Chapter 3 Esmerelda
ESMERELDA
Idon’t recognize myself as I stare in the mirror.
Each brushstroke of makeup Chantelle applies feels like a step closer to the fate I didn’t choose.
My hands hurt with how tightly they’re balled into fists under the silk dressing gown I’m wearing, which feels like a suffocating blanket.
And although Chantelle is an absolute artist, the more she tries to soften my features, the more removed I feel from myself.
Unfortunately, no amount of contouring will disguise the tightness in my jaw.
The soft pink gloss on my lips can’t hide the hard lines of my mouth, and the smoky look she gave me only enhances the rage simmering beneath the surface.
Don’t get me wrong, the makeup is beautiful, and under normal circumstances I’d be reveling in how smoking hot I look right now, but I cannot think of anything else but the fury desperately wanting to erupt from me.
The month I’ve had to prepare myself for this day has done nothing to dissipate the outrage of being forced to marry Marcus.
I can’t understand why my father is spending so much money on an expensive makeup artist, bridal suite, and everything else that goes with getting married.
I would’ve been happy to do all this myself at my home.
But since I’ll never get the opportunity to have a real wedding with a man I love, he’s trying to give me the best experience he can.
Unfortunately, the opulence of the ivory-and-gold bridal suite feels more like a gilded cage.
I take a deep breath and focus on what I have to do instead of what I’m missing out on.
There’s nothing I can do about my situation now, and anger and resentment is not going to help.
My wolf thrashes against the confines of my control, clearly unhappy with my decision, but if I lose control, there’s no telling what I’ll do.
I shoot a glance at Minerva sitting on the embossed ivory couch to the side of the room.
She’s nervously chewing on the skin around her nails.
I know she’s anxious. She’s reminded me at least a hundred times that I need to sell the marriage really well to the head alpha and council members, or we risk exile.
But she needn’t worry; I won’t let her or my family down.
I’ll be as convincing as possible today.
But that doesn’t mean I won’t do my best to antagonize my husband.
The thought makes me smile. Noticing that, Min stands and walks over to me. “I’m so happy to see you smiling instead of glaring for a change.”
I don’t tell her why I’m smiling. The poor woman is under enough stress as it is.
“Are you ready to get into your gown?”
I am the furthest thing from ready, and to reiterate my stance, my wolf’s low growl distracts me, so it takes me longer than is necessary to respond.
“Yes.” My gaze tracks to the garment bag concealing my gown.
It’s supposed to be a surprise. I don’t understand why.
When I was at UCLA getting my business degree, I overheard a human girl talking about a tradition where the groom couldn’t see the bride in her gown before the wedding or risk bad luck.
My luck couldn’t get worse even if I engaged in all the silly superstitions humans have, but that’s not the point.
I don’t understand why they are keeping it a secret.
It isn’t our tradition, and I’m the bride, for goodness’ sake.
In all honesty, if I had a choice, I’d have pitched up in my yoga pants and a tank top, but my father came into my room last night and asked me if I would do all this for my mother. So, here I sit, with more makeup than I usually wear, for a man I can’t tolerate.
More and more, I think about my parents’ marriage and see the small moments I will be missing out on.
Such as, my husband cherishing me enough to do something like this for me.
The fact that this marriage has been forced on me is eating my mother up, and I respect my father for trying to make her as content and happy as he can.
And I guess my father hoped that the ridiculously expensive room, makeup artist, and champagne flutes filled to the brim would ease the sting. There’s only one problem. My mother hasn’t been anywhere near the bridal suite this morning. Not that I blame her.
Minerva goes to retrieve the garment bag, and I stand, smiling at Chantelle. “Thank you. I hardly recognize myself.”
“Honestly, you’re so beautiful I didn’t need to put makeup on you in the first place. But your father paid me an exorbitant amount so...” She shrugs and starts packing away her stuff.
“I appreciate it. And I’m sure Marcus will love it.
” The lie makes me want to vomit a little.
I don’t give a flying f—. Well, let’s just say I don’t care.
And considering he didn’t even look at me on the day we were told we had to get married, I doubt he will either.
But if I’m going to sell this blushing-bride crap, I better start now.
Minerva walks back to me, cradling the garment bag over her arm. She drapes it over the back of one of the occasional chairs and unzips the bag with the delicacy of someone letting a pissed-off cobra out of a bag.
I smile when I see the burgundy material. I might have to go through with this sham, but there is no way I’m doing it in white like some sort of innocent virgin. I’m not pretending I haven’t had my share of lovers just to soothe Marcus’s ego. Not today, people.
I step into the gown Minerva is holding, and when she zips me up, a lump forms in my throat.
The gown is gorgeous. The flattering A-line silhouette gently skims over my hips, creating an elegant and balanced look.
The bodice shimmers as the light spilling into the room hits the millions of tiny beads, causing countless prisms. I finger the modest neckline that highlights my collarbones without being too revealing.
It’s everything a girl could want in a dress and more.
“You look beautiful.” Min’s voice is soft, in direct contrast with her hulking frame and stiff posture.
If she starts crying, I’ll be done for. So, I deflect. “Go get into your gown so we can get a picture.” There will be no pictures taken later. No cutesy moments to commemorate the day. But I do want one with my best friend.
As we stand in front of the enormous ornate doors with their intricate pattern and flanked by some mean-looking trolls, Min gives me a sad smile. “You ready?”
I nod at her, but we both know I’ll never be ready to marry Marcus.
I want a husband who can match my passion in and out of the bedroom.
Someone who can challenge me physically and intellectually.
Not some guy whose fingers are so smooth and uncalloused that Min’s touch feels more like a real man’s than his does.
I would never let a man dominate me in any way, but I have had fantasies of someone taking control in the bedroom, flipping me on my back and doing unmentionable things to me. But with Marcus, I’ll probably have to settle with missionary style. That’s if he even knows what missionary style is.
“Just remember that if this doesn’t come off as realistic, we’ll all be banished. You just have to get through today. You can do as you wish afterward.”
My irritation spikes. I can’t count the amount of times Min, or my family, have reminded me of what is at stake here.
Out of all of them, I know the stakes. That’s why I’m giving my life away to a man I’d much rather see staked to a fence.
And we all know that I can’t just blow him off tomorrow.
Once I say “I do” that’s it. I will be constantly watched by the council and will have to play the adoring wife.
But then I look down at her chewed fingers, and the guilt returns full force. “I know what needs to be done.” My voice, so flat and forlorn, brings more tears to her eyes.
I wipe them away. “Hey, no more tears, okay? We’ve shed way too many of those already.
It is what it is, Min. I’ll make a good life despite the circumstances.
” Yet, as I say it, the hollowness within me grows that much bigger.
I wonder how long it will take for me to be a husk of the person I used to be.
The first strain of the bridal march reaches my ears just as the doors open with a flourish, and I try to conceal the giant jump scare it gives me. My nerves are fried, knowing all eyes are on mine. Waiting, watching for any indication that I’m going to embarrass them.
Minerva squeezes my arm with her hand, and I make my way down the aisle.
The room must have at least three hundred people in it, and I swallow down the dread.
As I plaster on a fake smile and take in my suspecting and unsuspecting jailers, the music sounds like a funeral dirge.
Each step I take feels like a step closer to the gallows.
My heart pounds, my hands start sweating, and all I can think is run. But no matter how much I feel like I can’t do this, I will never do this to my family or my pack.
I look down at the red carpet leading me to where Marcus waits for me. I don’t know if he’s watching me walk down the aisle, but I don’t care. Min taps my arm, signaling for me to look at Marcus. When I do—reluctantly—my breath catches in my throat.
His charcoal suit fits him as though it has been sewn on him, which I imagine it has since he has more money than he has sense.
Don’t come at me for my double standards.
I know all about them. But I’m the bride.
And even if I’d rather set myself on fire than marry him, I still deserve to be shit hot.
Unbidden, I take him in. He’s a lot more handsome than I expected and far more fit than I remember. He’s not even looking at me.