But at least I'll make sure no one unworthy ever gets close enough to hurt her.
At least I can do that much.
Chapter Five
Present day…
Bianca
The applause is deafeningas I walk across the stage, diploma in hand. Somewhere in the crowd, Mam is crying. I can hear her even over the roar.
I sigh. Of course she is. But why does it still feel like she's doing it for attention so she looks like the proud mother moved to emotion?
No. Stop it, Bianca. Don't think like that.
And why does it feel like someone's… watching me? Every once in a while, I feel like I'm under a spotlight, and I…
Ofcoursesomeone's watching. I'm in a crowded auditorium. There are likely loads of people watching me.
Get it together.
I square my shoulders and smile.
I did it! Six years of late nights and early mornings, of essays and exams and barely scraping by on loans and scholarships, and I'm done. I finally have my master’s degree in history.
I should feel triumphant. Accomplished.
Instead, I feel like I'm walking toward the edge of a cliff.
The ceremony blurs into a haze of handshakes and photos. My friends pull me into hugs, squealing about freedom and futures and the party tonight at O'Malley's.
But I won't be going to that party. I'll be packing to move into Marcus Crowning's house, starting my new life as his fiancée.
Three months until I become his wife.
The thought sits heavy in my chest, something I can't think about right now.
“There she is!” Aunt Anna's voice cuts through the crowd, and suddenly, I'm engulfed in hugs and kisses and a crush of fresh flowers. “My brilliant girl! Your father would be so proud.”
Mam dabs at her eyes with a tissue, her mascara already perfectly smudged, like she practiced. “He would have been so proud of you. I wish he were here to see you. If it weren't for those damn McCarthys—no. We won't talk about them, not today.” Then her expression shifts, justslightly, and her voice drops. “Though I do wish you'd chosen the ivory dress, like I suggested. This one washes you out a bit and hugs your curves, doesn't it? The wrap dress has a minimizing waist, Bianca.”
In other words, my tiny mother thinks I look fat.
The joy drains from my chest, replaced by the familiar ache.
Minimizing waist.
I left behind teenage acne and curves I could hide under baggy clothes in favor of my maternal grandmother's generously wide birthing hips, rounded belly, and unfashionably well-endowed breasts.
I'd have fit right in some cultures and time periods, but my peers side-eye my plus-sized clothing.
“I thought the white looked nice,” I manage. The worst part about being a plus-sized girl is the ever-pressing need to make oneself small. To disappear. Oh, the irony.
“Oh, it does, darling. It's fine.” She pats my cheek. “You look fine.” She sighs, tucking the tissue away. “At least Marcus won't care. He's just happy to have you, isn't he?”
“Mam, please—” Why here? Why now?
“I'm only saying what everyone's thinking.” She pulls me into a brief, tight hug that feels more like a restraint. “But you're lucky. Very lucky. Not every girl gets a second chance at a good match after—well.” She doesn't finish, but I know whatshe means.
