— Hi, good afternoon — I say as I step into Jean's atelier.
— Thank heavens you're here! I'm having a nervous breakdown — he cries, grabbing my hand and whisking me toward the fitting room. — Are you absolutely sure about the dress? It's a masterpiece, but it's... unconventional.
Jean looks at me expectantly. He loved my request for something "different" for my wedding, but I can tell he's anxious, worried I might change my mind at the last second.
We've been talking for weeks now. The wedding is only seven days away—next Saturday. Everything is ready: the church, the reception in the garden of the estate we rented, and the house. We even hired a specialist to decorate our new home. The invitations went out two weeks ago.
My mother was ecstatic when she heard I was getting married. She came to stay the week with me to help with the final preparations and seems genuinely excited. My father and brothers will arrive two days before the ceremony since they can't leave work for long. Eduardo even suggested having my three brothers as groomsmen, which I loved. Amanda will be paired with one, and Eduardo's cousins with the other two.
— Blue. It is simply splendid — Jean murmurs, and I smile.
I've been coming for fittings at least three times a week. He's always adjusting something, and every time he calls me back, the dress seems even more beautiful.
— It's going to be stunning, and I wanted something unique. It will match the decor perfectly — I tell him, and he beams.
— Excellent. Now, straight into the fitting room. Clothes off! Let's do the final tweaks. After today, you won't see the finished dress until the wedding day.
— Finished? I thought it was already done. Aren't we just taking final measurements? — I ask, curious.
— Not quite. There's a surprise, but don't worry—you'll love it. I am no amateur. Now, get in there; I have a thousand pins to stick in you.
I do as I'm told, only to realize an hour later that he wasn't joking. I'm convinced a thousand pins are pricking me—across the front and near the shoulders where the sleeves drape. What on earth is he planning?
— All done — he says after an hour of pinning and tucking. — You're going to be perfect, Malia.
I smile and, after chatting a bit longer, say my goodbyes and head back to the apartment. My mother left earlier to go shopping with Eduardo's mother. The two of them have hit it off remarkably well. It's good that they've become friends.
When I walk into the apartment, I immediately realize I'm not alone. The scent of food and the sound of low music catch my attention. I walk toward the open-plan kitchen and stop in my tracks. There is Eduardo, shirt sleeves rolled up, standing in front of the stove wearing an apron.
— Eduardo? — I say his name, not knowing whether to be surprised, confused, or amused. He's dressed for work, save for the rolled sleeves and the apron tied around his waist.
— Malia, you're back. I thought you'd be out all day — he says, glancing at me briefly before returning his focus to the pans. — Have you eaten lunch? I had a meeting this morning and decided not to go back to the office today.
— I haven't eaten yet. You know how to cook? — I ask, approaching the counter and setting down my purse.
— I try. Here, taste this. — He walks toward me with a spoon I hadn't even noticed he was holding. — Open up.
Still startled, I obey automatically. He gives the spoon a quick blow to cool it and slides it into my mouth. It's a sauce—rich, complex, and incredibly delicious.
— This is amazing. What are you making? — I ask. The whole house smells wonderful.
— Filet mignon with a Madeira sauce. I have the beef roasting with some potatoes while I finish the sauce — he says, hurrying back to the stove. — Can you hand me that open bottle of wine on the counter, please?
I grab the wine but don't see a glass nearby.
— Where's your glass so I can pour you some?
He looks at me for a moment and gives a faint, lopsided smile. He walks over, takes the bottle from my hand, and glances at the label as if analyzing it before meeting my eyes.
— Bororo. It's a decent wine, but I prefer using it for cooking — he says, turning back to the stove and splashing some into the pan. — Is everything going well? With the wedding, I mean. Do you need help?
— Everything is on track. Our mothers have been a huge help; it's almost all done — I say, leaning against the counter.
— Malia, where do you want to go for the honeymoon? — he asks suddenly, catching me off guard.
— Honeymoon?
— Yes. It's not every day I get married. I'm going to take a few days off. Any ideas? Europe, France, Italy, Japan... you can choose anywhere in the world.
— I... I have no idea — I stammer, truly stunned.
— Then I'll make it a surprise. That way, you don't have to worry about that either.
I just nod, speechless.
— Oh, Malia? There's something I need to tell you — Eduardo says, stopping his stirring.
— Sure. Is it important?
— Yes. Cecilia. She's going to try to get close to you. I would stay away from her.
He looks at me, and for a fleeting second, I see a flash of anger in his eyes.
— Who is she? — I ask, my curiosity piqued.
Eduardo takes a deep breath, looks at the floor, and then goes back to the sauce. After a long silence, he looks at me again, his voice turning so cold it sends a shiver down my spine.
— My ex-fiancée.