Page 77 of Fragile Twisted Vows
“As for the rest, I’d like you to leave. I’ll sign the marriage contract as soon as Adrian brings it, I think your text said on Wednesday. And then we can be done with the theatrics by the end of this month,” she explains, her voice void of all emotion.
I fucking hate every moment of it.
“As for now, I want you to get the fuck out of my bedroom and leave me alone,” she barks, and I have no strength in me to argue.
I can only do as she wishes in hopes that she’ll see that I’ve listened to her and that she will forgive me one day.
I turn reluctantly, dying to steal another glance from her, even though it’s filled with sadness. I’m dying to steal another kiss, to claim her once more, btu I know it’s all useless.
Everything is fucked now.
When I close the door behind me, I hear her begin to vomit as soon as it clicks.
twenty-three
Lucy
I’m pregnant.
Early too. Four weeks today I might add.
I found out this morning in the bathroom of the guest suite at the Terrace. Jenni told me she was on her way and I asked her to grab me some tests because my period is late and lo and behold, there was the little, faint pink line.
The rehearsal dinner is minutes away and right now, I’m standing before my best friend with a positive pregnancy test and a million questions fluttering across her face, but she says nothing.
I say nothing.
I’m rendered speechless just like I was hours ago when Damien and I signed the marriage certificate together in Adrian’s office.
Now, all of the nausea that’s been plaguing me for weeks has somehow vanished. Mostly because the truth now sits in its place.
“What are you going to do, Luce?” Jenni asks, and I know she has more questions than that, but it’s the most reasonable one to ask.
“I’m going to start the rehearsal walk through,” I say, my voice void of any emotion.
Because I’ve been sucked dry of them all over the past month. Especially these past two weeks.
I’ve locked myself in my bedroom, unwilling to face the man that has lied to my face for years. The man I am now legally married to. The father of my unborn child.
Okay, there’s the nausea.
A knock sounds at the door and both of our heads snap towards it.
“We’re ready ladies,” the event planner says on the other side, but I don’t move.
“Are you ready? I can run out this side door with you,” Jenni asks, and I’ve missed her so much that I start to cry.
God, I am so fucking tired of crying.
“I have to face reality at some point, right?” I ask, my eyes still staring at the little pink line on my test.
“We all do I guess,” she says, and I sigh and stand. She grabs my hand as I slide the pregnancy test in my bag. I’ll have to deal with that later, I guess.
Right now, I have to put on a fake smile and pretend that I am happy to marry the man that has single handedly shattered my heart to pieces.
Not that he hasn’t tried to repair it, he has.
He brings me a meal to my door every four hours, surrounds the hall with flowers. He’s sent me countless texts, each day a new memory he has for me, a new declaration of love I would’ve died to hear, but now am sad to read.
