The words wash over me like water over stone, meaningless sounds that herald my imprisonment. My mind drifts, desperate for escape even if my body can't achieve it.
Where is Paul?
"Marriage is a sacred covenant." Father Francis continues. "Ordained by God, witnessed by the Church, and blessed by the community..."
Prescott's grip tightens, pulling me imperceptibly closer. To the crowd, it must look romantic. To me, it feels like drowning in slow motion.
"Prescott James Harrington—" The priest addresses him. "—will you take Vivianne Amelie Faulks as your lawfully wedded wife? Will you love her, comfort her, honor and protect her, forsaking all others, keeping only unto her for as long as you both shall live?"
"I have prepared my own vows." Prescott produces a card from his pocket with a flourish that draws approving murmurs from the crowd.
Of course, he has. Another performance in this theatrical production.
He turns to face me fully, taking both my hands, his grip ensuring I can't pull away without making a scene.
"Vivianne." His voice is pitched to carry to the back rows. "From the moment I first saw you at the Autumn Gala three years ago, I knew you would be mine."
Would be mine.Not that he would love me. Not that we would be together. That I would behis.
"Your beauty, your grace, your impeccable breeding—everything about you spoke to what I wanted in a wife. Someone to stand beside me as I build my empire. Someone who understands that marriage is about legacy, about power, about creating something permanent in an impermanent world."
The crowd seems to think this is romantic. Actual sighs from some of the women.
"I promise to provide for you, to protect what is mine, to ensure our children want for nothing. I promise to shape you into the perfect wife, the perfect mother, the perfect partner for the life I've planned for us. You will never have to worry about anything except pleasing me and raising our family."
My stomach turns. Every word is a bar in the cage he's building.
"I will possess you, body and soul." His eyes burn with something that isn't love but hunger. "I will guard you jealously, completely, ensuring no other man ever questions who you belong to. You are my greatest acquisition, and I will treasure you accordingly."
He lifts my hand to his lips, kissing my knuckles while maintaining eye contact. The possession in his gaze makes mewant to run, but Father's presence behind me is a wall I can't cross.
"These are my vows to you,” Prescott concludes. "To keep you, and make you mine in every way that matters."
The applause is immediate and enthusiastic. They think they've witnessed a declaration of love instead of a declaration of ownership.
Father Francis clears his throat, looking slightly uncomfortable—perhaps even his willful blindness has limits. "Yes, well. Beautiful. Vivianne, would you like to share your vows?"
I haven't prepared anything. What would I say?I promise to die a little more each day. I vow to dream of freedom every night. I swear to hate you with every breath I take.
"She's overwhelmed." Prescott answers for me, his hand moving to the small of my back in what looks like support but feels like a shackle. "We discussed keeping her vows traditional."
We discussed nothing. He decided. Father approved. I was informed.
"Very well." Father Francis returns to his script. "If anyone here knows of any reason why these two should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace."
The silence stretches.
One heartbeat.
Two.
Three.
I scan the crowd, desperate.Someone. Anyone. Please.
The photographer shifts slightly. The security guard's hand moves to his earpiece. The caterer takes a step forward.
But no one speaks.
