The blush of colour rising from his collar tells me he’s not used to seeing me with a man. After all the years he’s spent observing me and Gabriel, it’s funny how easily he senses the difference from that to me and Micah.
“Okay. I’ve just got to cue up the track, and—”
“It’s sorted,” Agnes declares, waggling the sound system remote in her hand. “Don’t you worry about a thing except making it from the corridor to the living room.”
“I’m sure we can hum under our breath, if need be,” my father says, waggling his eyebrows. “I still remember how it goes.”
“Not this song.”
He catches my eye and frowns. “You’re not playing some newfangled garbage that no one will remember in a year, are you?”
“I’m playing a timeless classic that just happens to be new.” When his face turns a bit too red for my liking, I hook my hand over his arm and squeeze it tightly. “You should behave, otherwise, I’ll ask Warren to walk me down the aisle.”
“The corridor.”
“Could you leave the semantics until after the wedding?”
My dad cups my chin and tilts my head back so he can look straight into my eyes. It’s strange to be on the receiving end of his piercing gaze; usually he reserves it for the other people who surround him. I can’t remember the last time he focused so intensely on me.
“You’re sure this is what you want?”
I start to nod, then pause to consider the question. Monday seems so long ago. Not just five days but another year, another decade. Given the choice, I would never have wanted to find my partner this way, in this miserable set of circumstances.
Yet we’ve jumped from level to level with such ease that it now seems like something that was always fated to be. Like me accidentally bumping into Micah outside the bathroom is a thread long woven into antique tapestries; foretelling a pivotal moment that was always going to play out to this exact moment.
My thoughts flit to Gabriel. Wonder what he’s doing and who he’s doing it with. In better circumstances, I would have loved to have him here, to witness such an important part of my life.
But these aren’t better circumstances. They’re the ones we were dealt. And I’m happier with that than I ever thought I could be.
“Yes. I’m sure,” I whisper at the same time my phone buzzes. Not only mine but my father’s and Thaddius’s too.
His hand drops and we both laugh, sharing a glance before we dig out our phones to stare at the screen. So few people have my number that I expect to see a message from Marigold. Instead, I see the familiar number belonging to Gabriel.
Looks like he’s attending my ceremony in his own way. With an eager laugh, I open the message.
My father is quicker. He scans the screen then his face turns into a firestorm of rage.
Before I can even piece together what I’m seeing, he strides away. Walks the corridor without me. Heads straight for my groom, who stares at his approach with widening eyes.
“Dad!” I yell, understanding what he’s about to do a second before his fist ploughs into Micah’s face. There’s a dull crack as he makes contact and a thud as my fiancé’s head snaps back against the window. His hand presses against the pane, pushing him upright towards my father just in time for Dad to draw back his fist and punch again.
I scream, trying to force my legs to run to them but it’s like they’re set in concrete. Like my worst nightmare.
A bloody mist sprays from Micah’s face as my father makes contact again. My fiancé’s nose twists at such an awkward angle that something must be broken.
He raises his hand, palm out towards my dad. It acts more like a green light than a stop signal as my father goes to punch him again.
Warren stops him. Belatedly arriving on the scene, he catches Micah’s raised fist and twists it behind his back, forcing him to the floor. Thaddius takes over, keeping my father incapacitated while the guard inspects the damage to Micah.
I want to run over. To my dad pinioned to the floor. To my fiancé, beaten and bleeding. But my eyes are inexorably drawn back to the message. The one that Gabriel sent on what should have been a joyous occasion. The photograph and text guaranteed to spoil my day.
In time with the heavy thumps of my heartbeat, the meaning pulses into my brain.
The image of me laying back on the bed. Hand covering my laughing face. My blood staining the sheets.
Thump.
This is what your girlfriend looks like when a real man fucks her. I wonder how many times she’ll bleed on my cock before she gets used to the size.
