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But this wedding was his thing. His baby.
Dad and Holden’s father cooked up the arrangement because they smelled opportunity if their political dynasties could merge. Never mind what works best for the kids getting married, because we apparently live in the seventeenth century.
Holden, though, he has a little more of a cult following. Mostly on Instagram, where he draws women who worship the young and rich and sickeningly spoiled like frogs on a pond.
One night, he spent half the evening in his DMs, just laughing.
I couldn’t decide if I was more icked out by his rudeness, mocking his fans, or scared he’d hooked up with a few of them.
My skin crawls just thinking about it now.
Another red flag I ignored.
And the idea that I had thenerveto detonate my life and dodge a screaming bullet feels surreal.
This can’t be me.
This can’t be the girl who was called into Dad’s office last year when he suggested an engagement andagreedwith a nervous smile and not a single word of protest.
Although, to be fair, this situation feels more like a direct hit than a near miss.
Maybe the bullet wasn’t Holden after all—it was running away and becoming estranged from the entire world I used to know.
Figures.
Honestly, I feel bad about my big promises to Archer, everything I said about recommending his cabins to people in high places.
I mean, I was desperate. I would’ve promised him the moon just to keep my pretty hideout place for a few more days.
There’s something about this place that makes me feel like I belong in a stupid, entirely irrational way. An oasis in the steaming crater carved from my life.
But after what I pulled, I’ll be lucky if anyone in the old DC crowd ever says more than two words to me. And those two words will probably be“the fuck?”
Which would be justified, I suppose. In their world, it isn’t about pissing off people personally.
It’s about pissing off the wrong people with the right connections. Once you’ve angered the petty cannibal gods of American royalty, you become radioactive to anyone who fears their wrath.
My old friends and coworkers would never understand conscience. Or turning down the perfect paper marriage for the silly dream of having a husband someday I might actually want.
Honestly, they don’t think about marriage much at all when they’re so focused on money and careers. In DC, you either move up fast or get buried. Random hookups in hotels with people who areprobablyclean are as romantic as it gets.
Because, you know, that’s less of a career risk than marrying the wrong person.
But if they did think about marriage, the kind of political marriage I could’ve had with Holden probably feels like a dream come true.
Disgusted, I push my phone away, ignoring all the DMs from friends to news outlets wanting interviews.
I’ve seen what a loveless marriage looks like. Maybe Mom loved Dad back when they were young, but he’s been so laser-focused on his career that everything else was pushed to the sidelines.
And maybe he loved her once in an abstract sense, but he’s forgotten now. She’s just there to smile at the cameras like a pretty prop made to support him. I was there, too, playing the perfect daughter.
Until now.
Guess that’s what happens when you push the line until something snaps.
You shove a girl too far, and she’ll blow her wedding to smithereens and run off to a glam little cottage with bees and no big scary obligations around to ruin her fairy tale.
Speaking of bees…