“You don’t haveto like it, son, but it is what it is.”
“That’s right. As heir apparent, it’s your responsibility to take on this sacrifice for the family. You don’t have the privilege of thinking about yourself right now,” my uncle says.
I try not to clench my jaw. For all intents and purposes, I’m the picture of calm as I sit, facing my father and uncle in the den. My arm is draped casually over the back of the couch, my ankle resting on the opposite knee, and I’m even managing to keep my foot from jiggling. I’ve barely said two words since they arrived, and I certainly haven’t expressed any objections despite having plenty. So, this lecture they are giving me about responsibility and sacrifice is pretty much moot. But I don’t tell them that. Instead, I nod and say, “As always, I will serve our family well and do my duty.”
My father looks pleased. I don’t make the mistake of thinking he’s pleased with me. He’s merely smug about the fact that he raised his son with a perfect sense of duty. He smooths his slicked-back graying hair and slips his hand inside his jacket, retrieving three cigars. Leonard disappeared the moment my father arrived. He appreciates all my family has done for him,but he’s attended enough of these lectures to know what’s going to be said word-for-word. He’s not wrong. Aside from a few word choices every now and again, this speech is a copy-and-paste of the countless ones I’ve received before.
I decline the offer of the cigar, as I do every time, and my uncle and father light up. The pungent smell of the smoke brings about negative feelings. Cigars and my father and uncle’s disapproval go hand-in-hand, which is why I don’t ever invite them into my office, although this time they are happy with my “decision”.
There are only three people who have ever been in my office—Leonard, Sebastian, and me—and that will never change. Despite the fact that I don’t want any lingering negativity in my office and the olfactory stimuli will certainly do that, my father and uncle have never approved of my work. They think being a traditionalist healer is beneath my role as alpha and heir apparent. If they knew I was currently researching how to protect different species from human detection, they would certainly look for something they deem to be a better use of my time. They’ve already pushed for me to attend more meetings with them, but I’d much rather belly-crawl over broken glass than suffer through that. I prefer the solitude of my research and one-on-one time with my patients.
But for now, I sit and watch my family postulate on my life and what will be good for everyone else, without so much as a thought as to how this will affect me.
3
ESMERELDA
Idon’t recognize myself as I stare in the mirror. Each brushstroke of makeup Chantelle applies feels like a step closer to the fate I didn’t choose. My hands hurt with how tightly they’re balled into fists under the silk dressing gown I’m wearing, which feels like a suffocating blanket. And although Chantelle is an absolute artist, the more she tries to soften my features, the more removed I feel from myself.
Unfortunately, no amount of contouring will disguise the tightness in my jaw. The soft pink gloss on my lips can’t hide the hard lines of my mouth, and the smoky look she gave me only enhances the rage simmering beneath the surface. Don’t get me wrong, the makeup is beautiful, and under normal circumstances I’d be reveling in how smoking hot I look right now, but I cannot think of anything else but the fury desperately wanting to erupt from me. The month I’ve had to prepare myself for this day has done nothing to dissipate the outrage of being forced to marry Marcus.
I can’t understand why my father is spending so much money on an expensive makeup artist, bridal suite, and everything else that goes with getting married. I would’ve been happy to do all this myself at my home. But since I’ll never get the opportunityto have a real wedding with a man I love, he’s trying to give me the best experience he can. Unfortunately, the opulence of the ivory-and-gold bridal suite feels more like a gilded cage.
I take a deep breath and focus on what I have to do instead of what I’m missing out on. There’s nothing I can do about my situation now, and anger and resentment is not going to help. My wolf thrashes against the confines of my control, clearly unhappy with my decision, but if I lose control, there’s no telling what I’ll do.
I shoot a glance at Minerva sitting on the embossed ivory couch to the side of the room. She’s nervously chewing on the skin around her nails. I know she’s anxious. She’s reminded me at least a hundred times that I need to sell the marriage really well to the head alpha and council members, or we risk exile. But she needn’t worry; I won’t let her or my family down. I’ll be as convincing as possible today. But that doesn’t mean I won’t do my best to antagonize my husband.
The thought makes me smile. Noticing that, Min stands and walks over to me. “I’m so happy to see you smiling instead of glaring for a change.”
I don’t tell her why I’m smiling. The poor woman is under enough stress as it is.
“Are you ready to get into your gown?”
I am the furthest thing from ready, and to reiterate my stance, my wolf’s low growl distracts me, so it takes me longer than is necessary to respond.
“Yes.” My gaze tracks to the garment bag concealing my gown. It’s supposed to be a surprise. I don’t understand why. When I was at UCLA getting my business degree, I overheard a human girl talking about a tradition where the groom couldn’t see the bride in her gown before the wedding or risk bad luck. My luck couldn’t get worse even if I engaged in all the silly superstitions humans have, but that’s not the point. I don’tunderstand why they are keeping it a secret. It isn’t our tradition, and I’m the bride, for goodness’ sake.
In all honesty, if I had a choice, I’d have pitched up in my yoga pants and a tank top, but my father came into my room last night and asked me if I would do all this for my mother. So, here I sit, with more makeup than I usually wear, for a man I can’t tolerate.
More and more, I think about my parents’ marriage and see the small moments I will be missing out on. Such as, my husband cherishing me enough to do something like this for me. The fact that this marriage has been forced on me is eating my mother up, and I respect my father for trying to make her as content and happy as he can.
And I guess my father hoped that the ridiculously expensive room, makeup artist, and champagne flutes filled to the brim would ease the sting. There’s only one problem. My mother hasn’t been anywhere near the bridal suite this morning. Not that I blame her.
Minerva goes to retrieve the garment bag, and I stand, smiling at Chantelle. “Thank you. I hardly recognize myself.”
“Honestly, you’re so beautiful I didn’t need to put makeup on you in the first place. But your father paid me an exorbitant amount so...” She shrugs and starts packing away her stuff.
“I appreciate it. And I’m sure Marcus will love it.” The lie makes me want to vomit a little. I don’t give a flying f—. Well, let’s just say I don’t care. And considering he didn’t even look at me on the day we were told we had to get married, I doubt he will either. But if I’m going to sell this blushing-bride crap, I better start now.
Minerva walks back to me, cradling the garment bag over her arm. She drapes it over the back of one of the occasional chairs and unzips the bag with the delicacy of someone letting a pissed-off cobra out of a bag.
I smile when I see the burgundy material. I might have to go through with this sham, but there is no way I’m doing it in white like some sort of innocent virgin. I’m not pretending I haven’t had my share of lovers just to soothe Marcus’s ego. Not today, people.
I step into the gown Minerva is holding, and when she zips me up, a lump forms in my throat. The gown is gorgeous. The flattering A-line silhouette gently skims over my hips, creating an elegant and balanced look. The bodice shimmers as the light spilling into the room hits the millions of tiny beads, causing countless prisms. I finger the modest neckline that highlights my collarbones without being too revealing. It’s everything a girl could want in a dress and more.
“You look beautiful.” Min’s voice is soft, in direct contrast with her hulking frame and stiff posture.
If she starts crying, I’ll be done for. So, I deflect. “Go get into your gown so we can get a picture.” There will be no pictures taken later. No cutesy moments to commemorate the day. But I do want one with my best friend.
