Chapter Twenty-Eight
Lily
? “Nothing Else Matters” – Metallica ?
I stand in the mirror looking at the white wedding dress hanging off my body.
Nobody is in the building besides my bridal stylist and me.
Celeste still has no idea what is going on, and I refuse to invite anyone I know to this wedding.
I made an excuse to Mateo that my parents can’t fly into the States, and he didn’t ask any questions.
Obviously, because he doesn’t care. I am just a paycheck to his sick fucking mind.
This is the third dress I have tried on.
I don’t care for any of them. I don’t care which one I pick since none of it matters.
But something in my head wants to try on every single dress in the building, praying that one day, I can enjoy this.
In another lifetime, I can put a dress on and walk down the aisle with my father at my side, tears streaming down my face and my smile brighter than the sun.
In another lifetime.
“Oh no, no. Let me go get the tissues.” My bridal stylist runs to a table, handing me the box. “I would cry too if I was wearing that dress. You look beautiful,” she says.
I give her a smile, dotting the tissues underneath my eyes. The dress is cut in a low V with sheer sleeves and a drop down in the back. The train is short, and the fabric tightens all the way to my hips before flaring out.
“I will take it. Help me out of it, please.” I can feel my skin melting off my bones the more I stare at the dress.
“We will do the touch-up and call you when it’s ready.” She stands behind me on the podium, unzipping the back awkwardly.
I would get awkward too if I heard my monotone voice.
This is supposed to be a time of joy, friends, laughter, and champagne.
But instead, I am here alone at 8 p.m. on a Tuesday, crying by myself.
I get out of the dress quicker than I put it on.
Thanking the stylist for her time, I hand her Mateo’s credit card he gave me for the wedding and walk out the shop.
I head into New York’s crowd, toward the subway station.
My phone vibrates in my hand and when I look at it, I quickly wipe away the tears that have fallen down my cheeks.
Not a Sexy Irishman:
Go to Woodster St.
I pull up my phone’s map to see it’s only across the street. I walk down an alley to a cul-de-sac and see Jace’s car parked in the dark corner. I quickly jump in, and he takes off before I even have my seatbelt buckled.
“Where are we going?” I hold onto the door handle, watching as he serves through traffic heading to Holland Tunnel, which is the complete opposite way to Brooklyn.
“Anywhere but here.”
His hands grip the steering wheel, turning white. I softly lay my hand on top of his thigh, which causes his head to snap my direction. His eyes glow almost white from the streetlights, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. Once. Twice.
“Jace, we can’t keep doing this. I don’t want to do this as much as you don’t want me to.
” I shake my head. “But at night, I can’t stop imagining all the other women.
All the women we could be helping now and in the future.
” At first, I was hesitant about this whole situation—their accusations about what is happening, what is going on, and who is involved.
Then I came to my senses and realized this shit does happen.
People get kidnapped every day and disappear without a trace.
It doesn’t just happen in movies, or on TV.
Life is not all butterflies and rainbows, unicorns jumping out of clouds.
Life is a fucked-up journey we all have to endure and sometimes people get the shitty end of the stick.
Their lives are turned upside down in the blink of an eye just because some people are sick and fucking twisted.
If I can somehow try to make a difference—especially when I know who is doing it, especially when I am in the middle of the damn circle—I will. Without a doubt.
Jace face finally turns back to the road, thankfully so we don’t crash.
“I found your drawings. You’re good. I think you should go to Fashion school.”
I huff out a laugh. “Yeah, tell that to my parents.”
“I will when you invite me to Athens.”
I catch on to him changing the subject. Every time we are near each other, he talks about the future, and I know it’s just him adding light to the situation.
Avoiding the “what ifs.” “I hope you like kids, because my brothers and sisters are handfuls.” I shake my head, remembering that the last time I spoke to my mother, she was still yelling at them to share their toys.
“Do you want kids?” He quickly turns to me before looking back at the road, then he makes a U-turn, heading back in the direction of my house.
“Yeah, I want twelve.” I shrug my shoulders and turn to look at all the cars through the window, hiding my smile.
“Then it looks like I need a bigger house.”
I turn back to him. “And horses, and cows, and chickens, and donkeys.”
“Then I guess I need a farm.” He covers my hand and squeezes. His thumb finds my cheek, wiping away another tear I didn’t know had fallen. “Lily, I promise—”
“I know. You will find me.”