Red Italian Lavender

The first flash fiction piece I’ve posted here. Enjoy.

She wasn’t much of the type for Italian haute couture.

A relaxed ambience bounced off the stained glass windows; bringing to life the grand anamorphic representation of the heavens painted on the ceiling. Even the worn-out woodwork looked rather exquisite today. Boy was she hungry!

She took a deep breath, taking in the sweet fragrance of intoxicating lavender and red flower candles making its way out of the hall. It brought back the memories of a world she had once escaped. The forbidden fruit of the family. A Don’s mistress to be.

“Take shorter steps, will you! — You won’t puff this up so much!” the dresser said impatiently as he pressed down the pleats on her trumpet style dress. It flared up every curve of her sleek figure.

Musical preludes heralded the ceremony as he took her hand and walked slowly through the arched hallway. The cathedral style train cascaded down her waist and followed her across the marble floor. Her hair had been coaxed into ringlets. “You look absolutely beautiful darling,” he whispered.

The chatter faded away. The cousins craned their necks to get a better look. Aunts impatiently fanning their sweaty chests. Uncles stood besides them in their usual crisp suits, with the ever-present bulge at the hip. She sometimes wondered how this was any different.

It was almost over when suddenly, clicks cracked by just over the choral. The flower decorations dispersed like confetti from left to right. Intricate woodwork splintered. A few front row parishioners bowed down, spilling red wine, or so she chose to think for a moment. She felt her heart dampening. It went quiet.

It took her a few breaths to feel the warmth spreading through the dress. He pulled her close, gargling a wild whisper in her ear. The iron smell stung at her senses as they knelt down to the blessed virgin. From Italy to New York, there was never a chance of escape.

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears.
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