THE BRIDE - By Shaxee
France cannot be France without greatness. - Charles de Gaulle
Francesca Marcolini’s POV
“Welcome to France, Mademoiselle.” The chauffer that my mother had sent to the airport to fetch me greeted me with a warm smile on his elderly face.
“Thank you.” I replied with an equally warm smile as I slid out of the Royce Rolls.
“Darling!” An overdressed woman approached us half-walking, half-running. “I’m so glad you came for a visit, Francesca. I thought you had already forgotten that you have a mama, dear girl.”
I sighed as I kiss my mother on both of her cheeks. “Are you expecting the queen of England today?”
My mother, Lianna Broussard, frowned in my direction.
“Are you trying to be funny, Francesca?”
I hide my smile as the maid starts to bring my luggage inside the very glamorous chateau my mother’s second husband owned.
My mother was a famous theater actress here in France and sometimes — no scratch that, most of the time she adopts her role as drama queen to real life.
Like now she’s so overly dressed as if entertaining the queen. And if I commented on how she dressed she would just give me an earful of lecture.
“Come on, daughter. I already told the maid to prepare for tea at the garden. Let’s enjoy the sun. A fine weather, isn’t it?”
“You didn’t need to arrange a welcome committee at the airport, Mama.” I reprimanded her casually. “I can do it on my own.”
“I just don’t want you to have to hassle for taxi or rented car, Francesca.”
And that’s it. My mother had just turned into the drama queen, giving me her very earnest look.
“Your mama was just excited to see you.”
I just took a deep breath and let it pass or else this was going to be a long vacation for me.
“By the way, where’s Alain?”
Alain Broussard was my mother’s second husband. A very wealthy French businessman who had fallen in love with my mother in Paris—or so my mother claimed.But I genuinely believed that he adored my mother very much despite all of her antics.
“Oh, he’s in Paris for business.” My mother answered as we reach the massive English garden a well laid table of a variety of food was waiting for us. “Come, let’s have some tea. I’ve missed you so much, dear.” “Don’t you feel over dressed, mother?” I couldn’t help but ask that question since I saw her.
“Darling,” Lianna Broussard laughed as we sat on the iron chair in the garden. “What will I do with all my clothes if not wear them? Alain keeps buying me tons of couture clothes.”
“And every day you think of it as a runway fashion show, don’t you?”
My mother had the audacity of giggling like a teenager.
“You could say that.”
I shook my head in disbelief. Clearly, my mother had found love for the second time around and I am so happy for her.
When my papa had died I thought she would be miserable for the rest of her life like I was with my life after Lorenzo had died.
After papa’s death, my mother took on a life where she explored the world, she didn’t imprison her life with the memory of her dead husband; she met Alain and clearly loves Alain Broussard with all of her life. “What’s the matter, Francesca?”
“Huh?” I asked when my mother dragged me out of my daydream.
“What’s the matter, Francesca?” My mother repeated calmly as she sipped her tea. “You are not the type that will visit me unplanned. What are you running away from in Italy?”Trust my mother to cut to the heart of it. I debated if I will tell her the truth.
“And don’t bother to tell a lie, dear daughter.” My mother warned sweetly. “I will know if you are lying.”
I sighed and sipped my tea before answering my mother. As if the time I would consume in drinking my tea will help my nerves to calm down.
“Some things happened back in Italy, mama…”
“I gathered that much.”
I gave her a pleading look. “If you will not interrupt me I will tell you, mother.”
She held up her hands in silent surrender.
“I finally know Lorenzo’s true color.” I started. “The fact that he had a mistress throughout our engagement and he loved her so much until the day he died.”
My mother’s reaction to my news was surprisingly calm. Given the fact that she’s such a drama queen my revelation was greeted by surprising silence.
“You knew about this, didn’t you?” I asked my mother who was just serenely sipping her tea. “You knew about Lorenzo’s affair with that English lady?”
“Only by accident,” My mother answered, looking me straight in the eyes. “I heard them fighting on the night of your engagement. Lorenzo promised me that he will break off everything with that woman. He asked me not to tell you about it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me, mama?” I inquired her. The pain was coming back to me with vengeance. “Do you know the humiliation I feel now? Adoring my fiancé when he’s in love with someone else.”
“What could I do my dear daughter?” My mother asked helplessly, her eyes filled with sorrow. “I could see the stars in your eyes. You were clearly in love with him.”
“But I was living a lie.” I retorted hotly. “Everything was a lie.”
“I’m sorry, Francesca.”
“Why didn’t you tell me after he died?” I asked, fighting back the tears in my eyes. I promised not to shed even a single tear for Lorenzo anymore. “Why did you keep it from me?”
“I thought at that time it’s better to leave things as they were.” Lianna responded warily, avoiding my gaze. “You were just twenty-one and you were now a widow. I thought it better to have his good image on your memory. I thought you would move on in your life and find another man to love after his death. I guess I was wrong.”
“He should be burn in hell!” I muttered darkly.
My mother scowled at me. “Francesca! Do not speak ill to the dead. This is entirely my fault; I should have told you the truth after his death. So you could start your life again. At your age you should have a family of your own.”
“I might just have.” I told my mother half-heartedly. “I just lost my virginity last night. And yes, we didn’t use protection.”
My mother nearly sputtered the tea she’s been drinking. “Sweet Lord, Francesca! Do not surprise me like that when I’m drinking. You had what—”
“A one night stand.” I answered with a red stain on my cheeks.
“Who is he?” I frowned at her.
“Why do you want to know?”
“Who is he?” My mother repeated eagerly, the mischievousness was back in her eyes. “Who is the man who managed to penetrate the walls you erected? I want to meet him.”
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