life—one I hope will be temporary—is a far cry from the plans I had made for myself. There’s nothing I can do about that now. I have managed to cope with every change that has come my way from the moment Diego first laid eyes on me. I will survive this.
I wake up on the morning of the ceremony to find Diego already gone. On my nightstand, there’s a massive bouquet of pure white roses and calla lilies. The card attached to them holds a simple note: See you at the altar. Diego.
It strikes me as a romantic gesture totally unlike him. But then, he did tell me he wanted to try to make this marriage as civil as possible. Also, he included lilies, which are my favorite flower. I don’t remember ever telling him that, so I assume it has to be a coincidence.
Pressing my nose into the bouquet, I indulge in a few seconds of fantasy. I pretend this is the wedding day I’ve wanted since I was a little girl, and that meeting my future husband at the altar fills my stomach with butterflies and not dread. I pretend to be excited for the wedding night and the honeymoon—even though Diego hasn’t mentioned any kind of trip. I know there won’t be one, but I pretend anyway. Where would Diego take me if we did take a honeymoon? I imagine someplace like Paris or Italy. He doesn’t strike me as a barefoot in Tahiti type of guy. He’s more of a dinner and dancing and kisses beneath the Eiffel tower kind of man. With a sigh, I hang on to my fantasies for just a little bit longer, telling myself there isn’t anything wrong with my train of thought. If it’s what I need to make it through this day, I’m okay with it.
Someone knocks at the door, and I slip a robe on over my nightgown before opening it. My mouth drops open in shock when I find Marcella standing next to my big sister, Camila. Marcella holds an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne inside, and a carafe of orange juice. Camila has a garment bag draped over her arm and a broad smile on her face.
“Oh, my God!” I blurt, hands coming up over my mouth. “Camila!”
My sister bounces into the room like her typically bubbly self and tosses the garment bag onto the bed before throwing herself at me. I hold her tight and my eyes blur from tears I can’t hold back. She smells like her favorite Chanel perfume and she feels like home.
Pulling back to look at me, she frowns. “Elena, it’s your wedding day! No tears allowed!”
I sniff and laugh, cupping her face. “I’m just so happy to see you. It’s been six months! You look amazing. These highlights are perfect on you.”
She preens and flips her freshly cut hair—dyed a mahogany brown with golden highlights that make her hazel eyes pop. “I had to look my best for your wedding day. I wish you had given me more notice so I could lose five more pounds, at least.”
Marcella sits the champagne and orange juice on Diego’s nightstand, while Mariana and Antonella file in with breakfast for three, along with coffee and champagne glasses. My soon-to-be sister-in-law watches us with a soft smile.
“Shut up, you look amazing,” I tell Camila, still clinging to her hand while we sink onto the bed side-by-side. “You gave birth less than a year ago, for God’s sake! And how is my pequeño angel?”
Camila sighs and pulls her cell phone out of her purse. My chest grows tight when she shows me a photo of my baby nephew, Emmanuel.
“Oh, Mila,” I whisper, gently stroking my finger over his sweet, chubby face. “He’s gotten so big.”
My sister beams with pride. “He eats like a grown man and crawls so fast I can barely keep up. Nick is bringing him to the wedding. You know Emmanuel wouldn’t miss his Tía Elena’s wedding!”
“I can’t wait to see them both,” I tell her. “What are you doing here? I wasn’t expecting to see you until I got to the church.”
Marcella offers me a cup of coffee from the tray, then gives one to Camila before going back to pour her own. “Diego sent for her this morning. Jovan drove all the way to her hotel to bring her here.”
“Your fiancé is so sweet,” Camila gushes. “He called me last night and told me he worried you were nervous.