Bella Fortuna Read Online Free PDF Page B

but dropped my hand back to my side and tiptoed to my room. No matter how much I wanted her to help me feel better, I just couldn’t bear to see the hurt in her eyes when she’d see how pained I was. Besides, she didn’t know about my feelings for Michael.
    I took off my dress. When I had put it on earlier in the night, I was so proud of it. My mother had made it for me. It was a deep emerald green with black tulle and lace trim throughout the dress. It had a square neckline with a V-cut in the center, giving a tiny peek to my cleavage. I had worn one of my minimizer bras out of fear of showing off too much cleavage.
    When my sister Rita saw me, she said, “What a shame to hide those magnificent tits!” I scowled at her. You’d think she was years older than me and more experienced, the way she talked.
    Before taking off my dress, I stared at myself in the full-length mirror that hung on my closet door and remembered how earlier in the night I’d wished that somehow Michael could’ve seen me in it. My wish was granted when he showed up at the dance. But my hopes that the sight of me in this dress was all it would take to convince him I wasn’t a little girl anymore were crushed—first with his mention of getting the concert tickets for a friend and me, and then seeing him making out with my girlfriend, who was quickly becoming the town tramp.
    I threw the dress onto the floor. Stupid! How stupid could I have been? Aldo had nailed it exactly when he said that I saw Michael as this perfect guy and above the lousy frat-boy behavior his peers often exhibited. What did I know about him anyway? Not much. I was basing my knowledge of Michael’s worth just from that day he’d saved me at Li’s Grocery Store. I was still that same kid looking up to her idol, who could do no wrong in her eyes.
    I sank into bed with a heavy weariness. Pulling the sheets close to my chin, I promised myself that night I would forget Michael Carello once and for all. But keeping that promise would prove to be much more difficult than I ever could’ve imagined. For over the summer, my world was about to shatter. And Michael would prove to be my knight in shining armor once again.
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    The snow that is now falling shakes me back to the present. I fight back the memories from that summer and take a deep breath of cold air, letting it cleanse my lungs and spirits. I quicken my steps along Ditmars Boulevard.
    New York City is having a record amount of snowfall this winter. We’ve had three major snowstorms already, and it’s only mid-January. February often packs the biggest wallop of the season where the cold and snow are involved.
    The pink sign of Sposa Rosa soon comes into view as I round the corner of Ditmars and 38th Street. I can still feel that thorn pricking my side whenever I look at the shop’s name. Leave it to my mother to choose “pink bride” as the name of the bridal boutique that she’d opened ten years ago. I still remember the battle I had with my mother as if it were yesterday.
    â€œBut, Ma, hardly any bride wears pink unless you’ve been married five times, and even then some people still prefer to wear white!”
    â€œ Basta, Valentina! The name is going to be Sposa Rosa, and that’s that. It’s memorable. It rhymes. And it’s different. When I die, you can call it “Always White” or some other unoriginal, boring name. But right now this is Olivia DeLuca’s shop, so the name stays. Finito! ”
    My sisters Rita and Connie giggled in the background. They knew Ma was teasing my traditional tastes. When we were kids, Rita had nicknamed me “Plain Jane.” I guess I couldn’t blame her. I ate my pancakes without maple syrup and my hot dogs and burgers without ketchup or mustard. I liked more classic styles when it came to my clothes. But that didn’t mean I always chose to be conservative. My mother and sisters