“Your mother is right. It is time to put an end to this fallacy that you can be with an atheist. You will marry Blake.”
The words settle over the room like a verdict.
The tone my father uses is not one used for giving a suggestion. Nor is it an idea thrown out in a state of panic. It is a decision already made without me.
I realize my head is already shaking.
The audacity! I can’t believe he just said that.
“No. I will not.” I sit up in bed, swinging my legs over the edge. “I will not be controlled by either of you anymore. And I will marry whomever I choose. Not you.”
“Oh, will you?” she says, but her tone drips with mockery.
“Yes. I love Jack. Period.” I lift my chin, surprisingly proud of myself. “I want to marry him and only him.”
Mom’s face changes. Her eyes widen, bigger than ever before. A coldness ices over her complexion, making her gaunt and haunting. It is not anger etching into her furrowing brow. I’ve seen that.
Into something stripped raw and mean, like she has finally stopped pretending to be my mother and become only the church’s keeper.
A stillness lingers, deafening. Everyone is tense and silent.
Then—
Fire burns my face as her palm cracks against the tender flesh of my cheek.
She smacked me.
No.
Again, her palm connects. So hard, the strikes feel more like punches. I cover my face, both shocked and terrified. My ear is hit. My shoulders. It’s a barrage of powerful hands from a woman who held in her emotionsfar too long.
“You. Will. Not. Marry. Him,” she roars, her breathing heavy and fragmented.
“Stop!” I scream. “Dad! Help!”
The room darkens. The energy shifts. I’m no longer bedside with loving parents who want what’s best for me. I’m thrust into something much more vile and ugly.
Chapter 51
Morgan
The attack stops, and slowly, I realize I’m curled into a ball on the bed, my hands and arms shielding my face. I pry them away.
Mother glares down at me, her face sharp and cruel. I glance at Dad, gobsmacked that he didn’t intervene.
Istare at them both, my cheek burning, and for one sick second I do not know who raised me. Not really.
These are not my parents as I understood them.
They are two frightened strangers in expensive clothes, guarding a kingdom built on lies.
“Dad?” I murmur, my voice shaky.
“Him! Forget him,” she says. “I sacrificed everything for this family. Your father can’t keep his wandering desires in his pants.”
I gasp. It’s true.
“You know?” I say, breathless.
