Chapter 2: The Secret Behind the Smile
I didn't cancel the wedding immediately.
That might sound unforgivable, but shock has a strange way of turning even the simplest decisions into impossible ones.
My daughter was in pain. My future wife had just revealed a cruelty I hadn't known she possessed. Guests were arriving downstairs, and somewhere in the hotel, a wedding planner was probably asking whether the champagne fountains had been switched on.
For several minutes, I couldn't decide which fire to put out first.
Then Rosalie took Livia to the hotel's private medical suite, and I followed them.
The doctor, a gray-haired woman named Dr. Hayes, examined Livia's scalp beneath a bright examination lamp.
“There's no deep injury,” she told me.
“Some irritation, but nothing that appears dangerous. We'll clean the area and monitor it.””
“Will her hair grow back normally?””
“It should, assuming the follicles weren't damaged. I can't promise exactly how it will look during regrowth.””
Livia sat on the examination bed, swinging her legs nervously.
“Doctor?”” she asked.
Dr. Hayes smiled.
“Yes, sweetheart?””
“Am I still pretty?””
The doctor stopped smiling for a second.
Then she crouched in front of Livia.
“Sweetheart, hair doesn't decide whether you're pretty. And it certainly doesn't decide whether you're loved.””
Livia considered that.
“But Bianca said Daddy would be embarrassed to have me in the pictures.””
My hands curled into fists.
Dr. Hayes glanced at me, then returned her attention to Livia.
“I think your daddy is going to be very proud to have you in every picture.””
“I am,” I said immediately.
Livia looked at me.
“Even with my hair like this?””
“Especially because you were brave enough to tell me what happened.””
She reached for my hand.
“Can we go home now?””
The question nearly broke me.
“Yes, baby. We can go wherever you want.””
Rosalie stood near the window, staring at the parking lot below.
When the doctor stepped out to prepare a soothing cream, Rosalie approached me.
“I need to tell you something about Bianca.””
I rubbed my face.
“Please tell me you aren't about to say you always knew she was evil.””
“I didn't know she would do this.”” Rosalie paused.
“But I knew she didn't like Livia.””
“Why didn't you tell me?””
“I tried.””
I frowned.
“When?””
“Three months ago. At your apartment. Bianca was in the kitchen with Livia, and I heard her telling Livia to stop calling you Daddy so often because it made Bianca feel like an outsider.””
I stared at her.
“What?””
“Livia was crying. Bianca told me she was only trying to establish boundaries. You came home before I could explain what I'd heard, and she acted so sweet that I thought maybe I'd misunderstood.””
I remembered that evening.
Bianca had complained that Livia was clingy. I'd assumed she was adjusting to the complicated reality of dating a widower with a young child.
I'd told Bianca that we would work through it.
I had no idea she'd been making my daughter feel guilty for loving me.
“Why didn't Livia tell me?”” I whispered.
Rosalie's expression softened.
“Because Bianca told her that if she caused problems between the two of you, you'd send her away to live with me.””
I felt the blood drain from my face.
Livia was watching us from the examination bed.
I walked over and sat beside her.
“Sweetheart, has Bianca ever told you that you might have to leave our home?””
Livia's fingers tightened around the hem of her dress.
I waited.
She nodded.
“Sometimes.””
“How often?””
“Whenever I cried.””
I closed my eyes.
“What else did she tell you?””
Livia looked toward Rosalie.
Her aunt nodded gently.
“It's okay, baby. Daddy needs to know so he can help.””
Livia took a shaky breath.
“She said I was making you sad because I looked like Mommy.””
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
My daughter had Isabella's eyes, her smile, and the tiny crease that appeared between her eyebrows whenever she was concentrating. Every morning, I saw my wife in the little girl standing in front of me.
I had thought Bianca found that resemblance beautiful.
Apparently, she'd seen it as competition.
“She said you couldn't love us both,” Livia continued.
“She said when she became my new mommy, I would have to stop talking about my old mommy.””
I pulled Livia into my arms.
“No,” I whispered.
“No, sweetheart. Nobody gets to tell you that.””
“But she said—”
“Your mother will always be your mother. Nobody can take her place.””
Livia began crying again, and I held her until her breathing settled.
When I finally looked up, Rosalie was wiping tears from her cheeks.
“I should have pushed harder,” she said.
I shook my head.
“I should have listened.””
My phone vibrated.
A message from Bianca appeared on the screen.
*Bianca: I need you to come back upstairs. We need to talk privately before you make a decision you'll regret.*
Another message followed.
*Bianca: I've already told everyone there was a misunderstanding. Don't humiliate me in front of our guests.*
I stared at the screen.
She hadn't asked whether Livia was hurt.
She hadn't apologized.
She was trying to control the story before I could tell anyone what had happened.
I typed a response.
The wedding is canceled.
Before I could send it, another message appeared.
*Bianca: If you cancel, don't expect me to stay quiet about what your daughter has been doing.*
My stomach tightened.
I read the message twice.
Then I turned the phone toward Rosalie.
She looked at it, then at me.
“What does she mean by that?””
“I don't know.””
But I had a terrible feeling that Bianca knew something I didn't.
I sent the cancellation message.
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
Then vanished.
Then appeared again.
*Bianca: You have no idea what you've just done.*
I blocked her number.
For the first time since entering the bridal suite, I could breathe.
I arranged for Rosalie to take Livia to my penthouse while I returned to the ballroom to end the wedding publicly. I didn't want my daughter exposed to whispers, cameras, or the sight of Bianca trying to turn herself into the victim.
Before they left, Livia held my hand.
“Daddy?””
“Yes?””
“Are you still going to wear your wedding suit?””
I looked down at the dark blue suit I'd chosen for the ceremony.
“I suppose I don't have to.””
She studied my face.
“But you look handsome in it.””
I managed a smile.
“Then I'll wear it to take you for ice cream.””
Her eyes widened.
“Really?””
“Really.””
She wrapped her arms around my waist.
I kissed the top of her head, careful to avoid the damaged side.
“Go with Aunt Rosie. I'll be home soon.””
After they left, I walked into the ballroom.
Two hundred guests sat beneath crystal chandeliers, surrounded by white roses and candles. My best man stood near the stage, talking to the wedding planner. At the far end of the room, Bianca's mother was laughing with several women who wore matching champagne-colored dresses.
Everyone looked happy.
Everyone except me.
I took the microphone from the best man.
The conversations faded.
“Thank you all for coming,” I began.
“I have an announcement. There will be no wedding today.””
A gasp rippled across the room.
Bianca's mother stood so abruptly that her chair scraped against the floor.
“What are you talking about?”” she demanded.
I looked directly at her.
“Bianca hurt my daughter. I will not marry someone who believes a six-year-old deserves to be punished for being a child.””
Someone near the front whispered.
A man in the second row lifted his phone.
I continued.
“I apologize for the inconvenience. Please enjoy the refreshments, and my staff will help everyone arrange transportation.””
Bianca's mother hurried toward the stage.
“You cannot destroy my daughter's life over a haircut!””
I stepped down.
“Then perhaps you should ask your daughter why she thought cutting a little girl's hair was acceptable.””
Her expression changed.
Not to shock.
Not to confusion.
To something much closer to fear.
She grabbed my sleeve.
“Alessandro, please. You don't understand the circumstances.””
“What circumstances could possibly justify what she did?””
She glanced around the room.
“Not here.””
I pulled my sleeve free.
“Then tell me somewhere else.””
She swallowed.
“Your daughter has been hiding something from you.””
My heart began pounding.
“What?””
Before she could answer, the ballroom doors opened.
Bianca stood in the entrance wearing her wedding gown, her veil hanging crookedly from one shoulder. Her eyes were red, but there were no tears on her cheeks.
She carried a small black folder.
She walked straight toward me.
“If you want to destroy me,” she said loudly enough for the nearest guests to hear, “you should know what your precious daughter has been doing behind your back.””
She opened the folder.
Inside was a photograph of Livia standing beside my late wife's bedroom door.
On the back, someone had written a date.
A date from three weeks earlier.
Bianca raised the photograph so I could see it clearly.
May you like
“Ask your daughter what she took from your wife's room,” she said.
And suddenly, the woman who had just shaved my daughter's hair seemed far less concerned about the wedding than about whatever was inside that photograph.
