Chapter 17
One year later, Livia was a flower girl again.
Not at my wedding.
At Rosalie’s.
Small ceremony.
Garden.
No alliances.
No capos negotiating between courses.
Livia chose her own dress.
And her own hairstyle.
Her hair had grown past her shoulders again.
Before the ceremony, she stood in front of a mirror while Rosalie fixed one ribbon.
I watched from the doorway.
For a second, the sound of electric clippers returned in my memory.
The hair on the marble.
Livia crying.
Bianca laughing.
Then Livia saw me.
“Daddy.”
“Yeah?”
“Too much ribbon?”
I looked seriously.
“Dangerous amount.”
She giggled.
“Rosalie says it’s elegant.”
“Then I’m outvoted.”
She turned back to the mirror.
No fear.
That was what mattered.
Later, someone placed the old rolling vanity stool near the preparation table.
Livia climbed onto it.
My body tensed before I could stop it.
She noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
She narrowed her eyes.
Three years old had become four, and suspicion was developing nicely.
I smiled.
“You look good.”
“I know.”
Of course.
During the ceremony, Livia scattered flowers too quickly and ran out halfway down the aisle.
Everyone laughed.
She looked at me.
One year earlier, laughter around a mistake might have frightened her.
Now she shrugged and kept walking with an empty basket.
Perfect.
Afterward she climbed into my lap, ruining the crease in my suit.
I let her.
Across the garden, Rosalie caught my eye and smiled.
I thought about the engagement ring I once dropped beside broken clippers and fallen hair.
At the time, I believed I was ending a wedding.
I understand it differently now.
I was choosing what kind of home Livia would grow up inside.
Bianca wanted a child who matched the picture.
Quiet.
Beautiful.
Convenient.
Easy to arrange around adult desire.
I wanted my daughter.
Uneven hair.
Interruptions.
Grief.
Opinions.
Everything.
A year ago, Bianca tried to remove the part of Livia that reminded everyone of someone else.
What she never understood was the simplest thing.
May you like
My daughter never had to resemble Sofia, please Bianca, or fit any family image to deserve her place beside me.
She only had to be Livia.
