“Whatexactly have you done for me?” I asked, rising slowly from my chair. Marcus stood with me, his hand finding the small of my back. “Controlled me? Belittled me? Made me feel worthless unless I was fulfilling your expectations?” I shook my head. “That’s not love. That’s ownership. And I amnotyour property.”
“Sit down this instant,” my mother hissed, eyes darting to the door as if worried someone might overhear. Always more concerned with appearances than reality.
I grinned. “Make me.”
My father slammed his palm on the table, causing the silverware to jump. “You ungrateful little bitch. After everything we’ve sacrificed for you!”
“The only thing you ever sacrificed was my happiness,” I replied, feeling lighter with each word. “And I’m done paying that price.”
I turned away from them, tugging gently on Marcus’s hand. He followed my lead without hesitation, matching his stride to mine as we walked toward the door.
“If you leave with him, you’re cut off,” my father called after us. “No more safety net, Cora. No more family name to fall back on.”
I paused at the doorway, looking back over my shoulder. “I’ve been without your money for six years,Father. Haven’tmissed it. Not once. Not even when I was sleeping in homeless shelters.” I smiled again, genuinely this time. “And as for the English name, I traded up. I’m CoraWheelernow. And no matter what happens between me and Marcus in the future, I will never be Cora English again. That name – your name -- isdead to me.” I only added that last part because my mother often used to say I was dead to her whenever I did something she hadn’t much approved of. Saying it before she could might be petty, but the satisfaction was immeasurable.
We stepped through the doorway before they could respond, leaving them sputtering in outrage behind us. The main dining room stretched before us, a gauntlet of curious faces. I felt Marcus’s arm slide around my waist, his body slightly ahead of mine in that protective stance that had become so familiar.
“You okay?” he murmured, his voice for my ears alone.
“Never better,” I replied, meaning it.
We walked through the restaurant with unhurried steps.
A different hostess appeared at the front door, her false smile strained. “Was everything to your satisfaction, Miss English?”
“It’s Mrs. Wheeler,” I corrected her. “And it was exactly what I needed, thank you.”
Outside, the night air hit my flushed skin like a blessing, cool and clean after the stifling atmosphere within. To my surprise, Marcus’ motorcycle waited at the curb, its gleaming black body an incongruous sight among the luxury cars. The valet, a young man with a smug expression, pulled the keys to Marcus’ bike from his pocket and tossed them to Marcus.
“Out front for a quick getaway,” he said to Marcus, gesturing at the bike.
Marcus slipped something into the young man’s hand that made his eyes and his grin widen. “Thanks, man,” he said.
Without hesitation, I reached down and slipped off my heels, holding them loosely in one hand. The pavement was cold beneath my bare feet, but the discomfort felt clarifying.
Marcus swung his leg over the bike, the movement smooth despite his formal clothes. He held out his hand to me, his dark eyes reflecting the city lights. “Ready to go home, wife?”
Wife. The word sent a shiver through me that had nothing to do with the night air. I took his hand and climbed behind him, my tight dress riding up my thighs as I straddled the machine. The cool leather seat pressed against my skin, the engine’s vibration already thrumming through the frame beneath me.
“Cora!” My father’s voice cut through the night, sharp with command. He stood at the restaurant entrance, my mother a pale shadow behind him. “Don’t you dare leave like this!”
Marcus kicked the bike to life, the engine roaring with sudden violence that drowned out whatever else my father might have said. The sound reverberated in my chest, primal and fierce, a mechanical growl that matched the wild freedom blooming inside me.
I wrapped my arms around Marcus’ waist, pressing my body against his back, feeling the solid warmth of him even through his jacket. My bare legs extended on either side of the bike, exposed to the night air in a way that would have scandalized my mother, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.
As we pulled away from the curb, I looked over my shoulder at my father. My mother now stood by his side. All she needed was a set of pearls to clutch and a fainting couch and she’d be the epitome of the dramatic Southern woman.
Maybe it made me a bad person, but I shot them both a cocky smirk and flipped them the bird as Marcus popped the clutch and took off onto the streets of Nashville with a surge of power.
The wind whipped through my hair, giving me a senseof freedom I hadn’t realized I’d been needing. The cold bit at my exposed skin, racing up my legs and along my arms, but I welcomed it, needed it to clear my head after the suffocating heat of confrontation.
I pressed my face against Marcus’ back, breathing in the scent of him beneath the lingering traces of unfamiliar cologne. His body moved with the bike, muscles shifting beneath my hands as we leaned into a turn, the city blurring around us in streaks of light and shadow.
For the first time since I’d received my parents’ message demanding this meeting, I felt like I could breathe fully. Each inhalation filled my lungs with cold, clean air, washing away the last traces of the perfumed prison I’d left behind. Each exhale carried away another fragment of the girl they’d tried to shape me into, the perfect daughter, the obedient heir, the empty vessel for their ambitions.
We sped through Nashville’s streets, the wind’s icy fingers combing through my hair, tugging my dress, painting my skin with goose bumps. I didn’t care. The cold was a price worth paying for this freedom, this wild escape that felt like flying.
I tightened my arms around Marcus. He briefly covered my hand where it rested against his stomach. No words were needed between us. He knew, as he always seemed to know, exactly what I was feeling in this moment.
