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I probably do. I don’t care. The dressisbeautiful. It’s cream with a figure-hugging mermaid skirt and covered in pearls and diamantes. The top is a sweetheart neckline emphasizing my small breasts.
The door opens and my father enters. “Are you ready?”
I clench my teeth. How typical of him. There’s no emotion. No compliments on my dress or questions about how I’m feeling.
“Doesn’t your daughter look lovely, Derek,” Mom says, taking yet another gulp of champagne.
I haven’t had a single bite to eat or sip of water all day. My head is pounding, and I think I’m going to vomit.
“Yes. Very nice,” Dad replies and runs his eyes up and down my dress.
Penny rubs my arm and gives me a pitiful smile in the mirror.
“You’re doing this for the family. I am proud of you,” Dad says.
Pride? Is he fucking kidding me? I’m marrying a man who raped me hours after being kidnapped. Who threatened everyone and, likely, has done it many times.
I’ve had all my freedoms taken from me—most I never had. I’ve been the good girl all my life and he can’t even show a single ounce of love.
Not even on my wedding day...to a man I despise. To the father of the man I...I...shitI think I might love.
That probably means I’m completely unhinged, and yet it’s how I feel. I would give anything to have Maddox beside me right now. To scoop me up in his arms and run away with me.
How insane.
I want the very man who first kidnapped me to do it again. Yup, I’m certifiable.
Something inside me snaps.
I meet my father’s gaze in the mirror and glare at him.
“Keep your pride. It’s your love that I wanted, but clearly that’s never going to happen.”
“Kyra!” Mom cries and Penny’s eyes widen.
“Love doesn’t pay the bills or keep this family safe. I’m doing what’s necessary. Which you have no understanding of as you’re a child with zero responsibilities,” Dad snaps. “You have five minutes. Make sure you’re downstairs.”
When he turns and walks out, I burst into tears and Mom races around to fix my makeup.
What a nightmare.
Six minutes later—because it is my wedding so I can be one minute late—I grip Penny’s hand as we stand just outside the doorway, waiting for the music to start.
“You’re shaking,” she whispers, squeezing my hand. “It’s going to be okay.”
It won’t, but I smile at her anyway.
The music begins.
Oh god. What am I doing?
More tears fill my eyes, and I force them back, swallowing and blinking.
“Let’s go,” my father says.
Penny squeezes my hand one last time, then walks out ahead of us.
Shit.