Chapter 8
Eight
NATASHA
I was never one of those girls who dreamed of what her special day would look like.
I didn’t have vision boards with pretty dresses and color swatches and flower arrangements.
When you’re told from the time you can walk that you’ll be used as a bargaining chip and given to a man to further the success of your father’s organization, the romance of a wedding is stripped away from you.
I have to admit, as I stand here in the bridal room of the church and stare at the dress hanging on the mirror, it’s .
. . horrible. I don’t know who chose it.
I certainly didn’t. I never set foot in a dress shop, so I have no idea if this monstrosity will fit or how it’ll look on my hourglass frame.
I have boobs and hips, so sometimes things don’t fit quite right.
Mostly, as I stare at the lace and crystals before me, I’m wondering if there’s something in this room I can use to kill myself.
Yeah, I said it.
The hair and makeup people have left me alone, and despair overwhelms me.
I barely left my rooms at my father’s house since Julian dropped me off there the other night after the fiasco at Rapture.
I kept to myself, sneaking down for meals, and then right back upstairs because my poor body needed time to heal.
In an unexpected turn of events, my father did come to me this morning and gifted me my grandmother’s necklace.
I finger the pendant as I stare at my dress, caught in memories of the only person who’s ever shown me any kind of affection.
She was a wonderful woman, and I remember her wearing this little emerald pendant. There are tiny diamonds around the substantially sized emerald, and I love it so much. I’ll wear it all the time.
I have no idea what to expect tonight, and I spent the past few days coming to terms with the fact that I’m marrying a monster.
That my body is no longer my own.
I haven’t heard from Elliott since that night. No apology texts, no flowers, nothing. Which is actually good because all I’ve done is have panic attacks at the thought of marrying that . . . devil.
Elliott Stavros is evil.
I know that Julian assured me that Elliott wouldn’t hurt me again, but he can’t make that promise because he won’t live with us. He won’t be there 24-7 to protect me.
And the thought of living with Elliott makes me feel hollow. I’d honestly rather die than have to live with being raped and brutalized every day for the rest of my life.
There’s a knock on the door, and then Lulu pokes her head in, but she’s not smiling.
“Why are you alone?” she asks me as she steps inside and closes the door behind her.
“They finished my hair and makeup,” I tell her, watching her warily. “Is everyone here?”
“I haven’t seen Elliott yet, but everyone else is, yeah. Your father looks . . . angry.”
“He always looks angry.”
She nods and then gestures to the dress. “Want help?”
I pause.
“Or do you want me to get you the fuck out of here?” she offers. “Because I will. Rome won’t let anyone hurt me.”
I can’t help the little humorless chuckle at the offer. “I wish it was that simple. They’d just find me and make me do it anyway. And my father would punish me, and I’d rather not.”
She nods, as if she understands, and it makes me feel a little better.
Suddenly, there’s another knock, much harsher than Lulu’s, and the door is flung open, revealing my father.
“Why aren’t you ready? It’s time.”
“We were just talking,” I tell him, and he glares at Lulu, putting my back up.
She’s my friend.
“Did you know that arranged marriages are from the Dark Ages?” Lulu asks him, not afraid of him at all.
I wish I had her confidence.
“This is none of your fucking business,” Papa replies, narrowing his eyes, and he moves to take a step toward her, but I shield her with my own body.
“No.” His eyes widen in surprise. I’ve never stood up to my father. “You won’t hurt her for speaking up for me. She’s my friend, Papa.”
“I’ll do—”
“Finish that sentence.” We all turn at the sound of Rome’s voice. His hands are balled in fists, his face a mask of fury as he stares Papa down. “And make one move toward my wife, so I can skin you alive.”
“She’s trying to interfere—”
“I don’t give a fuck what she’s doing,” Rome says, and strides over to take Lulu in his arms. “You’ll never look at her or speak to her in anger again.”
Papa glares at me.
“Get dressed and get your ass out there.”
With that, he spins on his heel and walks away, and I let out the breath I was holding.
“I’m sorry,” I say softly.
“Not your fault,” Lulu says with a smile. “Now, I’ll help you put your dress on.”
“Oh, you don’t have to—”
“Rome, can I have your knife, please?”
Rome’s eyebrow climbs, but he pushes his tattoo-covered hand into his pocket and comes out with a switchblade, then passes it to his wife.
“Be careful,” he says to her.
Lulu grins. “Thanks. I have some dress surgery to do.”
“I’ll wait outside for you,” Rome says, and kisses Lulu softly on the forehead before nodding at me and walking out, closing the door behind him.
“He’s really nice to you.”
Lulu nods, watching me with somber eyes. “He loves me. He would never hurt me.”
“I love that for you.” And it’s the truth, I do love it for her. Everyone should have that security.
I don’t know what it feels like to be loved.
Aside from my babushka, no one has ever loved me before, and she died when I was just five. I don’t have many memories of her.
“We have work to do with this. Tell me you didn’t choose it yourself,” Lulu says, gesturing to the puffy shoulders on the dress.
“I’ve never seen it before.”
“Well, good, because now I can say this without hurting your feelings. It sucks. I mean, it’s not cheap materials, so we can work with it, but it’s so not your style.”
“You hardly know me.”
She turns and smiles at me. “And yet, I know that this is not the dress for you. Let’s get you in it, and then I’ll start cutting. I promise, I won’t hurt you.”
I believe her. Lulu is absolutely someone that I could be friends with. So, with her help, we manage to get the dress on me.
It fits well, but I look like a big, puffy marshmallow in this thing.
“Why did they think these shoulders and sleeves were a good idea?” She takes her knife and carefully cuts through the seam, then yanks the sleeve off me, and now I can see that as a tank-style dress, it’s much better.
“Okay, this is an improvement.”
“Right? I think so too. Let me do the other side.”
Ten minutes later, I’m staring at my reflection, the dress completely different from before.
The bow at the top of my ass is gone, thank God. My hair is curled and flows over my shoulders. I didn’t want to wear it up today. I like having it down.
My makeup is flawless, showing off my eyes and lips. The artist managed a precise eyeliner wing, which is something I’ve never been able to master. My breasts are high and perfect in the dress, and it’s even cinched at the waist, then molds around my hips, showing off my figure just right.
I feel like a movie star from the 1950s or something.
“You’re a freaking bombshell,” Lulu says with a wide smile. “Holy shit, you’re beautiful, Natasha.”
“I actually feel beautiful.”
For the first time in my life.
Too bad it’s also on the worst day of my life.
Taking a deep breath, I turn to Lulu and offer her my hand. I don’t like to be touched, but I feel safe with her.
She takes my hand and gives it a squeeze.
“Thank you. So much.”
“You’re welcome. I know this isn’t what you want, but I just need you to know that I’m your friend, and if you ever need anything, all you have to do is call me. I’ll make sure you have my number before we leave today.”
“Thank you.” Giving her one more squeeze, I pull away, and she steps out of the room ahead of me.
Rome is waiting for her, takes his knife from her and slips it in his pocket before wrapping his arm around her waist.
“You’re a lovely bride,” he says to me with a soft smile.
He’s such a big, scary man, but his smile is kind.
“Thanks,” I murmur and drop my gaze.
“Your father isn’t walking you down the aisle?” Rome asks me.
“No. I’m fine.”
After a silent moment, Lulu and Rome walk into the sanctuary to take their seats, and I follow. Music starts, and of course it’s a song that I hate. I wouldn’t have chosen it. I’m holding flowers that were waiting for me in the room.
A bouquet of funeral lilies.
Appropriate, I guess.
I can’t look up as I walk down the aisle. I don’t want to see Elliott and his mean face. I don’t want to see my parents. I don’t want to be here.
I don’t want to be here.
Swallowing hard, I try to keep my panic at bay, and when I reach the front of the church, I take my place next to black dress shoes.
But then I take a breath, and I don’t smell Elliott at all.
I smell cedarwood. With a touch of leather.
I smell Julian.
My gaze travels up the tall, broad body before me, and I’m stunned to find Julian standing before me in a black suit, looking so unbearably handsome, and his lips twitch at the corners as he holds my gaze and reaches for my hand.
I’m too surprised to pull away or flinch at the warmth of his hand.
Julian is standing here.
“You can start,” Julian tells the pastor, or priest, or whatever he is.
“Dearly beloved . . .”
I don’t even pay attention to the words because I’m standing next to Julian.
Not Elliott.
What is going on?
Suddenly, Julian is making vows to me in his deep voice.
“—to honor and cherish as long as we both shall live.”
And then it’s my turn, and with a shaky voice, I manage to repeat the vows.
We exchange rings.
We say I do.
And then I hear the words “You may kiss your bride.”
Oh God.
But Julian doesn’t flinch, and doesn’t ignore the suggestion either. With his hand still in mine, he leans down and gently places a ghost of a kiss over my lips, sending tingles down my spine.
Holy shit.
He barely touched me and I’m tingling.