Chapter Seven: Bridezilla


As projected, Tiffany booked the church for the marvelous wedding while Gabe took care of the wedding invitations; all the staff would get one, as well as any others who had been placed on the list. Victor was the security consultant; the real reason the invitations were being made was to make certain that no one would murder the bride or groom.

Victor and Sylvia visited store after store, and finding the 'perfect' dress was proving to be harder than was theorized. It wasn't Sylvia's doing; she'd agreed on every dress that had been placed at her feet by the store keepers.

As Victor denounced yet another dress and the staff stalked away to fetch another, Sylvia crossed her arms and wearily looked at the hitman.

"And you were worried that I would be the Bridezilla," Sylvia said impatiently. "It's a good thing we went for pizza before this; I can't imagine what you're like when you're hungry."

"It's a wedding, Liv," Victor answered for the hundredth time as if this explained everything. "You're only going to be doing this once—you might as well put more thought into it."

Sylvia lowered her hands from their cross stance and smirked when Victor sat down on the bench; he appeared fumed that the staff were not doing their best to find the 'perfect' dress…or maybe, that was his resting bitch face. Either way, she had to admire how much thought Victor was putting into this occasion—and it wasn't even his.

She wondered how particular he'd be on his own wedding day.

"Did you ever do this kind of thing with Falcone?" asked Sylvia curiously; she stood precariously on the stool, looking at her white-glossed heels; before her was a long, standing mirror, twice her height. She wore black leggings and a white tank top.

"No," Victor answered.

"Ever go dress-shopping with his wife?"

"No," said Victor calmly. "She passed away long before I met her."

"That's a shame. Does Falcone have kids?" Sylvia asked.

"Why are you suddenly curious?" Victor responded suspiciously.

"Lower your guard, Victor. I just never was able to know Falcone like you do. You're the closest person to him," Sylvia said lightly. "I figured you might have learned a few fashionista tips from him—since you're being so damn picky."

Victor allowed himself a small smile, probably reminiscing a time where he and Falcone went suit-shopping and his obsessive need for perfection in both presentation and professionalism had annoyed even the most patient of gangsters at one time.

"You're not wrong," Victor stated after some time had passed.

"Not wrong about what?"

He didn't answer her, but his stony silence—however sentimental in value—was oddly satisfying. Sylvia looked at her appearance in the mirror.

Her hair had grown exceptionally in length. When she had met Oswald, she had short hair, chin-length. Now, it had grown to her back in waves, not necessarily curls. Her eyes still held the ocean-blues, but they became glossy when she considered an alternate universe in which she'd be shopping for dresses with her late mother.

Or at least, maybe her brother.

Jim knew shit about fashion. Aside from the tie and get-up that he always wore as a detective, Jim was as knowledgeable about fashion as the bum-leaking hobo sitting in the middle of the Narrows.

Oswald knew a great deal about it—but they were going by the book on the wedding. The groom couldn't see the dress until it was walking down the aisle with the bride wearing it.

"You're quiet," Victor noted, breaking Sylvia out of her crestfallen trance. "I thought I'd like your silence, but it's actually really unsettling."

"I'm fine."

"Are you?"

Sylvia glanced at the reflection that belonged to Victor, noticing that his own was staring back at hers. He didn't look away, even as she allowed her soft expressions to harden.

"No." Sylvia admitted, and it surprised both of them.

Victor stood to his feet. Dressed in all black, he seemed to be a shadow standing behind her. Sylvia glanced at him, and then turned to peer at the real thing.

"I thought I'd be doing this with someone else," Sylvia said softly. "Does it make you uncomfortable?"

"No." Victor said flatly. "Should it?"

"You're telling me that seeing me in this" (Sylvia pointed to her skin-tight leggings and fitting tank-top that showed off her stomach and attractive assets) "doesn't make you uncomfortable?"

Smirking, Victor said, "I think you're very beautiful, Liv. And Penguin is one hell of a lucky man to see you in every way a man like myself would want to—but I'm not in any way attracted to you in any romantic form."

"Huh." Sylvia mused.

"Disappointed?"

"No. Relieved," Sylvia said softly. "It's quite refreshing, actually."

"I do like our back-and-forth between us, though," Victor said sneakily. "It makes things more interesting."

"The feeling is mutual." Sylvia agreed.

As they spoke, two women hurried into the room with two more white dresses. One was lacy, strapless; the other was more modest with long-sleeves, backless, and something from a Cinderella theme.

Victor held up the strapless, looking at it with narrowed eyes.

"I like this one," Sylvia said, picking up the other one. "Look—the sleeves go down to the hand; like some vampire queen theme." She placed it over her body, turning to the mirror, imagining herself in the dress. It just didn't quite work though.

"Maybe we're thinking about this wrong," Sylvia suggested. She turned to the ladies. "Let's try a black-and-white color scheme."

"But all the wedding dresses are white…." One of the ladies mumbled.

"Then go outside the realm of possibilities," Sylvia said sweetly.

They glanced at each other uncertainly but did as she requested, taking the dresses with them. Victor looked at her curiously.

"What are you thinking?"

"Black is for funerals, white is too…"

"Innocent?"

"Well, I was going to say 'bright'," Sylvia uttered, "but that too. Plus…I like black and white together."

"Why?"

"It reminds me of a penguin," Sylvia said.

"And you're trying to butter up the boss, aren't you?"

Sylvia shrugged saying, "Well, sure, but I also like penguins. They're cute and fluffy."

"Is that what attracted you to him in the first place?" Victor questioned in amusement.

Sylvia stepped off the stool, and Victor tilted his head forward to meet her eyes. She was substantially shorter than he; she was shorter than Penguin, for goodness sake. However, even with the height difference, he could feel the aura of confidence and power radiating from her.

"What do you think attracted me to him?" Sylvia asked.

"Other than his ambition for power…"

"That came after," Sylvia said softly. She sat on the stool while the women tittered and tattered over dresses in the shop; Victor sat on the bench, adjacent to her.

"I remember the day I realized I was in love with him," Sylvia said softly, smiling at Victor. "He and I were working for Fish Mooney, back when she was running the joint. When I first saw Oswald, I was outside, taking out the trash. Some of Mooney's boys were dishing out her discipline on some poor fool; they started making fun of Oswald, calling him names. 'Penguin' was one of them."

Victor chuckled, "You fell in love with him because they called him a penguin?"

"No." Sylvia said, grinning widely. "Not then. He came into the bar, started talking to me. He was angry after what they had done, and I told him—just in passing—that I like penguins, and they're my favorite animals. The way he looked at me after that, I knew something connected, I knew something happened between us."

Victor sighed, "That is one of the cheesiest love-at-first-sight stories I have ever had the misfortune to hear."

"You're an asshole," Sylvia said, smiling at him. "You know that?"

"Better than anyone," Victor returned. "Where was your first date?"

"Carnival," Sylvia responded. "I wore a yellow sundress."

"Have you considered wearing that at your wedding?" Victor questioned. "That was the first dress you wore when you dated; I figure it should be the last when you seal the deal."

Sylvia tilted her head curiously, looking at him.

"Victor Zsasz: cold-blooded hitman…secretly, a romantic." Sylvia teased quietly.

"Never said I wasn't romantic," Victor said, aloof.

"Hm. Fine then," Sylvia said smoothly. "You've convinced me. 'Yellow sundress', it is."

"Have you decided on the song for when you walk down the aisle?"

"No, should I?"

Victor sighed deeply, "You've not thought about any of this, have you?"

"Honestly, no. With Jim being demoted and all this stuff happening with—"

"We're doing that now." Victor stated firmly, getting to his feet.

"Oh—okay, I didn't see my day ending like this but all right." Sylvia uttered, getting to her feet as well.

Victor headed out of the door and Sylvia followed him. Just as the door swung closed, the two women had come out of the closet with five differently patterned black-and-white dresses. No one had told them to stop.

Oppressed by the unappreciated effort, they threw the clothes in the air and closed the store for the day.