Chapter 1 Esmerelda #2
Good question. When I usually shift, I either remain completely in control, or I split control with my wolf, but this time I didn’t want to think or feel anything, so I handed full control over to her.
I give myself a second to get my breath back, and then I take stock of how I feel.
Thankfully, the urge to break everything in sight has gone, but now I have to fight back tears of frustration and grief for the life I will never have.
Although I’m not the kind of girl who planned her wedding and life down to the tiniest detail, the life I did envision consisted of freedom and choices.
The freedom to choose who I want to marry and what life I want.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I don’t have the words for the emptiness I feel at the thought of my future with Marcus.
She nods as if she expected my response and walks over to the closet to take out my dinner outfit.
I stare at it with disdain. Who am I trying to kid?
I don’t have a whole bunch of control over my life as it is anyway.
I have my own place, but here I am, staying over at my parents’ home the night I find myself betrothed, about to get dressed in one of the outfits my mother bought for me. “Really? Pink?”
“Your mother bought this for you a year ago and you haven’t worn it yet.”
“There’s a reason for that. I’m going to look like a giant vagina in that color and with all the ruffles.”
“It’s wearing this now, or later when you have to meet Marcus. I overheard your mother telling Samara that it would be the perfect outfit to meet him in.”
I huff out a breath and take the dress. Samara is my mother’s best friend, and once the two of them have made up their minds, it’s easier to tame a wood sprite than argue with them.
“What those two seem to forget is that I have met Marcus, and I don’t give a shit about impressing him.”
“Well, then you should wear the vagina dress. You definitely won’t impress him in that.”
I roll my eyes, but her words linger. Maybe—just maybe—there’s a tiny part of me that wants to knock Marcus’s socks off when we meet again. Shake him up a little, throw him off his game... then move in for the kill. Figuratively speaking, of course. Unless...
“Hair up or down?”
This is one task I don’t mind Minerva helping me with. She has skills I could only dream of having when it comes to hair. The best I can do is a braid for when I go riding. “Do you think you’ll be able to tame this enough so we can leave it down?”
I tug on the thick black waves cascading down my back, wincing as my fingers catch on what feels like a hundred knots—courtesy of all the times I’ve run my hands through it or yanked at it today. Minerva’s going to have her work cut out detangling this mess. I should bill Marcus for her time.
His perfectly sleek hair comes to mind, not a strand out of place.
Has he ever had a bad hair day? The thought drifts further, and I catch myself wondering how his hair would look after sex.
I scoff. Perfect, no doubt. He’d probably insist on being on the bottom—heaven forbid he break a sweat trying to satisfy a woman.
“Sit. Let’s see what we can do, and you can tell me what’s put that smile on your face.”
Despite Minerva being my best friend, there’s no way I’m admitting I was thinking about Marcus—and sex. Especially since the scenario in my head ended with a less-than-satisfactory outcome.
“I was just thinking about you doing my hair,” I say instead, forcing a casual shrug as I sit and face the mirror.
“You know, you could just say you don’t want to talk about it. Sometimes I think you forget I’m a wolf—I can sniff out a lie better than anyone.”
Hurt flashes across Min’s face, and guilt twists in my chest. I swivel to face her, grabbing her hand. “Min, I’m so sorry. I’m in a mood, and I didn’t think.”
She reaches for the brush and smiles sadly. “It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not. I’m a jerk and I’m sorry. Go at it with my hair. Do your worst.”
“You’ll have to turn around first.”
When I do, she continues brushing, gentle as always. Sometimes I forget that despite her bravado, she’s sensitive.
Ten minutes later, I look like I’ve stepped out of a salon. I’m dressed in the pink monstrosity, and as I apply a swipe of gloss to my lips, I take a huge breath. Even though it fills my lungs, I still feel as if I’m starved of oxygen.
“Come, let’s get you down before the soup gets cold and your mother has an apoplexy.”
When we reach the bottom of the opulent staircase, Minerva takes a left to head toward the servants’ lounge while I take a right to the dining room. I’m surprised to see my mother isn’t seated at the table.
“Where’s Mom?” I ask my father.
His brilliant green eyes look a little duller tonight. “She’ll be here in a minute. She isn’t taking this very well.”
“I’m here, and I’m fine.” My mother glides into the dining room, her movements graceful and deliberate as she heads straight for my father’s chair. Without hesitation, he pulls her into his lap. Silent communication passes between them as he gently strokes her cheek and stares into her eyes.
As they gaze at each other, I wonder if they’re thinking about what would’ve happened if they had been forced to marry strangers instead of for love.
Envy rips through me as I realize I won’t ever have what they have, but at the same time I can’t find it in myself to begrudge them the love they share.
My mom gets up off my father’s lap and takes her seat at the opposite end of the table.
Even at a table that could easily seat twenty, it’s as if there’s no distance between them.
I shouldn’t have given in to Mom’s request for me to stay over after the hearing.
Seeing and feeling the love my parents have for each other overwhelms me, and the weight of the council’s decision is like a lead coat on my shoulders.
Mom looks at me and starts laughing.
I frown. “What?”
“I can see why you haven’t worn the dress before. It really is quite hideous.”
Out of pure shock, it takes me a while to react. My mother, as much as she loves me, has never admitted when she’s wrong. And even though my parents love us with all they have, it has always been them against us. So, to hear her admit she made a mistake is definitely new.
Stephan’s voice joins from the doorway. “Do you have any idea what you look like in that?”
“A giant vagina?” I ask innocently as my brother takes his seat.
“Esmerelda,” my parents chide simultaneously.
I roll my eyes. “Since I’m about to be married, you’d think you two would cut me some slack. Especially since I’m marrying the most prudish, boring male in Everwild.”
Edward, my other brother, sweeps into the room and doesn’t bother to sit down before he pours himself a glass of red wine and takes a large sip. “I’d hardly call him a prude. He’s seen his fair share of pus—”
“Finish that sentence and I’ll cut your tongue out with a butter knife,” I warn.
“Jealous over your soon-to-be husband?”
“Hardly.” I take a sip of wine. I’m not lying. I don’t see Marcus being a very adventurous lover. I prefer my men way less docile than he is.
“Well, either way, you better get used to the idea of being someone’s wife.”
My palms sweat at that.
Is that my fate? Will I spend so much time with Marcus that I’ll be finishing his sentences? The thought makes me cringe.
Once, at a party with my human friend, Mary, she joked that if her parents had their way, she’d be married off to the most eligible bachelor and popping out a kid a year.
Her days would revolve around whiny, ungrateful children and cooking in slippers, only to transform into the picture-perfect wife by the time her husband came home from his hard day at work.
At the time I didn’t fully understand what she meant.
But now…now it’s starting to make sense.
I don’t want to morph into someone I don’t recognize. Or worse—morph into Marcus. The thought sends shivers down my spine.
“Ugh, this is a nightmare.” I put my arms on the table and lay my head on them.
“Would you stop feeling so sorry for yourself? It’s only marriage, not a death sentence,” Edward says. At a year younger than me, he still thinks he gets to tell me what to do because he is the oldest male sibling.
“Yeah, sis, the council has ruled. Think of it as an adventure rather than something negative.” Stephan gives me a weak smile.
I know he’s only trying to help—unlike Edward, who doesn’t give a shit about anyone but himself—but really?
“If it’s such a great idea, then you two marry him.”
“He’s missing a key part. If you know what I mean,” Edward quips, staring pointedly at my vagina dress.
I take another sip of my wine. I’m going to need something stronger.
“I’d do it in a heartbeat,” Stephan chimes in. “Have you seen his hair? And his jawline? And lips? Sadly, I’m not the heir apparent, so I can’t fall on that figurative sword for you. But boy, I would give my left nut to do it.”
I snort, and wine shoots out my nose and flies across the table. My mother tries to look pinched about her lace tablecloth being covered in red stains, but instead she bursts out laughing. Before long, everyone joins in, and soon we’re wiping tears from our eyes.
Maybe we’re all just hysterical, but I’ll take it. For the first time today, I can breathe.