09
After the devil slips the ring on my finger, the crowd goes wild.
White petals burst into the air, and I startle.
Torren feels the jerk of my body, his hand burning into my own.
I wrench my hand out of his hold as discreetly as possible.
No one notices that I’d given him the wrong hand.
Or that I’m so drunk I can barely stand.
Vogue is doing an exclusive on the engagement and they want pictures. Lots of them.
Torren stands next to me as they click their pictures, close enough to clear any doubts but not close enough that I felt anything other than numbness and deep contempt.
Looking at us from the front it probably seems like he has his hand settled on the small of my back, but in reality, he never touches me. His hand only hovers over the small of my back to create the illusion that it’s there.
The ring on my finger feels like a shackle. I’m engaged to someone I hate. God, I hate him so much I could fucking strangle him. So much that the thought of living with him makes me want to stranglemyself. And now I have to live with him?
His words keep replaying in my head. It is so obvious? How much Mama hates me? Me — the product of her husband’s adultery. And even worse — a product he treasures.
My stomach toils as I try to fight nausea.
I’m engaged. I have a fiancé, but I can’t stomach glancing at him for even a second. I’m still burning from when he dragged me inside and threw a glass of water into my face, demanding that I sober up. I want to rip him apart with my bare hands.
At my side, the heat of Torren’s body blankets me. I feel his gaze on me every few minutes, but I never meet it. Never give him the satisfaction of seeing me so perfectly miserable.
A woman I don’t know, Italian, by her deeper shade of skin and dark hair, walks by and offers me a warm smile. “What a beautiful couple. I can’t wait to see the babies!”
At this, a fresh bout of nausea claws up my throat.
She must be someone important or influential, because Torren clears his throat to reply. “You’ll have to wait a while. I want her all to myself.”
This time, he actually touches me, the heat of his palm searing through the thin fabric of my dress. It’s a sensory overload to my already compromised system. The barf rises up my throat, and I gag. Torren notices, narrowing his eyes with a deep distaste amidst his gaze.
I’m about to throw up all that wine on this woman’s face, but she’s either too stupid or smitten to notice. She blushes before finally turning to leave. “Of course.”
When she leaves, Torren rips his hand away from my side like touching me was the equivalent of touching gum stuck under a table.
He looks down at me, and I’m itching to ask him why he even bothered touching me in the first place. If I didn’t know him better, I’d say that he’s somewhat… relieved that I finally meet his gaze. He’s staring at me with a blank expression — expectantly, like he’s just waiting for me to erupt.
I don’t.
I peel my gaze away from him instead, pressing my lips together and not giving him any reaction at all. I don’t look at him again or say another word to him, but I feel his gaze burning into me the entire time.
Finally, Papa decides it’s time for us to leave.
I try not to throw a fucking party as I step out of Torren’s proximity, the heat of his body drawing away as I do.
I don’t bother saying a word to him. Papa murmurs something to him but I don’t catch it.
As we walk to the car, I feel like crying again, but I hold my tears in in case Papa or Ana see and decide to change the plan.
But when we get home, the nausea bubbles up my throat. Papa frowns, deep concern lining his forehead as I rush past him and race upstairs to the bathroom. Ana finds me soon after, holding back my hair as I throw everything up as I lean over the toilet.
And when I’m finally done, I look up at her and she glances down at me with worry in her eyes. “I think you need to tell Papa that you can’t do this.”
I focus on my breathing. “Can’t do what?”
Ana deadpans. “Don’t play dumb, Freya. You can’t marry him. You know it won’t work out. You’ll never be obedient. Swallowing your pride will kill you. And I can’t stand by and watch.”
I know where this is going. Now that I have a choice, I won’t let Ana be the one who sacrifices herself for me. She’s the bright, hopeful one between the two of us. I won’t let the Costas kill that hope.
“No,” I say, clenching my jaw as I lean over the bathroom sink and splash water on my face. “I made the decision and I’ll live with it. I just drank a little too much wine. That’s all. And now that it’s all out my system, I feel much better.”
And it’s true. I do feel better. But my fresh sobriety makes the weight on my supposed ring finger heavy. I look down at the ring in my hand and then I have to narrow my eyes and take a closer look. “This isn’t the right ring.”
Ana’s brows furrow. “What?”
“This isn’t the right ring, Ana. It’s not the ring I chose.”
This ring isn’t as bland and characterless as the one I’d chosen at the jeweller. It’s simple but elegant, with a slighter larger diamond and the tiniest band of diamonds under the plain band.
She furrows her brow, taking my hand in hers and flipping it over to get a closer look. “Are you sure? It’s not the one he originally gave you?”
I sigh. “Yes, Ana, I’m sure. I must’ve been too drunk to notice at the—”
Just then, two men enter my room with Dimitri at the door, and they start lifting my coffee table, and even my dresser.
I frown, striding up to stop them. “What are you doing?! Where are you taking my things?”
Dimitri pauses to face me. “You are moving in with Costa tomorrow. We were asked to clear the room so it can be repainted.”
I furrow my brows. “By who?”
But he doesn’t have to say it. I know it was Mama. So eager to see me leave that she couldn’t even wait a day to move my things out of the room.
“You can’t do that,” Ana says, “She’s not leaving right now! Don’t—”
“It’s okay.” I glance back at Dimitri. “You can move everything but my bed. And after tonight—” I swallow down the onslaught of emotion. “—You can move that too.”
At night, my room is eerily empty, and the places that were previously filled with furniture are not empty and void. Kind of like me. Shadows catch at weird places, and around midnight, I decide I can’t take it anymore. I roll out of my bed and walk to Ana’s room, barefoot.
She’s half asleep but still shifts over to make some space for me when I slip under her sheets. It gets cooler in the night, so I huddle closer to her for warmth as I close my eyes and slip into the darkness.
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until the next chapter 3