17
Ella
August 2018
I look in the mirror, wanting to puke. The dress is, well, gorgeous. I was half expecting something closer to what Meghan Markle wore if my mum’s taste is anything to go by, but this is something completely unexpected. When I said to Dean that our parents act as if they were the Royal Family of England, I meant it. I know they’re trying to make this wedding just as expensive, extravagant, and noteworthy as a Royal Wedding.
I can’t even see my own feet in this thing, the lace sleeves and lace bodice that typically covers my cleavage but leaves a little chest area for a necklace or something. The lace flowers travel to the thigh area where the silk skirt booms out into the train behind me.
I hate it.
It’s a nice dress, and it looks nice on… but it’s not me . It’s nothing like what I picked, and it just represents everything about my life that I hate.
“You look fabulous, darling!” My mum beams from the sofa, sipping her champagne beside Amelia while the seamstress stares and analyses me. I glance in the mirror, noticing how washed out the white looks against my blonde hair. The dress doesn’t make me feel like the one in the other shop did – the one that Matt bought me.
I should love it. All I know is that these dresses can set you back anywhere above twenty thousand pounds, and seeing as this one is, according to my mum, brand new this season, I dread to think of the price tag.
Not that they can’t afford it.
Not that I’ll actually be wearing it.
“I was looking for something like Meghan wore back in May, Amelia, but I thought this was something more modern. Seeing as Ella is younger than Meghan, it’s probably better,” Mum mutters to Amelia.
“I loved Meghan’s dress, but you are right, it wouldn’t suit Ella,” she agrees. They sound like gossiping banshees. “That would be a bit too blocky on Ella, wouldn’t it?”
I widen my eyes at her. Blocky? She’s not even my damn mother, and she’s helping to decide my wedding dress? I loved what Meghan wore, anyway. I hate Amelia, though.
Amelia was nice enough until the news came out that I was to be her daughter-in-law and suddenly, the real Amelia Atkins came out: controlling, snobbish, traditionalist. I don’t know how my mother puts up with it, but apparently, they bond over everything and anything. I wonder if they are in their own special ‘contract’ to be friends, otherwise, my dad will lose his job as well. Maybe the Atkins’ have that much of a hold over my family. It wouldn’t surprise me.
When I find out the real reason this is all happening, I know there will be something they hold over my father. I just wish I knew what. Maybe finding that out will be the key to undoing this disgusting farce.
“I have seen a lot of Meghan lookalikes since that day. This one is gorgeous in its own right,” the seamstress speaks up as she pins something by my feet.
“This will be better than a Royal Wedding anyway,” Amelia enthuses, and I stop myself from rolling my eyes.
“Of course!” Mum agrees. I watch her stare over at me; the smile is as wide as the Joker’s, her glow like something Father Christmas would be proud of.
The seamstress woman works her brand of magic on the floor while I wish the floor would open up. Maybe the devil would take me early. I know him and I have business; I’ve gone against the very fabric of this contract so many times and in so many ways that he must know me on a first-name basis by now. He might as well take me to a lesser and well-deserved pain.
“Do you like it, darling?” Mum questions.
I look at her, and together we share that knowing look. She knows I hate it and that I don’t want to go through with this, and that hint of knowing enters my soul and forces my heart to skip a beat.
She suddenly turns to Amelia. “Amelia, love, would you mind giving me a minute with Ella?”
“Of course not. I shall collect us all some tea. How about that? I’ll give you both ten minutes!” Her slender, grey, and too-old-for-her-years dress swans through our house. The seamstress stands up and looks between Mum and me.
“This is all done. Shall I give you a few minutes before helping Ella take it off?” she asks. My mum silently nods and whispers thanks before she walks out of the room, so it’s just Mum and me, both staring at each other with a knowing silence present between us.
“I know this is not what you want, Ella. I know this is hard.” Her voice is so quiet that I question for a moment whether she actually said it. “As I said, I wish this didn’t have to happen. I wish you could go off and do whatever you wanted with your life. But this has been the arrangement since… well, since before I knew your father.”
I look at her. “So why on earth did you agree to have a kid with him, Mum? How could you willingly—”
“Believe me, Ella, I didn’t want to. But if I was to marry your father, then this was a part of it and a part of who he is. When you love someone, Ella, you take them not just for their looks, or their money, or status. You take them for all they are; their faults, their imperfections, their conditions. I love your father with all my being. You may not understand that right now, but this is just something that had to be. I’m so sorry you can’t be on board with this. I understand why you see Dean as your brother. But trust me when I tell you that I wouldn’t do this to you if I didn’t have to, sweetheart.”
I bite my lip to stop myself from telling her that when you love someone, you don’t just lie down and take their shit. You challenge them, you compromise, and you stand up for what you believe in. But I dare not take that risk.
“I don’t know what changed you so drastically when you went away for your course, sweetheart, but I can hazard a guess.” She moves a loose strand of hair from my face, and we share a more-than-knowing look. “Let’s call it Mother’s Intuition, but I’ve guessed for a while now. I just wish you would let it all go and try and make this work between you and Dean. He’s a lovely man, he’s good looking and he will do right by you and us.” Her hand brushes over the necklace Matt gave me as a point.
There is no way in hell she would know about Matt. I’ve been so damned careful, I have kept everything in its own little compartment, and I’ve gone along with this farce as if I’m happy with it. But the look and the small, sad smile she gives me as her finger moves over both the stupid engagement ring and my promise ring tells me that somehow, she knows. I don’t think she knows who, or how long, or what has happened, but she knows my heart lies elsewhere.
“Mothers know everything, Ella. Don’t think I don’t know about him, whoever he may be. I just hope you have not done anything stupid to endanger us or the agreement. Unfortunately, life is not a fairy tale where you can have your happily ever after without consequences. In lives like ours, it never works that way, and you should know that, sweetheart. I sympathise with you, of course I do. And I wish you could have your happily ever after with whoever is holding your heart, but let’s be realistic.”
The way she speaks, the way she looks at me with the love only a mother could give. It makes me want to open up and tell her everything.
“Mum, please don’t make me go through with this,” I plead, my eyebrows knitting together. That’s all she needs to hear to know her ‘motherly instincts’ are right about another man. Why was I not more careful? What did I do to make her aware? Either way, she hasn’t told my dad, so that’s something. If my dad knew, my life would not be this peaceful.
“I wish I could, sweetheart. But some things in this world are bigger than you or me, or all of the money in the world. There are just some things that are beyond our control, and this is one of them.” She gives me a sad smile before straightening up and gaining back her control. “This is why you’re going to sell the penthouse, why you’re going to move in here until the wedding, sweetheart. Whoever he is, you are going to forget he even exists. There is absolutely no way you can be with him. You have known this since you were sixteen, Ella.” Her words aren’t suggestions: they are commands.
Something in me shifts. She doesn’t want me to go through with this, she never has. Yet she allowed it to happen, and she isn’t asserting what little dominance we both know she has to try and stop it. She may be a submissive, rich housewife who is happy with the life she leads, but she has power in this family. She has money, she has my father and for her, that means power. But she does nothing with it.
Any respect I had for her has suddenly taken a swan dive, along with any care for my own family.
“Help me out of this dress,” is all I say to her. She nods and turns me around to undo the buttons.
“This dress is gorgeous, Ella. I had a feeling about it when I saw it, and I’m glad I bought it.” Her tone turns breezy as if the conversation hadn’t happened. When I put my clothes back on, I watch as she takes the dress through to the seamstress, and I grab my bag from the sofa and move toward the front door.
“Ella, where are you going?” Mum demands as she walks back through. “We need to go through your wedding flowers.”
Shaking my head, I give her a simple answer. “Mum, you’ve made every decision so far, I don’t need to give you my false appreciation on your decision for a flower. I’m going to go now.”
“You need to have a bit more appreciation, Ella, and remember my words,” she warns.
“I think you need to have a bit more of a backbone, Mother. But hey, we all have our flaws,” I retort before walking out. I don’t want to see her reaction, because I know it’ll be one of shock and disgust. Maybe it’s my newfound feeling of freedom because I know I won’t be attending my own wedding, or maybe it’s just because meeting Matt has given me the backbone neither Mum nor I have had, but finally being able to backchat my parents has never felt so good.
∞∞∞
“Oh, look, how cute are these?”
I look up at Matty as he brings over the iPad. I glance at the email he’s seen from my mum; a picture of the flowers she’s chosen. White roses with blue freesias or whatever they are. It’s taken her a full week to speak to me since I walked out on her, and this is what she comes up with.
“Shut up,” I retort.
“I wonder if she knows about my nickname for you and that’s why she chose blue.” He winks at me, that cheeky grin dancing onto his mouth.
“It wouldn’t surprise me,” I respond. “I have no idea how she knows, well, about another man.”
“Ells, you haven’t spent a Christmas with them since before you started university. You barely saw them during our course, and the little fact that you’ve suddenly become more vocal about your distaste for the wedding since you met me?” He raises his eyebrows, emphasising the ‘distaste’ word with air quotes.
“How would that point to me being in love? If anything, that just shows my newfound freedom,” I question, running my hand through my ponytail.
“Because, Ells, it sounds like you’ve always been placid and accommodating to them. You may not have liked it before you met me, but you would’ve still gone along with it. I turn up and make you question it all, and voilá, you suddenly start changing. It’s obvious, and I’m surprised your mum hasn’t said anything until now.” He shrugs.
I glance at my phone as it buzzes and instantly, I groan at its contents: “It’s Dean. I have the goddamn party next week.”
“I assume he’s expecting you to act like a loved-up couple,” Matt chides. His hands ball into fists. Matt isn’t possessive or jealous by nature, but he seems to be now. His jaw tightens a little.
“Obviously.” I snort. “He’s come up with a little backstory of how we’ve been together for a year, and we were childhood sweethearts. Apparently, he proposed on my graduation day.”
“Doesn’t he just have it all worked out?” he scoffs, his fists tightening again.
“Matty, don’t get jealous, it doesn’t suit you. You know you’re the only man for me,” I remind him. “When are we leaving?”
He shifts in his seat. I put my hands around his neck from behind and press a kiss on his cheek. All the tension in him loosens.
“I don’t know, Ells. When do you want to leave? I’ve shifted a bunch of stuff to Nick’s. He’s got a spare room for us pretty much ready. I’ve taken the dress to his as well. Whenever you want to go, we’ll go.”
“I have bits and pieces in a suitcase ready to go. Just like trinkets and some clothes.”
“What about money?” he asks.
“I can move it whenever you need me to.”
“Now? If you move some now, then again in a few days; if your dad is watching, it’ll be less suspicious. I mean, when they work out you’re gone, your mum will know you’ve run off with another man,” he says.
“Yeah. I don’t know that she knows I’ve entered a relationship, but she knows I’m in love with, well, not you, but a man.”
“I spoke to an estate agent and, er, you have a valuation tomorrow,” he admits, and I arch an eyebrow. “I’ll be doing it for you, they said I can do everything but sign on the dotted line, obviously, but I’ll get it valuated and do the necessaries.”
“Someone is prepared,” I notice, and he grins that cheeky grin that brings his slight dimple out. He spins on the barstool, so I kiss him as he pulls me onto his lap.
“If we get things in place now, we can take off whenever you are ready. We have five weeks.”
“Five weeks too long,” I mutter.
“It could take five years and it wouldn’t matter; as long as I can be with you at the end of it,” he whispers and I wrap my arms around his neck, never wanting to leave this position.