Chapter 7 So, I'm a fake

The next morning, Elisa had woken up with a throbbing headache and something far more disturbing - a memory.

It wasn't clear. Just a blurry flash. Laughter. A warm table setting. She remembered sitting with people... laughing freely, with ease she hadn't felt since waking up in this cold, unfamiliar house. The strange thing was, the dining space in her memory didn't look anything like the one downstairs. It had no chandeliers or polished silver. It was modest. The plates didn't match, and the tablecloth was a bit faded - homely in a way that made her chest ache.

For a brief moment, she had wondered if her parents had another house. Or maybe... had they once been poor?

She didn't get the chance to think too deeply. Mrs. Cooper had come knocking, her voice sharp and alert, announcing breakfast. And knowing what her father was capable of, Elisa had forced herself out of bed and went downstairs without complaint.

Her parents were already seated, as usual - her father at the head of the table, and her mother silently by his side. Always by his side. Like a perfectly placed ornament.

Her mother's face was covered in heavy makeup, but it couldn't fully hide the swelling or the bruise. Elisa saw it clearly. The way the left side of her face puffed slightly, the way her hand lingered on her cheek when she thought no one was watching.

Elisa didn't say anything. She couldn't. She wanted to feel sorry for her mother - maybe even comfort her - but she couldn't understand how any woman would remain with a man like that. A man who hit her. A man who shouted commands instead of speaking.

She wasn't like her mother. She might have lost her memories, but not her sense of self. She wouldn't sit there quietly and marry a stranger. All she needed was an opportunity - just a little freedom, a little access to money - and she would disappear.

She sat far from them again, taking her place at the other end of the table. Like yesterday, nobody commented on it.

They were nearly finished when her father glanced at her mother and asked, "Have you spoken to the dressmaker?"

"Yes. She's coming today."

He gave a small nod, clearly pleased. "What about... those other things? Have you spoken to Elisa?"

That caught Elisa's attention. She looked up from her plate.

"Not yet," her mother replied, her voice softer now.

"What are you waiting for?" her father snapped. "I want everything concluded today."

"Of course."

He checked his watch. "I have to go. Make sure you two are done by the end of the day."

Once he left, her mother turned to her, trying to smooth over the tension. "How was your sleep?"

"It was okay," Elisa replied flatly. "Yours?"

"Good. Did you wake with a headache?"

"No."

"Any memories?"

"Not yet."

Her mother nodded, offering a small, tight smile. "That's alright. Just take your time."

Elisa gave a slight nod, focusing on the last bite of toast on her plate.

"Are you done? We have a lot to do today."

The rest of the day felt like a blur. They went to a high-end bridal boutique in the city. The dressmaker greeted them like royalty and had Elisa change into a gown she had supposedly picked out before the accident.

It fit almost perfectly, though a few adjustments were needed around the shoulders and waist.

Then came the spa - expensive, over-scented, and warm. They received full body massages, facials, and skin treatments. Despite herself, Elisa felt her body start to relax. It wasn't the bonding she wanted, but it was the closest her mother had come to treating her like a daughter all week.

They sat side by side, waiting for their manicures and pedicures to dry, when a tall, skinny blonde girl strutted toward them.

"Elisa?" the girl's voice was high and sharp, with no warmth behind the fake surprise. "My God. How are you? I heard you had an accident."

Elisa looked up, unsure. "I'm better now."

"You look... different," the girl said with a smirk.

"It's just the accident," her mother cut in smoothly. "She's been in the hospital for weeks."

"Right," the girl replied, eyes drifting toward Elisa's hair. "Love the hair, by the way."

Instinctively, Elisa touched her head. "My hair? What's wrong with it?"

"Ashley," her mother warned, her voice tight.

"Oh-my bad." Ashley gave a laugh that sounded like a cough. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Mancini. I'll be on my way." She turned back to Elisa, flashing a smug smile. "Congrats on the wedding, by the way."

Then she twirled and strutted away like she was on a runway.

Elisa frowned. "What was wrong with my hair?"

"Nothing."

"She clearly said something. Why would she comment on it?"

"This isn't the place, Elisa. We'll talk about it later."

"I want to talk about it now."

Her mother gave a short sigh. "You dyed your hair."

Elisa's frown deepened. "What do you mean, dyed it? What's with the colour?"

"You've always preferred being blonde. And Stefano likes blonde too."

"That's ridiculous. Why would I hate my natural hair?"

"You said it made you look less... glamorous."

"Well, I like it now," Elisa said firmly. "And I'm not changing it."

Her mother stiffened. "Mr. Bellucci likes blonde hair. He may not go ahead with the wedding if you change it."

"That's his problem. Not mine."

"Elisa," her mother's voice was tense now. "Please don't be difficult. Just a few more weeks. You can go back to your natural colour afterwards."

Elisa crossed her arms. "Mother-"

"Just leave it, for now," she cut in. "If you try to strip the dye and go back, it might damage your hair."

"...What was the original colour?"

Her mother paused.

"Red. Like mine."