Chapter 9 Caroline
CAROLINE
Ikeep thinking something will happen, some unforeseen event, some surprise twist, some long-lost hero, but that’s not life. There’s no magic, no mystery, no mystical force looking out for me.
There’s only the inevitable march of time and the unyielding power of my family.
“I went back and forth with the caterer ten times to get this menu right. Can you imagine that, dear? Ten times! And you know how I loathe talking on the phone.” Mother chatters on about the day and all the arrangements she was forced to make, even though I know for a fact she loved every second of it.
My mother doesn’t live for much, but she practically dreams of bickering with vendors.
“Sorry to hear that,” I murmur, looking at myself in the mirror. My makeup is simple, just barely more than what I do on a normal day, and my hair is up in a braid. Mom wanted a team of stylists in here working on me, but I outright refused.
I feel vulnerable enough without having to deal with strange women poking and prodding at me all morning.
Ideally, I’d be alone, but I can’t exactly kick my own mother out of the bridal suite.
“And then there’s the band. Oh, Lord, the band. I told them, please, I want the men to have on red ties, a very simple request, but guess what? They don’t have on ties at all! Can you imagine!”
“The horror.”
“A very simple request and they ignored me. I’m rather livid, I’ll be honest. I’ll be writing a review online, don’t worry.”
“I was beside myself, but I feel better knowing you’re on it.”
She clucks her tongue at me, shaking her head. “You make jokes, darling, but appearances matter. The people out there are important. Do you know how much money is in that room?”
I don’t, and I really don’t want to. This wedding is about ten times larger than I thought it would be. Dad invited all his union buddies and the Whelans brought half the politicians in the city. Somehow, my death march has turned into the event of the century.
I drift over to the floor-length mirror and study myself.
My only contribution to this entire ordeal is the dress.
It’s a fitted crepe sheath in ivory with a high neckline, conservative to please my family, but with a deep, open V in the back that drops to my low waist. I turn slightly to look at my back, the smooth skin mottled by ugly, twisted scar flesh, and my heart does a little skip.
I think of Finn in the pool telling me he thinks I’m beautiful, and I get mad all over again, because I know there’s nothing wrong with me, and I also know I hate myself so much it’s like acid reflux trying to close my throat.
This dress is a fuck-you. It’s also a gauntlet. If I can survive walking out in front of all those people showing my biggest, most horrific wounds, then I can survive being Finn’s wife. I can survive anything at that point.
Mom comes up behind me. She looks so old and thin. I don’t know how that happened. She smiles and adjusts my dress slightly, shaking her head as her eyes roam down my spine.
“You should wear that shawl, darling. Don’t look at me that way. You have a beautiful figure, but your skin just isn’t smooth anymore.”
My jaw tightens. Another wave of anger and nausea hits me. “You’re seriously talking about my back?”
“I’m looking out for you, darling. Let me get the shawl. You’re so pretty, but this—”
I can’t help it. I turn and face her, grabbing her hands tightly. I stare into her eyes. “You know how I got those scars, don’t you?”
She blinks in surprise. “Well, ah, sweetheart, I mean—”
“No, Mom. You know. You really know. You remember.”
“Sweetie, this is odd. Of course I remember.” Her smile is uncomfortable. “You had horrific acne. Just the worst.”
I bite back a sob. Desperation fills me. “You know that’s not true. Mom, you know how I got these scars. You know. You don’t have to say it, but please, admit that you know.”
She looks horribly uncomfortable. Her eyes dart around like she’s searching for an escape. Gently, she pulls her hands away. “The acne was so bad, darling, just so bad. We did everything we could—”
I turn away again. I bite my lower lip hard to stop myself from crying. God, what did I expect? All these years and she’s never once said a word about what happened. She never once admitted she knows. Why did I think she’d change now?
“I don’t want the shawl.”
“Are you sure? Darling, people might talk.”
“Let them. I don’t care.” Which is a lie. I care so much it burns. “Tell them I’m ready.”
She clears her throat. “Yes, but I don’t know—”
“Tell them.” I can’t look at her. Shame’s burning in my guts. This dress was such a bad idea. I thought I was strong. I wanted to show Finn I really don’t care.
But I was wrong. I care way too much.
Mom murmurs something and hurries out of the room. She must be happy to get away from me. That woman would rather cut her own throat than ever admit something bad happened in our perfect little family.
I sit in ugly numbness. People come and go. My brothers stopped by at one point, but they’re all too drunk to do much more than pat me on the back and tell me good luck. I’m relieved when they’re gone. My father shows up eventually and holds the door open.
“It’s time. Come on.”
I step out into the hall with him. I swallow against bile. He makes me slip my hand into his arm and pats my fingers lightly with his left palm. His eyes stare straight ahead. There’s no warmth in this man. There never was.
Ahead, I hear the sound of a crowd settling. It’s a low buzz of electricity. Dad leads me to the door as the wedding march begins, but he doesn’t walk forward. Instead, he stands, stone-faced.
“You will not embarrass me.” He speaks as if he’s talking to his own reflection. “You will go through with this. You will do as you’re told. And tomorrow, you’ll keep your head down. You will not ruin this alliance. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Dad.” I want to stand up to him. I want to tell him I hate him almost as much as Finn seems to. That warms me slightly, knowing my husband despises my family, even though I don’t know why.
“You’ll have that Whelan man’s children. You’ll raise them. You’ll do what’s right. Or else I will litter new scars along every inch of your flesh. Do you hear me, Caroline?”
I stiffen. He hasn’t threatened me that explicitly in a very long time. Not since I was a little girl. “Yes, Dad.”
“Good. Now fucking smile.” He looks at me. His lips are pulled back in a disgusting grin. “You’re getting married today.”
My legs are wooden as we walk out into the ballroom.
I glide along beside my father, feeling like I’m on a conveyor belt.
I’m a cow getting herded to slaughter, and I just hope the end is quick.
The faster the better. Dad’s words are knives in my skull and I’m afraid all over again, terrified of him the way I was for most of my life and only just recently got over.
But now it’s back, washing over me in waves.
I’m deposited in my position across from Finn, and I have to force myself to focus on him.
He’s wearing a black fitted suit. It’s clearly custom and very expensive. His muscular arms look incredible. His skin isn’t perfectly shaved, but I like that. His hair’s been freshly cut. He looks clean but not overly groomed. He looks so attractive it makes my heart stutter.
The priest is talking. Finn takes my hands and he squeezes my palms tightly.
For some strange reason, I move slightly closer, and when I do, some of my terror ebbs.
Finn’s watching me so closely I feel like he’s seeing the outlines of my thoughts, like he can read my discomfort in the shape of my shoulders and the tightness in my jaw.
Strangely, bizarrely, the longer I’m up here with him, the safer and more comfortable I feel.
Even though we’re standing in front of three hundred people.
And they can all see my scars.
Anxiety threatens to drown me again, but Finn’s still there, still watching. He’s still holding my hands and I focus on that, on his big body and his magnetic presence, on the smell of his skin and the spicy cologne he’s got on. I look at his lips, at his eyes, and I notice something—
Tulips, bouquets of them flanking either side of the small area we’re standing in.
He remembered.
We say the vows. We exchange the rings. I keep myself pointed at him and don’t turn toward the crowd. When he leans in and lightly kisses me, the memory of him in the sauna crashes into my heart like a wave.
I walk back through the crowd of smiling strangers holding onto my new husband, feeling like I’ve become unmoored from the ground, and only Finn’s anchoring me in place.
“There’s not much time,” he says once we’re in the next room. “People are going to start coming and we won’t be able to talk.”
“What do we need to talk about?”
“You looked like someone stabbed you in the guts when you walked down the aisle. What did your father say?”
My mouth goes dry. My heart starts racing. How did he know?
“Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”
“Tell me.” His eyes flit to the doors and his expression darkens. Guests are starting to file out. “Hurry.”
I’m tempted. I want to tell him the truth. But I don’t know him and I sure as hell don’t trust him. Instead, I put on my best smile. I probably look like my mother struggling to deny reality. I learned from the best.
“Honestly, Finn, it’s nothing. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His mouth twitches into a frown but he doesn’t press. Instead, several people come over to congratulate us. I’m swept away by women I barely know and Finn disappears. I keep thinking I’ll see him soon. He’ll hold my hands again and I’ll find a little measure of safety again.
But I don’t see him for the rest of the night.
He skips out on his own damn wedding and abandons me.