Someone who turns eighteen in late fall, I think and chew my lower lip. I’m about to marry Mr. Parker. Mr. Parker with his silk shirts and crow’s feet. Inside the cathedral, four hundred guests are waiting for me to say, ‘I do.’ Margot moves toward me, turning her bouquet so white petals sprinkle her feet. “Still time to run, JJ.”
I imagine sprinting down the street, my priceless train swirling into filthy gutters, the leather on the bottom of my shoes rubbing away on the pavement.
The back of my neck prickles and I turn.
“What?” Margot asks.
I want to say ‘I feel like someone’s watching me’ but that’s stupid. Peoplearewatching me. All around us New Yorkers are pointing at me, the bride on her wedding day as though I belong to all of them.
“Did you hear what I said?” Margot mutters. “You can still get out of here.”
“Where would I go? The train station? Starbucks?”
“Anywhere. Just run.”
I know Margot means it, that she would even try to help me, but it doesn’t matter. It would take Kurt and Theodore five minutes to find me, and then what? I touch my bodice, feeling for the St. Christopher. “Margot, I can’t wait to be married.”
She rolls her eyes and I poke her cheek the way Zia Teresa did whenever I questioned her. Margot swats me but she’s smiling. “Your nipples are coming right through your dress.”
“It’s the lace! It’s chafing me!”
“You better hope Billionaire Boy has no complaints or mom’s gonna kill you.”
Carolyn, the wedding planner, rushes down the cathedral stairs to meet us. “Hello, girls! Get in the order we rehearsed, please!”
I know the signs of someone being bullied by my stepmom and Carolyn has all of them. Her voice is high, her perfect eye-makeup is smudged at the corners, and she’s sweating buckets. My bridesmaids and I arrange ourselves in a line and climb the steps to the cathedral. I can already hear the respectful murmur of the guests inside, politicians, Mr. Parker’s business associates, and the entire Whitehall family.
A string quartet begins to play a light, hopeful song.
“Okay, girls,” Carolyn says. “Time to go. Giuseppina, you’re first.”
There are ‘ohhs’ and ‘ahhs’ from the crowd as Pina disappears into the cathedral. Queasiness builds inside me as Darcy and Quinn go next. The aisle at St. Michael’s is very long. It’s a full five minutes and a new song before Sadie and Penelope air-kiss my cheeks and depart. They’re Whitehalls and the sight of them makes the crowd murmur even louder. They know the main event is getting close. Me.
Goosebumps rise on my arms. I’ve never been the main event. I’m the youngest of my family, the least important, and the worst at school. The freak with bodyguards who until last year didn’t know what a passport was.
Margot kisses my cheek properly, lips to skin. “I’ll see you soon.”
It feels like a lie. I squeeze her hand as she slips away into the church.
“Oh my fucking Christ, she’s moving too fast for the music,” Carolyn moans. “OhGod,your sister’s moving too fast!”
Yup, mom definitely told Carolyn she’d be planning debutante balls in Idaho if she screwed this up. I smile reassuringly at her. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
“Shh!”
Behind us, Kurt and Theodore are leaning up against a bridal Cadillac and drinking out of a flask. When I walk into the cathedral, it will be the furthest I’ve moved in public without them in almost ten years. My stomach twists. I wish I wasn’t alone. My brother Harris wanted to walk me down the aisle, but mom said no. I’m not sure why. Maybe it was my daddy or no one for Mr. Parker.
“January?” Carolyn tugs my arm. “You’re shaking. Are you okay?”
I think of Zia Teresa, of the St. Christopher medallion against my chest.Protection for whenever you journey from home.“I’m fine. I’m wonderful.”
The music changes to a slow, melodious song. I haven’t heard it before, but it feels familiar. Inevitable. As though in the back of my mind, it’s always been playing. The song I’ll walk down the aisle toward Mr. Parker to.
Carolyn looks like she’s about to pass out. “Okay, January. Now!”
I move automatically, slowly in time with the music. I’m aware of my whole body. My feet in my kitten heels, the lace shifting across my thighs, the air brushing my bare shoulders, the circle of warm metal at my breast.
The crowd turns to face me, a thousand-headed monster. I keep my gaze unfocused and walk forward, one step at a time. The aisle is so long, Mr. Parker and his groomsmen are just tuxedoed blurs. I haven’t met any of his friends before. Maybe we’ll become friends too and I’ll entertain them and their wives at dinner parties. I could make arancini and stuffed artichokes.
