment with Livia.””
My stomach tightened.
“Did anyone else see what happened?””
The makeup artist nodded toward the camera.
“The security manager can review the footage. And I heard Bianca tell someone on the phone that the little girl needed to learn her place.””
Rosalie drew Livia closer.
I felt a coldness spread through me that had nothing to do with the air conditioning.
“Who was she speaking to?””
“I don't know,” the makeup artist whispered.
“But she sounded angry. She said she had to get it done before the ceremony.””
Before I could ask another question, my phone vibrated.
A message appeared from Marco, our head of security.
*Mr. Rossi, please do not let Ms. Vale leave the property yet. I need to speak with you privately about something we found in the east hallway.*
I read it twice.
Then another message arrived.
*It concerns your daughter. And it may concern the wedding.*
I looked down at Livia, who had finally stopped crying long enough to rest her cheek against my shoulder.
May you like
Whatever Bianca had done, the haircut was no longer the only thing I needed to understand.
And I had a terrible feeling that the truth was going to be worse.
