Realizing that Maria isn’t about to let me out of her sight, I start peeling off my clothes, feeling extremely exposed as I’m not exactly wearing any underwear. I was in bed when Lucien took me. I’m just lucky that I at least had sleep shorts and a tank on. If Slade had his way, I probably would have been naked.
He knew not to push me last night, especially after receiving the news of Lucien being in town and nearly watching Roman Westbrock bleed to death on Shay’s living room floor. Turns out that maybe I should have taken advantage of my night with Slade. If I’d known it was our last night together, I would have made it worth it, given him something to remember and compare the others to when he undoubtedly begins to move on.
I stand before her, naked as the day I was born and as I reach for the dress, I feel her judgmental eyes on my body. “You’ve put on weight,” she says in disgust.
“That’s what happens when you’re happy. I’m sure it’s a feeling you’ve never experienced.”
“Watch your mouth, Skylah. You have twelve days left in this house before you have a new home. Let’s make them peaceful as I can assure you, you will not like your other option.”
And what’s that? Is she going to rape me too? For fuck’s sake. I hate these people.
I press my lips into a tight line, not because I’m giving up but because I can’t be fucked to entertain her bullshit. Thinking I’ve surrendered, Maria nods. “That’s what I thought. We’ll have to get a dietician in to sort out that weight. You’ll be down in the home gym with a trainer every day as well. I won’t have you looking pudgy at this wedding.”
I keep quiet, knowing damn well that I won’t be spending my days on the treadmill. In the past few months, I’ve maybe put on two pounds and that’s it. I look fucking good. I always have and I always will. If anything, the two pounds have gone to my tits.
Maria continues her appraisal of my body. “You really did get shot,” she comments with a frown, leaning in to get a better look at the scar. “Marcus isn’t going to approve of a scar. We’ll have to cover it up. I’ll get you a good, waterproof foundation. You’ll have to apply it first thing in the morning before he wakes and again after your shower in case it rubs off. You can’t have your husband thinking he’s getting less than perfect.”
“Well if your husband didn’t shoot me, we wouldn't be having this issue, would we.”
“How can you even be sure it was Lucien?” she questions, walking around the back of the dress to start loosening the corset. “Did you actually see his face? Do you have evidence?”
“I just know it was him,” I tell her, not prepared to explain exactly what evidence we have, knowing she’s more than capable of making it disappear. “You’re married to a psychopath. He stood over the bridge and shot me.”
She lets out a huff and holds the dress down for me to step into. “It wasn’t him. Lucien wouldn’t do that. He knows what this wedding means to me.”
Fuck, these people are screwed up.
Maria pulls the dress up my body and expertly does up the corset back. My tits are squished and my stomach sucked in as far as it can go, accentuating my waist. If this dress didn’t look like such a joke, I think Slade would even like it.
It feels as though it fits like a glove and after only having it on for a few seconds, it’s clear that after wearing heels with a full face of makeup and a thousand guests, I’m going to be completely exhausted. Then I’ll have to deal with Marcus after that.
A chill runs down my spine. This is going to be hell.
Maria fluffs up the skirt and straightens the train before pulling two moronic gloves up my arms that stop halfway between my shoulder and elbow. She pulls the hair tie from my hair and twists it into a bun then pins the veil in.
“Ahh, perfect,” she says, beaming at her creation, not at me.
Maria takes my waist and turns me until I’m facing the bay window that has three large mirrors placed before it. I take myself in.
I look like a stranger. This isn’t me.
Am I really going to marry this man?
Maria walks around to my side and looks at me through the mirror. “Your lips are looking a little lifeless. We’ll see about getting lip filler.”
I press my fingers to my lips.
“No,” I say, not meaning to have said it out loud.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. I’m not getting lip filler. I’m not spending my days working out and eating celery sticks to become some perfect model for you to show off. I’m not going to change myself for you, or Marcus, or anyone. I’m me. Get the fuck used to it. This is how I look and this is the way I was meant to be. There’s only one man who gets a say in how I look and he fucking loves me the way I am. He’d never change a damn thing about me and when I go back to him - which I will - I’m going to be the same fucked-up girl he fell in love with.”
“Are you done?” she questions, narrowing her eyes to sharp slits as she stares through the mirror.
I hold my chin up high, standing my ground.
“Good, now listen up, and listen up good because I will not be repeating myself,” she starts. “In twelve days, you will be walking down that aisle whether you want to or not. You’re going to have your lips plumped, your tits out, and a goddamn smile on your face. I have worked too hard and too long for this wedding and I’m not going to allow you to destroy it now. I don’t care if I have to drag you down the aisle myself. You will not make a mockery of me.”
I turn to her, feeling myself begin to panic, struggling to breathe in this tight dress. “Now you hear me. I am not marrying Marcus Mahony. Not now and not ever.”
“The wedding will go ahead as planned.”
“Over my dead fucking body.”
Maria’s hand slaps hard across my face, knocking the veil to the floor. Pain rocks through me as she dives after it in a panic. I take my opportunity to start peeling myself out of this death trap, pulling at the corset, and trying to bend the boning in the front so I can breathe.
“STOP,” Maria screeches in horror, desperately grabbing at my hands as I begin to hyperventilate. “That’s a two-hundred-thousand-dollar dress. You’re ruining it.”
“Get me the fuck out of it.”
I keep pulling and she finally relents out of sheer panic for her dress. I pull the gloves off and toss them to the floor and as Maria desperately tries to put the dress back on the mannequin, I grab my clothes and break free of this hell hole, going to the only place in this godforsaken house that will bring me some semblance of peace – Blake’s room.
Chapter 4
It’s late in the afternoon when I walk out of Blake’s room feeling oddly refreshed. His room was just as he left it, baggy clothes and all. There were basketballs scattered around the room, signed jerseys, his big ass TV, and of course, his porn stash hidden under the bed. I guess I’m lucky that’s all I found. I’m sure if I was curious enough to really go searching, I’d uncover all of my little brother’s dirty secrets. He seems like the kind to take polaroids of his skanky conquests and steal their panties.
With my stomach grumbling and the need to find some pain-killers, I make my way down the hall and slip into the service walkways which are the staff's access around the house. They’re not to use the main hallways and staircases, those are reserved for family, friends, and guests. Any staff member caught fucking with this rule is usually fired on the spot. Lucien and Maria are entitled assholes like that.