“Do I need to post a guard?” I ask in a voice low enough that only she’ll hear.
“I won’t go wandering around. I learned my lesson.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I’ll be back to take you to the chapel.”
“Chapel?” Her eyebrows arch.
“Of course. I’m Catholic.”
She looks confused. “Are you serious?”
“About being Catholic?”
“No, about the chapel. I mean, if you believe in God, which I don’t think you do, I’m pretty sure he’d condemn what you have planned.”
I give her arms a squeeze. “Maybe you’ll get lucky and I’ll be struck down by lightning.”
“One can wish.”
She turns away and I know the moment her eyes fall on the dress because she spins back to face me, mouth open in a surprised O.
“One more thing,” I say, reaching into my pocket to take out the phone. I toss it to her, and she instinctively reaches out to catch it.
She looks down at it, then up at me.
“Never gave you an engagement present. Be good, Cristina,” I say and walk out the door.
6
Cristina
I stand there staring at the phone in my hands, not believing it. When I touch the screen, it comes to life. There’s no passcode.
There’s a missed call. When I check it, Damian’s name pops on the screen. I look at the contact list and his is the only number programmed. He must have called it in order to save his number in here.
“Are you ready, miss?” one of the women asks.
I look at her. “Just a minute,” I say and walk toward the window, turning my back to them.
I dial Liam’s number. He answers on the first ring, and I instantly feel a combination of relief and elation.
“Hello?” he says again when I don’t speak right away.
“Liam. It’s me. Cristina.”
“Cristina?”
I smile, realizing that smile feels strange on my face. Almost like I’ve forgotten how to do it.
“It’s so good to hear your voice.”
“I don’t recognize the number.”
“It’s a new phone. Damian just gave it to me. Well, he tossed it at me and left, so I guess it’s mine.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m at the house in Upstate New York.”
“Dad told me what’s happening. Are you okay?”
I glance at the ring on my finger. “I have to be. How about you? How are you?”
“I’m all right. Worried about you.”
“I’ll be fine,” I say, not sure I will. “Are you still staying with your mom?”
“I go on weekends. I have to be in the city for school.”
“Miss?” one of the women says.
I turn to her, and she mouths that they need to get started.
“I have to go.”
“Already? Can’t we talk for a minute?”
“I can’t right now. But I’ll call you back as soon as I can.”
“Cris?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re really going to do it? Marry that man?”
Backing up, I slump on the edge of the bed because the reality of this hits me like a fist to my belly. I wipe my eyes with the heels of my hands.
“Miss? We need to dry your hair.”
“I don’t have a choice, Liam. The alternative is worse.”
“How can—”
“I have to go. I’m sorry.” I disconnect the call. I need to get through this evening. This night. And if I keep talking to Liam, I’m going to break down.
I steel my spine and stand, looking back at the dress.
It’s black, not white. Not that I care because this wedding is a sham, but this dress and the veil are more appropriate for a funeral than a wedding.
“Are you ready?” one of the women asks as I lift the lace veil, feeling the weight of it. I wonder if that’s in my head because it’s a delicate lace even as dense as the pattern is.
I turn to the woman. “Yes,” I say, dropping the length of it.
7
Cristina
It’s fully dark when Damian returns more than an hour later. One of the women is finishing packing her things while the other puts the final pin into my hair to hold the veil in place. It drags along the floor behind me, and I can’t help but think it’d be pretty under different circumstances.
The dress itself is close fitting made of a soft organza silk, like the white dress he had me wear to that party that wasn’t a party at all. It reaches my ankles and has long trumpet sleeves and a high neck with a section of lace that matches the veil across the bodice. A dangerously high slit runs along the front of my right thigh, and with every move, I’m very aware of how naked I am underneath.