To hear him talk, they had all these traditions, rituals, strange rules about bonds and purity, plus a half-mumbled family history that felt old, in the way cathedrals were old, or mountains. Mason had once mentioned “responsibilities,” but I’d assumed it was metaphorical, like “church family” or “community.”
I didn’t pry. Sure, I was curious, but Mason always looked embarrassed when he tried to explain, so I left it alone.
But here we were, me sitting on Mason’s bed, and Mason pacing up and down, tearing his hair and tugging at his shirt as though he wanted to crawl out of his own skin. I couldn’t back off anymore.
My best friend is being forced into some kind of hardcore religious marriage, and I have to get him out of it.
Mason was in full-fledged panic mode now: his breathing was way too fast, his eyes wild, moving in sharp, restless motions that felt wrong for him. There was something primal about him, maybe even feral. I’d only seen him like this a couple of times, and I had no idea why he’d worked himself up into such a state, but now wasn’t the time to question it.
“I can’t do it, Kip,” Mason whispered, his voice cracking. “I can’t marry Jerome. He’s—he’s awful. He thinks he can control me. He wants me to be…pure, like I’m—” His voice broke. “I don’t want this. I don’t wanthim.”
Heat surged through my chest, a heady mix of anger and protectiveness—and something else. Don’t ask me what, but it always stirred when Mason was upset.
I had to be cool for both of us.
I steadied my voice. “Okay. Then we stop it.”
Mason looked at me as though I’d just offered to catch a falling star with my bare hands. “How? My parents already signed things. It’s—it’s basically done.”
I sat up straighter on the bed. I knew nothing about his family’s customs. I didn’t know the rules. But there was one thing Iwassure about.
Arranged marriages relied on compliance.
The germ of an idea began to seed itself in my mind. It was crazy. It was out there.
And there was the teensiest chance it might work.
“Your parents only get to arrange your marriage if you’re not already committed,” I mused, a plan forming. “Right?”
“I guess?” Mason stammered. “Historically, yeah, but I’m not?—”
“What if you were?”
Mason blinked. “Were what?”
“What if you’d already promised yourself to someone else?” I was warming to the idea. “Like, long ago.Beforethis Jerome thing.”
“That’s not how it works, Kip.”
“Maybe not in their system,” I insisted, “but what if you told them? Made a big deal out of it? They’re religious, right? Old-fashioned? They care about vows and bonds and purity and all that weird stuff—right?”
Mason hesitated, confused. “Kind of?”
“So if you made a promise to someone else,” I continued, “they can’t force you to betray it. That would go against their own beliefs.”
Mason’s brow furrowed. “But I never promised anyone anything?—”
“You promised me.”
Silence.
Dead, stunned, horrified silence.
Mason stared at me, his mouth hanging open. “Kip. We were fourteen.”
“Yeah,” I said, my heart pounding, “and that’sexactlythe age when people in weird traditional families decide vows matter.”
Mason made a strangled sound. “But itwasn’ta vow. We said we’d look out for each other. That’s just… friendship stuff!”
