My thoughts go white as the pain hits hardest at the top of my neck, making me feel like my brain is seeping through the base of my skull. I try to box-breathe my way into relaxation but get lost in the simple four-count almost immediately, panting for air instead.
“Tell me what’s happening,” Micah says in a melodious voice as I fight against the pain. “Preferably before you crush my hand.”
“Oh, I—” I let go and grip the sides of the cot instead. My head feels like an overripe mango being squeezed by a line of supermarket shoppers. “Can you get your brother?” If someone’s going to see me distraught and in pain, it should be the man I’m marrying.
“Gabriel?” Micah’s voice turns warm with amusement. “Why would I fetch him? He’s useless with the status quo, so I can’t imagine he’ll be any better in a crisis.”
“We’re engaged.”
“You’re not.” My hand is lifted again, lightly shaken in a movement that’s both gentle and mocking. “No ring. Even the stupidest Webb brother could decipher that means no fiancé.”
“My dad’s announcing it tonight.” I have to stop there, biting into my lip until I can taste the iron tang of blood. “Sorry, my head.”
“Stick your tongue out.”
It takes another few seconds of coaxing before I can. My jaw wants to clench so badly that fighting it takes all my energy. Then the only reward is another pill.
“Don’t swallow this one. Just let it melt on your tongue.”
When the next wave hits and my muscles tense, Micah pulls me against his chest, stroking the hair back from my forehead.
It’ll be a mess. All that time spent with the hairdresser, tucking every strand of it away, and now it’s working free. Tight ringlets splay around my face like weeds dredged from the depths of a rotten pond. My dress is half twisted around my body, scoring the fabric with wrinkles.
I’ll walk back into the party completely unkempt. Marigold will sit beside me, dazzling as usual, and Brianna will be seated opposite, outshining every female in the room. The partygoers will wonder why Gabriel would willingly hitch himself to me.
I whimper, then whimper again because I’m indulging myself, wallowing in self-pity, itself a disgraceful act.
“Tell me more about you and my brother,” Micah says in a soothing voice. “The pills will take a while to kick in, so why don’t you fill me in since Gabriel hasn’t bothered?”
His voice sharpens on the last part of his statement, and I jump to Gabe’s defence. “That’s because until Dad utters the words, nothing’s set in stone.” A miserable truth that I’ve learned several times in the past, to my detriment.
I hesitate before speaking again, aware my words could cast me as shallow or draw attention to his family’s plight. Finally, I voice them with an apologetic air. “Plus, Gabriel’s proposal is short on the monetary front. I’ve pointed out all the positives that I can to Dad, but I don’t know if that’s enough.”
“But you want to marry him?”
My hand convulses in his. “Oh, yes. Desperately.”
“And he obviously wants to marry you. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have made an offer.”
I incline my head, smiling at the thought of Gabriel nervously preparing his proposal. Sweating over the wording as he sometimes sweated over his English homework. “He does. That’s probably why he didn’t tell you. He’ll be trying not to jinx it.”
“Shouldn’t you just let your father know that’s what you want, then?”
I stare at Micah, wondering if all men inside the organisation are this blind to the rampant misogyny of our customs. All I can see of him in the dark is the reflection of light in his eyes and the strong contrast where his brown curls are pulled back behind his ear.
“You don’t know my dad,” are the words I finally settle on, sadness welling up out of nowhere even though I know the score.
“No, I don’t, but would he really marry you to the richest prospect, even if you hated the man?”
My voice is low but confident. “If he was worth enough? In a heartbeat. Dad loves money the same way the sky is blue. It’s one of those things that just is and there’s nothing anyone can do to change it.” The truth has been clear for so long, I don’t even bother to feel upset.
Micah pulls his hand from mine to hold his wrist to my forehead, a makeshift thermometer. “Do you feel any better?”
“Yes, thank you.” And I don’t know if it’s because of the drugs or because he allowed me to unburden myself, but either way, I’m grateful. I try to sit up again and have to grab the edges of the cot when it appears I’ve moved too soon.
“Shh,” he says when I utter a small groan. “Lay down again and rest. The medication still won’t be at its full effect yet, so I’ll come back in a half hour to check.”
Out of allegiance to Gabriel, I still dislike Micah on principle, but must admit he makes a wonderful nurse.
