Total pages in book: 230
Estimated words: 217798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1089(@200wpm)___ 871(@250wpm)___ 726(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 217798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1089(@200wpm)___ 871(@250wpm)___ 726(@300wpm)
“You’ll be a good wife to him, won’t you?” His expression is odd. Concerned, even.
“Of course,” I say.
“Of course,” my father repeats, looking relieved. “You’ve always been a good girl. And he’ll be a good husband to you.” The last sentence is muttered, almost to himself. As if he’s trying to convince himself that it’s true.
Someone calls to him—I don’t see who—and at that moment my brother appears at his side. He’s unrecognizable from the man he was in that meeting. There’s no bluster, no fight. “You look beautiful,” he says, and then he pitches his voice lower. “Don’t do this. You don’t have to do this. Not for Bradley Hotels. We’ll find another way.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “I’m about to walk down the aisle.”
“Don’t.”
“Why not?” There are a thousand reasons not to back out. My family’s reputation, for one. The business I’ve worked so hard to save. But I find myself leaning closer to my brother.
“I should have stopped this.” Guilt darkens his expression. “I shouldn’t have been such an asshole in that meeting. I’ve heard things about this guy, Isa. Crazy things. That he’s controlling. That he’s a freak. And if I don’t try to stop you—”
“You can’t stop me. This is done.” I give him my most confident smile. Francisco said some things during our private meeting. He used the word submit. At night you submit to me. If that’s what my brother is afraid of, then it’s not important enough to risk the collapse of the company. A hundred thousand jobs. I’ll trade my body for a hundred thousand jobs.
Even if a knot of fear is forming at the pit of my gut.
“He might—”
The wedding planner interrupts him. She flits around us like a butterfly, making little tweaks to embroidered gauze over my skirt, the tendrils of blonde hair around my face.
Natalie. Her name is Natalie.
She’s murmuring into her headset, so it takes me a moment to realize she’s talking to me. “Are you ready?” she says in a whisper-yell.
I give her my serene smile. I learned it from my mother when I was five years old. Practiced it in front of the mirror with Estee Lauder lipstick on my lips. It’s not only Bradley Hotels on the line. If we were to fail, my younger brother and sisters would suffer. Robin is old enough to take care of himself, but the rest are still in middle school and high school. “Of course.”
Robin nods, defeated. “You look beautiful,” he says again, and then he goes to take his place inside the sanctuary. My dad ends his conversation and turns back to me.
Natalie beams at me. “You’re the calmest bride I’ve ever seen.”
It’s not the first time she’s told me that. Cake tastings and flower samples. Every inch of this wedding has been planned and purchased. It’s the event of the season.
The lights dim in the alcove, the way they do before the opera.
It’s our cue. Electricity moves through the air. It makes the hair on my arms stand up. I hear the muted opening strains of “Canon in D.” A door opens, and we emerge into the main hallway. The flower girl goes first. A distant cousin. I’ve met her twice. Then my bridesmaids. Most of them are family friends. I’ve known them forever, but we don’t hang out. My actual friends, the ones from college or people who work at the shelter—they’re in the audience. They warranted an invite, but not this particular honor.
My mother picked out the wedding party. My father picked the venue.
And my new husband commissioned the dress.
“Shall we?” my father asks, his lips curved like we share an inside joke.
What would he say if I told him no?
I barely even know the man at the end of the aisle. Who is he? Who am I? I can’t do this. Don’t make me. He’d probably say I’m being hysterical.
And anyway, I’m not a child. I know my duty.
My family paid exorbitant sums of money in private schooling so that I could repay them in precisely this way—with an advantageous match.
“Lead the way,” I tell him with a wink.
It makes him chuckle. “That’s my girl. A Bradley at heart.”
We reach the entrance to the cathedral. The powerful organ reverberates through the floor. Every single person—man, woman, and child—stands and turns to face me. It would be so easy to flush. To let my heart pound out of my chest and the blood rush to my face.
Instead I lift my chin. I face them down with a calm expression. A Bradley at heart.
Only, I won’t be a Bradley for much longer. Fifteen minutes, give or take.
My father steps forward. I grip the sleeve of his tuxedo so tight he must feel it. He must feel my terror, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He keeps walking, and so I do the only thing I can—I follow his lead. I float down the long carpet covered in rose petals.