1
HANNAH
It’s my wedding day. The happiest day of my life.
Yeah, not so much. I’ve never even met my husband-to-be. All I know is that he’s older and wants to do business with my father.
While my girlfriends are settling into their college dorms and making new friends, I’m being used as a pawn in a business relationship like we’re back in the Middle Ages.
"Hannah, stop moving! You'll wrinkle the dress." My mother rushes over, smoothing creases from the fabric.
I stare at my reflection in the large mirror of the dressing room at the church. I see a stranger in white lace staring back. This is not what I want for my life.
"The dress is fine. Unlike this whole situation." I pull away from her fussy hands. "I don't even know this man. How can you expect me to?—”
“Ash is his name, and that’s all you need to know.” My father stands in the doorway, arms crossed. "And this marriage is going to solve a lot of problems for this family."
“And selling your daughter is the answer? Do you hear how old-fashioned?—”
“You're an O'Donnell." My father steps closer, his presence filling the room. "This is what's best for everyone."
"Everyone except me," I murmur. "What if he's horrible? What if?—”
"That's enough.” My father’s tone leaves no room for discussion. “The arrangements are made."
My mother adjusts my veil for the hundredth time. "Be glad it’s not Ronan Kean.”
I’m not upset about that. The few times I’d met Ronan, I thought he was a conceited jerk. And something about him scared me.
But I’ve never met my new betrothed. All I know is that his family killed Ronan. The idea of marrying a murderer scares me too.
“Why doesn’t what I want matter?” I feel utterly defeated.
"What you want?" My father's laugh holds no humor. "What more could you want than to honor your family? This is about duty. Family. Legacy."
My mother fusses with my hair. "You'll learn to love him, dear. I'm sure of it."
"Like I have a choice?" I mutter. My phone buzzes with a notification. I check the group chat with my friends. Sophia has sent a picture of her sprawled on a college lawn, textbooks scattered around her, living her best life at Boston University. The message says to look at the student sitting alone behind her, suggesting he’s cute and asking if she should go talk to him.
My other friend Katie responds with a thumbs-up emoji.
It’s been like this all week. My phone buzzes with messages from high school friends about their college freshman orientations, new roommates, and first dates with boys they actually chose to spend time with.
Meanwhile, I'm here, trapped in ivory silk, about to be handed off to a stranger like some medieval princess securingan alliance between kingdoms. Except it's not medieval times. I should be picking out dorm decorations, not wedding flowers.
"Twenty minutes!" the wedding planner calls through the door.
Twenty minutes until I’m the wife of an old man. Not Hannah O'Donnell, college freshman. Not Hannah O'Donnell, future whatever-I-want-to-be. Just… a wife. A bargaining chip in a twisted game of chess.
Another notification pops up. It’s Katie's TikTok of her dorm room makeover. The comments are full of other freshmen sharing tips about Command strips and mini-fridges. God, am I jealous.
I press my palms against my eyes, willing the tears not to fall. I am eighteen years old. My life should be beginning, not ending.
“Let’s go, Princess.” My father’s gruff demeanor is softer as he smiles and holds out an arm to me.
For a minute, I wonder if I can run. Immediately, I dismiss the idea. If my father didn’t catch me, one of his men would. Or one of my betrothed’s men would. I’m trapped. It was probably silly to ever dream about a life of my own.
I let my father lead me to the vestibule of the church. The cathedral doors creak open. Every head turns. We begin our slow march down the endless aisle. Hundreds of faces blur together.
