Today was a pivotal moment, as Christina and I ventured out to find our wedding dresses. The engagement had already been announced on social media, creating quite the buzz. It was no surprise, given the weight our families carried- the Luciano heirs and the Caravello sisters, two prominent names in Italy and New York's elite and, more significantly, in the top five most powerful mafia families. The constant prying from the public and media was expected, but no one was going to uncover the true depth of our world. They'd get no details about the wedding beyond what we allowed them to see.

The wedding dress shop we entered was nothing short of magnificent. White gowns draped every corner of the elegantly designed store, shimmering under the soft lights. Rows of luxurious shoes were displayed alongside the gowns, and the atmosphere was almost too grand. Our mother accompanied us this time, clearly sent by our father to prevent a repeat of last week's debacle.

My mind was made up. I wasn't going to wear anything revealing or extravagant, no matter what others expected. A high-neck, fluffy gown that concealed my figure was my choice. I've always felt uneasy when my body is on display, a feeling I detested more than anything. It wasn't that I didn't care about my wedding or how I looked-this was a day I would remember forever, but I had boundaries. I could never stand the way men's eyes lingered, making me feel exposed, like they were stripping me down without a second thought. I refused to give them that satisfaction.

Christina, though, was the opposite in some ways. She had her heart set on her dream wedding dress. Even though this was an arranged marriage, she didn't see why she should hold back. She embraced the romance of it all, and while she was still modest, she wasn't afraid to show a little skin. Her femininity shone through in every choice she made, from the delicate cuts to the elegant designs she favored. Despite everything, she managed to hold on to her dreams for this day, and I admired her for that.

I had my reasons for preferring more coverage. The three long scars that etched across my lower back were a permanent reminder of my past, of the violence inflicted by my biological father. Even now, I felt those scars burn when I thought about them. When I wore cropped tops, I made sure they were paired with high-waisted jeans to hide them. I was never ashamed, but I didn't want the world to see them either. Those scars were mine, a part of me, but not for others to gawk at.

As we sifted through gowns, I knew today would be challenging. But no matter what, I was determined to find something that honored who I was-strong, resilient, and unwilling to compromise on my comfort for anyone, even for a wedding as grand as this.

After hours of searching and enduring my mother's constant nagging to choose something fancier, I finally found the perfect wedding dress. It was exactly what I had envisioned-a high-neck gown with a netted design covering the top. The sleeves were long, also made of delicate netting, adding a touch of elegance without revealing too much. The gown flared beautifully at the bottom, with intricate butterfly patterns woven into the fabric, giving it a whimsical yet modest charm. It was everything I wanted-classy, understated, and most importantly, comfortable for me.

However, the one compromise I was forced into was the heels. Three-inch heels, to be exact. Being tall already, I never felt the need for extra height, but apparently, it was non-negotiable. I begrudgingly put them on, even though I'm far more comfortable in my usual casual clothing and running shoes.

Christina, on the other hand, had a different vision for her dress and was thrilled with what she found. Her gown was an off-shoulder masterpiece, with a netted layer draping over the flared bottom. It exuded elegance and femininity, showing just a hint of cleavage, but in a way that only enhanced her grace. She looked stunning and poised, as she always does. Unlike me, Christina didn't mind the heels; she even wore them on occasion, so it wasn't as much of a sacrifice for her.

I was so happy for Christina. She looked radiant, the picture of elegance in her off-shoulder gown. The way she carried herself with such grace made her deserving of the world, and I couldn't help but feel proud. Yet, beneath that pride, there was a heaviness in my heart. As beautiful as she looked, I wished more than anything that she would be wearing that gown for a man she truly loved, not for a stranger chosen for her just weeks before.

Our lives had been carefully orchestrated from the moment we were born into this world, part of the Luciano and Caravello dynasties, two of the most powerful mafia families in existence. Love wasn't part of the equation-loyalty, power, and alliances were. Both of our husbands were handsome, with charm and status to match, but they weren't men we had chosen for ourselves. That lack of choice terrified me. It felt as though my control had been stripped away, forcing me to play a role I wasn't ready for. Christina, ever the optimist, seemed to take it in stride, but I couldn't shake the unease.

Not being in control brought me back to a dark place-13 years ago, when I was just a young girl, forced into a situation where I had no power. That incident, one that left scars not just on my body but deep within my soul, haunted me still. It was a reminder of what happens when others dictate your life, when your voice is silenced. The thought of going through life like that again, being bound to someone not of my choosing, stirred up old fears I thought I had buried. The scars from that time may have faded, but the memories had not.

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Andrea's choice of wedding dress.

Christina's choice of wedding dress