Chapter 54
Clara
It turns out that Summer is an expert at hooking the tiny buttons on my wedding gown, breezing up from my lower back in a quarter of the time it took me to unbutton the thing to slide into it.
The makeup and hair people left a while ago, leaving Summer, me, and a silent Mattie to our own devices for the last while before we go downstairs.
I don’t turn to look in the mirror, though. I’m not sure I want to see myself as a society bride.
Summer seems to understand, puttering around me, hooking heavy jewels in my ears and a delicate series of bracelets on one wrist. Lastly, she sets heels meant for a princess before me, and I’ve never felt more like a fraud than jamming my callused runner’s feet into them.
“Are you going to look?” Mattie asks from the other side of the room.
I turn to her, trying to force something like a smile on my face. “I don’t think I want to know.” Tears threaten, and I blink them away, knowing that even waterproof mascara has a limit, and today is going to test it.
I’m glad for my control, as a moment later, the door swings open, no knock in sight.
Trips’ father enters, a smile on his face that could be genuine if I didn’t know better. “I’m so sorry, but could you ladies give me a moment with the bride?”
Summer and Mattie step out, both glancing between the two of us, Summer with concern and Mattie with suspicion. But it’s not like I have a choice, just like everything else these last few months, so I offer the master manipulator my own fake genuine smile.
“Well, don’t you clean up nicely,” he says, the tone of his voice caught between a compliment and an insult.
“Thank you,” I say, playing my part like it’s a well-worn sweatshirt if sweatshirts chafed instead of comforted.
“I wanted to remind you I won’t stand for any interference in today’s celebration. I’ve allowed two of your people into my home, but I have many more of my own here. They know to expect trouble. I’ve briefed them on the rest of your boys and on your Emma. They’re armed with lethal force.”
I swallow my panic, not knowing how our plans may have changed over the last month. “Understood, sir.”
“In that case, I can’t have you walking down the aisle looking like the charity case you are.
” He steps closer, flicking open a large box he’d kept under his arm.
Inside is an honest-to-God tiara. The spires curve into delicate bowers of glittery stones, all crystalline, all better suited to a little girl who still dreams of unicorns than a woman with blood under her nails.
He places the crown on my head with surprising dexterity, and I control the shiver the discomfort of his proximity brings, the rage and fear battling inside me.
His sallow skin is within biting distance.
He would taste terrible. “All my wives have worn this tiara down the aisle. Olivia did as well,” he says.
He steps back, eyes scraping over me as I keep my chin level and my emotions under check.
“You’ll do.” He picks the box up from the bed where he’d set it, stepping toward the door. “Remember. Any missteps today will be met with a silenced pistol and no regrets.”
I nod, not able to force words out, emotions too volatile for me to trust my voice.
He’s friendly as he invites Summer and Mattie back into the room, and I force myself to breathe as deeply as I can in the structured dress.
“You’re a fairytale princess,” Summer says, her smile sympathetic.
“I still haven’t looked,” I whisper.
Spinning at the soft swish of the door, my every nerve alight at the hushed melody of danger that sings in this place, I choke back a sob.
“If you haven’t looked, mija, you should. You’re more beautiful than Cinderella.”
Those same tears I’d barely banished threaten as I rush around the bed to my dad, tugging him into a hug. His arms band tight around me, but he pulls back with a strangled laugh after a moment. “You shouldn’t blubber all over your make-up, Clara-girl.”
“Like I care.” I grip him tighter until the silence of the other two girls registers.
Not wanting to step away from his familiar scent, so closely associated with home and safety, I only half turn, wanting my dad more than I have since I was a little girl. The last year has been hell. And I just want a moment with the first person who ever made me feel safe and loved.
“Dad, this is Trips’ sister Mattie, and this is Summer,” I say, motioning to each of them.
“Where’s Emma?” he asks, and my stomach rolls. If I’d been able to eat anything today, I’d probably be running for the bathroom.
“She couldn’t make it,” I say, hoping the guys clued him in well enough for that answer to be enough.
It seems to be because he says nothing else about my missing best friend, instead tugging me in for another hug. “Your mother was in the same boat this morning.”
A little of the tension I’ve been wearing like armor releases, and my dad gives me a look with a hint of broken around the edges, like he’d rather I were upset at her absence instead of relieved.
Then he forces a smile, glancing around the blue room with wondering eyes.
“I like the art,” he says, motioning at the charcoal cat by the bathroom that everyone has been too polite to mention.
“Now, what’s this I hear about you not wanting to look in the mirror?
I’m sure this place has one worth more than my retirement plan. ”
I laugh like he expects me to, and Summer joins us. Mattie stays quiet, a longing in her eyes that builds resolve in my chest. She’s never had this with her dad. But the guys and I might at least save her from further harm.
He spins me toward the mirror, his lips held tight against his emotions. “See. Beautiful. All grown up.”
The face that looks back at me is frightening in its familiarity. I’m me, but magnified. My eyes seem larger, my skin softer, my lips a deep berry red that matches the blood-colored stones hanging from my ears.
Add the crown, and I am a fairytale princess come to life: the bloody kind, with my mask fully formed and pinned to my skin, sinking into my blood and bones.
I turn away, fear threatening to steal my resolve as I struggle to pretend this is a happy day.
It will be. It has to be. Today, we win our freedom.
Summer notes my struggle and turns the conversation to things of little importance, regaling us with stories of the unruly dogs she’s dealt with until an unknown guard comes to get us.
Summer and Mattie scoop up their feather bouquets and hand me my much larger one: sprigs of burgundy, black, gray, and white falling over my knuckles like wilted wings.
I pin a similar brooch of feathers onto my father’s lapel, and he tugs me in for one last hug. “You’re making your old man tear up,” he whispers. “But if you want to make a run for it, I parked right next to that endless driveway.”
Pointing a watery grin up at him, I shake my head. “I’ve got a better exit strategy, but I’ll keep it in mind,” I mutter as I straighten his tie.
His dark eyes flash with understanding. “And Trips?”
“He’s a good man, under all of,” I motion at the excess that surrounds us. “This.”
He nods, knowing what he needs to know, then offers me the crook of his arm. “Then let’s go get you married.”
Nerves flutter in my gut during the endless trek to the ballroom.
But my heart bursts into a rapid beat when Walker slinks to me from behind a column, his smile caught between his mask and his true feelings as he takes me in.
He tugs me close, his lips feather-light against my cheek.
“You might look like a queen, but you’ll always be my princess,” he mutters, and I grip his fingers until the absolute last moment, letting him loose just as the wedding planner calls for the orchestra to start.
He bumps into Trevor before he snatches Mattie’s hand, pulling her to his side, and for the first time, I see a protectiveness in him that wasn’t there before.
He may not know Mattie, but he wants to keep her away from her brother.
I can’t help but wonder what all they’ve figured out.
So much of this plan has been out of my control. And while I trust the guys, I can’t help my curiosity about all the changes I’ve missed while locked away.
Trevor’s left with Summer, who wraps herself around his arm.
His smile, like his father’s, would look genuine to anyone not well versed in the cruelty these walls hide.
He appears fully healed from his attempted poolside murder—I want to find a knife and slice him to pieces, smaller ones than last time.
Some of my anger must show as he strides down the aisle, because my dad settles his palm against the back of my hand. “Easy, mija.” I glance up at him; his dark eyes are quick to take in my fury. “Now’s not the time,” he whispers.
I nod, swallowing yet another emotion, relaxing my face into something appropriate. Walker and Mattie walk past row after row of strangers, Mattie wiggling her fingers at someone across the crowd who I can’t see, and I wonder if she sees her secret boyfriend.
At least someone will have a nice time at my wedding.
The music changes, and I squeeze my dad’s arm, anxiety warring with my trust in the guys.
“Are you sure about running? Last chance.”
I huff out a strained laugh. “The only way out is forward,” I reply, and with a deep breath, I step around the column, my dad’s shoulders back and his face as benignly pleasant as my own.
My eyes dash from one side of the aisle to the other, nothing but strangers lined up like soldiers, a few guards behind and to the side of the arch at the end of the ballroom. Feathers decorate the space like blood and darkness; the landscape through the windows barren with snow and naked trees.
Panic grips my throat, but instead of letting it take over, I force my attention forward, locking eyes with Trips.
Some emotion plays across his face, one I can’t quite grasp, but it settles me, seeing him waiting for me at the end of the endless aisle. I flick my eyes at Walker, the love there adding to my strength.
When I reach Trips, my dad presses a kiss to my forehead, and I blink back tears. He squeezes my fingers before he backs away, offering me the last few steps to my future as a solo woman, not an object to exchange.
I’m surprised at how confidently I move toward Trips, even though everything inside of me quakes.
I hand my feather bouquet to Mattie, my heartbeat loud in my ears.
But then his scarred hands wrap around mine, his palms a little warm and sweaty, and I take my place across from him, the rhythm in my veins settling into a steady beat.
And for once, his icy eyes don’t leave me with more questions than answers.
‘Mine,’ he says without words, possession and something greater, headier—an awful lot like love—lighting the space between us.
Where once I’d worry about all the other guys I love, after all these months, after all this time, that fear fades. I am his.
And we both know that doesn’t mean I’m not also tied to the man beside him. Let alone the one out in the winter’s wind, or the one hopefully causing mayhem somewhere else entirely.
Mine. They’re all mine.
And I’m theirs.
Even if the government’s piece of paper only has room for two of our names on it.
The officiant clears his throat, and the ceremony begins. But I can’t look away from Trips, the weight of the moment so heavy that dropping my eyes might break apart the masks we’re forced to wear.
His fingers tremble as he slides a surprisingly diamond-free white gold ring onto my finger, intricate grooves etched into the metal.
I dart my eyes to Walker, who just lifts a brow, mischief in his eyes.
Trevor realizes a moment later he doesn’t need to continue to pat his pocket for the ring—Walker’s added his own flair to the wedding.
I hope that such a minor act of disobedience isn’t enough for him to lose his life.
Meanwhile, Trips grips my hand tighter as he speaks his traditional vows, the words both familiar and fresh coming from the man across from me.
When it’s my turn, I slide a simple silver band over his knuckle, unable to avoid noting how much bigger his fingers are than mine, how much bigger his hands are, he is, the words I repeat terrifying as I promise things we both know I can’t do—namely forsaking all others.
But I get the words out, my own hands strangely still in his trembling grip. Then, with an announcement to the crowd from the officiant, Trips tugs me closer, his blue eyes electric, staying open as his fingers slip free from mine and cradle my face, his lips barely a whisper against mine.
There’s a silent promise in the strength of his gaze: no matter what happens tonight, he’ll be here for me.
Together, we’ll find a way through. That even if everything falls apart, he’ll stay with me, building the future we’ve quietly imagined during those nights we laid awake hiding from the nightmares that assail us both.
And when he releases me, he moves to the side, creating space for Walker and me as well.
My sweet artist dips his chin, and I wish I could reach for him too, that they both could walk me down the aisle, that the crowd of politely clapping strangers were people we truly cared for.
Mattie hands me back my bouquet of feathers as we stride down the aisle hand in hand, the string quartet playing some happy screech.
Trips’ father doesn’t let his smile reach his eyes.
He’s still suspicious. There’s still danger for us. Little does he know, though, that the danger is mostly for him.
This smile is as real as they come.