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Demi Malone

M y arms were laced with designer shopping bags as my friend Samara and I shopped in the Oak Street District.

We hit up every high-end boutique and storefront on the hunt for the perfect engagement party dress.

The spring air was crisp and aromatic with the scent of blooming flowers as we passed from one store to the next, running up a check.

Inside one of the many boutiques we visited, Samara and I sifted through racks of expensive, glittery cocktail dresses and gowns, yet my thoughts were far from all the glitz and glam surrounding me.

“What about this one?” Samara asked, pulling a mermaid-style gown off the rack and holding it up for me to examine. “You think you want to try it on?”

I pushed out a hard, audible sigh. “Mara, I’m not sure about going through with this marriage. Everyone says he’s a monster. I mean, they do call him ‘El Diablo.’ What if all the rumors are true? What if I’m literally walking into a waking nightmare when I marry him in two weeks?”

Samara pushed her long dark curls with blonde highlights behind her ear before shooting me an empathetic look.

“Listen, I know arranged marriages are tough, but things could be worse. At least he’s handsome from the picture you showed me, right?

Who knows? Maybe you’ll end up pleasantly surprised in the end,” she said optimistically.

I frowned. “Handsome or not, I’m only twenty-four! He’s eleven years older than me. That’s a huge gap, which means I was in diapers when he was probably already whacking his wiener.” I cringed.

Samara belted out a chuckle. “Again, it could be worse. He could be twenty years your senior and old enough to be your daddy.”

Her words sent a shiver down my spine. “You’re right about that.

Gross. But still, Mara! He lives in an entirely different country!

I don’t know if I’m ready to be someone’s wife, especially not under these circumstances,” I confessed under duress instead of my typical calm, confident demeanor.

“I’ve never met this man a day in my life, and suddenly, I’m supposed to be tethered to a stranger forever just so our families don’t kill each other.

I’ve only had one real relationship before now, and you know how that ended!

I can’t imagine marrying a man named ‘El Diablo’ will be any better. ”

Samara put the dress back on the rack before reaching out to give my arm a comforting squeeze.

I felt the tension in my shoulders slightly relax, but my restlessness remained.

I looked into her almond-shaped eyes. They were warm and familiar.

I could always count on her to tell me the truth or be the strong shoulder for me to lean on.

My eyes quickly scanned her familiar features.

She stood at five-foot-two, and had a head full of thick, dark curls with blonde highlights spilling down her back and over her shoulders.

From her high cheekbones and full lips to her button nose and a perfectly sculpted jawline, her face card that never declined.

My girl had no problem turning heads anywhere she went.

“Look, I get it. It’s a fucking shitty thing your father is making you do.

But as the sole heir to your family’s business, it’s your obligation.

And who knows? Maybe he’ll show you a side of him that dispels all the rumors.

Right now, let’s focus on thinking positive thoughts and finding you the perfect dress, because my best friend deserves to feel like the beautiful badass she is, no matter who is standing at the end of that altar in a few weeks. ”

I took a deep breath, trying to silence my loud, racing thoughts. I scanned all the lavish dresses and allowed myself to be momentarily wowed by the beauty surrounding me.

“You’re right, Samara. I should at least look the part, even if I don’t feel it.”

She cocked her head to the side and gave me a hard glare. “Um, excuse me? The Demi Malone I know always feels the part because she is the part. I don’t know who this wannabe is standing here in front of me.”

I scoffed. “Shut up. A bitch is stressed, okay?”

“Let’s go. We’re finding a mirror.”

My forehead crinkled. “What? Why?” I whined.

“It’s affirmation time, bitch. Hop to it.” Samara grabbed my wrist and marched us over to the full-length mirror. She took her place behind me and stared at our reflections. “Say the words, Demi,” she hollered.

I quickly darted my eyes to the ground. “Oh my God, you’re embarrassing the shit out of me right now!” I hissed. “Lower your voice before they kick us out.”

“Not until you say it.”

My chest deflated with a hard sigh as my nostrils flared. I knew I was fighting a losing battle and didn’t bother putting in the effort. “Fine. If it’ll get you to shut up.”

“I just want my friend back so I can finish finding her a dress.”

I rolled my eyes skyward and huffed, visibly annoyed. “Okay, okay. I’m ready.”

“Who are you?” she asked, eyes piercing into my reflection.

“I’m Demi fucking Malone.”

Her voice rose. “I said, who are you?”

“I’m Demi fucking Malone.” I repeated with a little more grit, voice matching hers.

“One more time for the people in the back!” she yelled.

“I’m Demi fucking Malone!” I chanted back, feeling my adrenaline pumping through my veins.

“Who gon’ fuck with you?”

“Nobody!”

“Who gon’ top you?”

“Nobody!”

“Who gon’ shake you?”

“Nobody!”

She cheesed while high fiving me. “That’s my girl. Now c’mon, let’s shop!”

We continued our search, navigating through the world of high-end couture. My heart was heavy, but Samara’s support offered me a sliver of optimism as I prepared to face such an uncertain future. She was the only person around for me to vent my feelings to.

My mother died during childbirth, living long enough to push me out before she bled out in the delivery room.

As my father’s sole heir, I only knew conditional love, never nurturing.

My father was a purebred Chicagoan through and through, and he had to be cold to survive in the underworld.

He couldn’t come home and turn off the streets or erase all the evil things he’d done or commanded others to do on his behalf, so he didn’t even bother to try. I understood it; I just didn’t like it.

“Do you think anyone is ever truly ready for marriage?” I asked while walking past a display of mannequins clad in designer dresses of all lengths and colors.

“I think it’s normal to feel uncertainty,” Mara responded thoughtfully. “I don’t think it’s always about feeling ready. I think it’s about taking the jump and figuring things out one day at a time.”

I shot her a half smile. “I wish I could believe that. You make it sound so simple and carefree. I just wish I had more autonomy over my life. I mean, it is my life. What if I don’t want to spend it chained to a monster?”

“I get that, but you’re tough as iron, Demi. And you’re not alone in this. You have your father, your cousin Dominic, and me.”

A nearby gorgeous, sleek, ivory mini dress with a glittered bodice and low-cut neckline caught my eye, and I held it against me. “What do you think about this one? It's sexy, but is it doing too much?”

Samara’s big brown eyes popped wide before a big grin spread across her face.

“Oh my God, Demi! It’s gorgeous! And it’s not doing too much at all.

You should want to feel confident and powerful when your engagement is announced to the world, especially given the situation.

This dress screams all that and more. Try it on! ” she urged.

I headed to the fitting room and emerged a few minutes later wearing the dress.

I looked at myself in the mirror and saw a mix of emotions crossing my expression.

My gaze traveled across my rich, smooth skin with a warm caramel complexion like Werther’s.

A few subtle freckles dusted across the bridge of my nose—faint, hardly there.

My long eyelashes were full and fanned out over my almond-shaped, chestnut-brown eyes.

And then there was my dimple—emerging whenever my full lips flashed a smirk or smile.

I wore my long, wavy hair loose, allowing it to cascade down my shoulder and back in silky, rolling waves. My posture was controlled yet relaxed—a testament to my upbringing in an environment where poise came second-hand. Malones were at the top of the food chain, therefore, we had to act like it.

“So, what do you think?” Mara probed with her eyes bright and wide with excitement.

“I don’t know. I mean, it feels like me. I like the fabric it’s made of. It feels good on my skin. Maybe this is a start.”

“But is it the one ? Is it screaming I’m about to be Mrs. ‘El Diablo’ ?”

My lips slightly parted in thought as I paused to marvel at myself from head-to-toe once more before answering.

The designer fabric perfectly draped over my figure, making my beauty seem even more effortless than it already was.

My fashion choices had always echoed my high-class upbringing—never flashy, always purposeful.

Does it scream Mrs. Ozias Rivera? I don’t know. It kind of has a ring to it.

“Fuck it. I’m buying it. Let’s do it! It’s the only way to embrace whatever lies ahead in a couple of weeks.”

Samara cheesed her pearly whites while clapping and jumping up and down for joy. “Yass! My best friend is a baddie, and she looks so good!”

I stepped back inside the fitting room and changed back into my two-piece outfit.

When I returned, Samara and I continued browsing on our way to the checkout counter, discussing various dresses and their potential as wedding day contenders.

Suddenly, my eyes lit up when I spotted a stunning emerald dress glimmering under the boutique’s fluorescent lights.

“Oh my God, Samara, look at this one! You know green is my favorite color. I have to try it on!”

“Oh, that is gorgeous, Demi. You definitely should. Go for it!”