Chapter One
1831 Words
The zipper stopped halfway up her back.
It didn’t break. It simply refused to move, as though the dress itself had made a judgment and decided she was not worthy of entering it fully.
Catalina groaned, sucking her stomach in as she reached back again, slender fingers scraping the satin.
Beads of sweat broke on her forehead. The fabric squeezed her lungs inch by inch. The emerald dress caught the light, hugging curves she’d apologized for year after year.
“You know we could have avoided this if you just stopped stuffing your face like a little piggy.” A harsh voice said behind her.
Catalina’s fingers stilled above the zipper, the sinking feeling dropping even lower in her stomach as her husband's steps stalked towards her.
“Wait,” she said, already breathless. “Just-just give me a second. It's almost up.”
Marcus laughed, his tone casual and amusing, mirroring his own inconvenience.
Catalina blinked back tears; she won't cry, at least not today.
“You’ve been giving it a second for ten minutes,” he said.
She sucked in her stomach and pulled again. Pain flared under her breastbone.
“It’s just tighter than I thought. You said this was my size,” she retorted.
Marcus stepped closer, appearing in the mirror behind her. He didn’t reach for the zipper. He simply looked down at her.
“That’s because it was. How is it my fault you have transformed into a whale, Catty?”
Catalina flinched. The sneer on his face forced her eyes away from him, settling on her reflection.
In the mirror, her face looked unfamiliar-cheeks flushed, eyes too bright, mouth slightly parted as she struggled for air. To an onlooker, she was having a panic attack, and yet her husband refused to help.
“People change, Marcus,” she said finally. “That's how life is.”
“Yes,” Marcus replied smoothly. “Some people, like you, just stop trying.”
She forced a smile, the reflex of five years of marital horrors.
“We won't be having this conversation if you’d asked my size,” she said lightly, “or let me try it on-”
“I bought what used to fit the woman I married.”
His hands landed on her waist, sharp nails digging into the plump of her waist as tears pooled in her eyes.
“You’ve gotten comfortable, Catty,” he murmured. “Marriage does that to women like you.”
Women like you.
Her throat tightened.
“I can’t breathe,” she said quietly.
Marcus leaned in, lips brushing her ear, his voice almost tender. “Then breathe less.”
She laughed because crying would ruin her makeup, and ruined makeup would anger him more. Her husband hated emotions the most.
“Just zip it up,” she said. “Please.”
He tugged once hard. The zipper moved an inch, biting into her skin as it sat in place.
“There,” he said. “See? You’re alive. Let's go.”
She winced.
Clutching the silver purse tightly, she fell in stride with him.
The long hotel hallway seemed to mock her, each step pushing the dress further up against her side. She tried to measure her stress; the fear of ripping the dress held her captive.
Marcus noticed immediately.
“You’re walking like you’re pregnant,” he spat out. “Suck it in. I don't want anyone getting ideas.”
She did.
The ballroom doors opened to sound and light, warm laughter, clinking glasses, and chandeliers spilling gold over polished floors.
A banner hung above the entrance:
FIVE YEARS OF LOVE AND BLISS
Her stomach twisted. The red letters seemed to mock her.
Marcus’s arm slid around her shoulders, firm and possessive. Cameras flashed. His smile sharpened into something immaculate. The perfect husband for show.
“Smile,” he whispered. “Don’t embarrass me. We are in love after all.”
Catalina straightened her spine as the cameras pressed closer, cold eyes assessing her even before she could defend herself. They were all thinking the same thing.
“How is Marcus DeLuca still married to her?”
It was a question she asked herself daily.
The whispers floated to her ears before the first flute of champagne.
“Is that really what she’s wearing?”
“She’s gained weight, hasn’t she?”
“She used to be so pretty.”
She clutched the gold flute and focused on breathing shallowly.
Marcus leaned against her side, his arm wrapped around her waist, deepening the welts his fingers left.
‘‘For us,” he said, raising his glass.
She took a sip. Then another. The alcohol spread warmth through her chest, dulling the ache where the dress pressed into her ribs.
Marcus drifted easily through the room, greeting people, laughing too loudly, soaking in admiration. She followed half a step behind, always slightly out of sync.
Then, his warmth left her side, long strides moving in a beeline for a figure in front of them.
Catalina's lips curved in a bright smile.
Gianna.
Red silk. Bare shoulders. Puckered lips.
“There’s my bestie,” Gianna said brightly, kissing her cheek. “Five years in the bag. Look at you.”
Her eyes dropped and lingered.
“Quite a bold dress, right?” Gianna said, leaning away from her. “Is it meant to be that tight?”
Marcus laughed. “She likes a challenge. Don't you, darling?”
Catalina laughed, blue eyes crinkling in fake delight.
“Cheers to five years of love,” she said.
She drank again.
Throughout the night, Marcus’s attention slipped away from her like sand through fingers. The slow dance began, and Catalina's brow crinkled in a frown as Marcus led Gianna to the middle of the room, starting the couple's dance.
Why was he doing their anniversary dance with her?
He leaned closer to Gianna as they danced. His lips wafting over hers in the faintest of kisses. Ice poured down Catalina's spine as Marcus’ gaze caught hers over Gianna's shoulder.
He smiled at her as they twirled for a second time.
Bile bubbled up her throat as the room swelled, the walls caving in around her and air clogging in her throat.
Dashing out of the hall, she locked herself in the restroom, pressing her palms against her eyes, green bile burning her lips as she heaved into the porcelain bowl.
‘‘Urgh, Urgh,’’ the cold splash of water did nothing to calm her nerves.
A stray thought linked to another as the veil came crashing down.
The late-night dinners with Gianna, His reluctance to spend any time with her without Gianna being present.
Could they be……….,
‘‘No,’’ She shook herself upright, ‘‘Gianna won’t do that. I am overthinking this.’’
When she stepped back into the hall, Marcus and Gianna were gone.
Her pulse stuttered.
She scanned the room. The dance floor. The bar. The buffet.
Nothing.
‘‘Excuse me, her arm wrapped around the nearest waitress. ‘‘Have you seen my husband?’’
The ginger-haired girl avoided her gaze. ‘‘They went back upstairs to…. the private rooms.’’
If she had ever climbed up a longer set of stairs, Catalina would never have known. Each endless step nudged up more ugly memories, the fat girl jokes, the humorous laughter, the side glances.
She stopped outside the door.
‘‘Mmhmm.’’ A stifled moan filtered out from the oakwood.
Her hand trembled as she pushed the door open.
The room froze.
Marcus turned first. Annoyance flashed across his face before surprise took over.
Gianna was in bed. Her dress was hitched up. Her hair was disheveled.
For a moment, Catalina forgot to breathe.
“What is the meaning of this, Marcus?”
Marcus smirked. “This is really what it looks like.”
She lunged.
Gianna screamed as she was dragged off the bed. Hands tangled in hair. Fingernails scraped skin. Her fist connected with flesh.
SMACK!!
‘‘GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME, YOU f*****g BITCH.’’
‘‘Catty! Let go of her.’’ Marcus grabbed her arm.
She wrenched free and shoved him hard. ‘‘Don’t you dare touch me, YOU BASTARD!’’
He stumbled into the dresser, momentarily stunned.
“Enough,” he snapped, stepping forward, one arm pulling Gianna behind him, the other shaving Catalina away.
She hit the floor hard, the impact knocking air from her lungs.
Marcus loomed over her, chest heaving. His hand raised.
For one suspended second, she was sure he would hit her.
She looked up, tears streaking her face, rage blazing in her eyes.
His hand dropped, and he laughed. The condescending sound did what the sight of their entwined bodies couldn’t.
“Did you really believe I loved you? Is that what this is about?’’ He sneered.
“What did you expect, Catty? That, I, the campus golden boy, fell for little miss chubby because of love?” he continued, voice calm now, “Tsk, you are really delusional.”
She struggled to sit up. ‘‘What, why did you marry me then?! Why did you stay with me for all these years if you hate me this much!!!’’
“Isn’t it obvious,’’ He leaned down, holding her in place with a firm grip on her shoulder. ‘‘Money. My family was struggling to keep the business afloat, and your old grandmother just had to die and leave her wealth to you with a fat trust fund. It was quite easy to fake concern and stomach some sloppy kisses, and just like that, snap, you were mine.’’ he said, his lips curled in disgust.
Her ears rang.
She whispered, “And, you knew about this? How could you do this to your best friend?”
Gianna clung to Marcus now, her face streaked with blood and tears.
“Best friend,” Gianna said, venom sharp in her voice. “When was I ever your friend? You always had it easy in life. The perfect family. Fat Inheritance. All I got were your sloppy seconds, Lina. So, what’s wrong with taking something for myself for once?’’
The room caved in, bright colors assaulting her from all sides. Catalina did the only thing she did when confronted.
She ran. Her bare feet glided over the marble floors, bumping into onlookers, past the cameras, and into the parking lot.
She barely noticed the dress tearing at the seam, the sound of her own sobbing breath swallowed in the pouring rain.
- Writer
