Chapter 55
FIFTY-FIVE
KIRA
“Well, I suppose that’s the best it’s going to get,” Carol says, looking at me critically in the mirror after the makeup and hair people have spent hours plucking and painting and spraying.
Her disappointment is clear on her face as she looks down at me in the designer dress that had to be let out at the last minute in order to fit my new size.
Naturally my mother wouldn’t let me wear the gorgeous gown my friend designed and created for me. Drew told me in his new scary threatening voice to humor her and wear the dress she wanted.
Not that she’s pleased now that I’m in the damn thing. “This just isn’t the way it’s supposed to fit.”
She frowns and reaches out to try to tug at the gown even though I’m so strapped into the damn thing it’s not going anywhere. “I told you to stop with the carbs. But what have you done instead? Gone and gained weight. Are you trying to make your father and I laughingstocks in front of the entire congregation?”
“What are you even talking about?” I jerk away from her hands yanking at the back of the gown. “How does what I look like make you a laughingstock?”
Carol gets up in my face. “Gluttony is one of the seven deadly sins. You always were a little pig. From the time you nursed and I had to slap your face when you got too greedy.”
My mouth just drops open. “We’re not even Catholic.” It’s a lame reply when really I want to ask, why are you such a bitch?
“I always thought we should borrow that one for the Commandments.”
“I bet you did.” I turn away.
Now it’s Carol’s turn for her mouth to drop open. I see her in the mirror. “Did you just talk back to me?”
You know what? I’m so done with her shit. I’ve got a psychopathic husband-to-be who’s holding me hostage, and I’m wearing a god-awful, ill-fitting dress so I can walk down the aisle and sign my life away for one of misery so the man I do love doesn’t end up dead .
What power does my bitch of a mother really have over me anymore?
“Yes. I did.” I spin back to her and put my hands on my hips. “I should have talked back to you a long time ago. You’re mean, and you bullied me about my weight my whole life, which is so fucked up! I’m only two years into therapy and I’m probably gonna spend my whole life trying to undo the fucked up shit you conditioned me to believe about myself.”
Her mouth opens and closes, then opens and closes again. Finally she spits out, “I can still cut you out of the inheritance!”
I stand up taller.
“Do it,” I snap. “But I don’t think you even have the power. Women have no power in our family, do they? Which is why there’s an asinine clause in there that I only get to inherit my trust when I marry who the family says I should. Which really means it’s up to Daddy.”
I get right up in her face. “Because that man never listened to you a day in his life, and it’s probably why you ended up so goddamn hateful.”
She lifts a hand to slap me, but I catch her wrist.
“Stick to slapping babies,” I hiss.
She jerks back as if I’m the devil herself, and I let her go.
A knock at the door has me turning away to answer it. Anything to escape Carol.
I barely survived the rehearsal dinner last night. And now, Carol’s had me captive in this room with her all morning as she points out everything she thinks is wrong with me.
I yank the door open.
It’s Drew.
Fuck. My stomach clenches like it does every time I see Drew’s face. If there’s one person I want to see less than my mother, it’s him. But I guess sometimes, it’s necessary to handle poisonous snakes.
“It’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding,” Carol simpers behind me.
“It’s fine, Mom.” I wave for Drew to come through the door. I texted him to come, actually. I just wasn’t sure he would. He’s in a white tux and is perfectly coiffed, like always. What a fucking facade. As if he’s anybody’s white knight.
“Did the money go through for his bail?” I ask, tugging Drew into the corner and away from everyone else in the room. The make-up and hair people are still packing up their things.
Drew’s face immediately darkens. “That’s your first question to me on our wedding day?”
“It wouldn’t have been if you’d done it sooner,” I snap back.
His eyes get dangerous, narrowing, and his hand whips out to snatch my wrist. His grip is punishing as he squeezes.
“Ow!” I whisper. “Drew, you’re hurting me.”
I’m biting back tears as I look up into his eyes, but it hurts so bad.
These are the eyes of the man I once loved. But no. I never loved him . I only loved who I thought he was. A story I made up in my head.
But this violent stranger? I just fucking hate him.
Especially remembering that Drew told me his dad hit his mom when we were teenagers.
Is that what’s in store for me?
I realize in this moment, there’s no way I can actually do what I said I’d do.
I can’t stay with this man. Eventually, he’ll turn his violence on me and god forbid we ever have any children. I shudder at the thought.
I’ll never be safe with him.
“You keep your vow,” Drew whispers, squeezing my wrist so hard my bones are near to cracking. “I’ll keep mine.”
“I’m here. I’m marrying you.” I only feel frightened as I look up at him. Is that what he wants? “What more do you want from me?”
He grips my wrist even tighter, and I let out another cry of pain. “I expect my wife to look happy on her wedding day. I expect every picture to show you completely in love with me.”
“Then maybe you should let go of my wrist so I’m not grimacing in pain the whole time.”
He leans his face down. “Tell me you love me.”
I’m more glad than ever that I’ve been practicing my poker face. I look up into his eyes and say exactly what his ego wants to hear. “I love you. You’re the only man I could ever love.”
He grins down at me and slaps my ass through all the gauzy wedding dress fabric. “I’m looking forward to tonight.”
Oh god. I hadn’t even thought about?—
He whistles as he walks out.
I rush for the bathroom, and the attendants my mother arranged from church hurry to hold back my veil as I violently throw up.
* * *
I still feel woozy by the time my mother drags me to the back of the church where my father stands, shoulders back in his tux.
“You do something with her,” Carol snaps, shoving me toward him.
My father, stern as ever, looks me up and down. “Get yourself together, dear. Drew’s a good man from a good family. Don’t go embarrassing your mother and me. You’re finally doing something to make the family proud. Chin up.”
My father, the patriarch. Chin up is literally his version of a pep-talk. Would he care if I told him my husband-to-be almost broke my wrist backstage?
Because that’s what this all feels like—a production. And I’m about to go out there on stage as The Bride.
At this point, it’s sheer curiosity that has me turning to my father. He’s a deacon of the church and I am his daughter, after all. Maybe he’ll surprise me.
“Daddy,” I say, turning to grab his hands. “Drew hurt me.” I hold out my wrist, which hasn’t begun bruising yet but will soon. “He’s not a good man. He scares me.”
My father just shakes his head and waves a hand in dismissal. “Young people are just oversensitive these days. If it was so bad, why didn’t you say something before bringing everyone together like this?”
Before I can say anything else, he just waves another hand. “His father is a pillar of our community. This is just last-minute nerves. Come on, the music’s starting. That’s our cue.”
Pachelbel’s Canon starts playing. I always loved this song, but right now, it sounds like a dirge.
“Wait, Dad, no?—”
Absolute panic chokes me as my father drags me through the open doors and down the aisle.