I didn’t reply. What was the point in telling her the truth when she’s come up with answers all on her fucking own?
Timid and spiteful and so fucking demanding, “Did you ask me before you decided to break up with me?”
“You’re twenty-five, Adelaide. Don’t you think it’s time to grow up?”
“That’s funny coming from you,Christian.” She spat out, “Care to explain the fucking tattoo on your chest that’s the shape of my birthmark and in the exact same place as mine?”
Clenching my jaw, “We definitely can’t be friends.”
Her mouth parted like she didn’t expect me to say that.
Adelaide was invasive and deprived me of my control and patience.
There was only so much of it I could handle before she dug herself under my skin and wrapped my heart around her.
Some of us carried the truths we were too afraid to tell anyone. Not because of the repercussions, but because the truth could lead somewhere beautiful, and we didn’t have the luxury for gentility.
My mother’s womb carried the sins of unborn children, how could I let go of that and live my life like nothinghappened? When I allowed myself to feel for Adelaide, I forgot how her blood ran through my veins—the responsibility for retribution.
Which is why when she strutted away from me, shoulders slumped and without a goodbye, I couldn’t stop her even when my limbs reached for her.
It was one or the other and I worked too fucking hard for too fucking long to pick myself over anger.
TWENTY-EIGHT
ADELAIDE
The dress clungto my body like blank pages clinging to letter-less words.
I couldn’t believe he gave me Eunbin’s dress. Why would he give this to me? His mother wanted his wife to wear it—his real wife.
It was exquisite.
Alida Soani weaved the material together to elegantly enrapture modernity without losing the value of the past. Delicate diamond designs covered the whole top of the dress, stopping right where the flare begins.
The perfect ball gown.
It shimmered underneath the fluorescent lights of the makeup parlour.
Umaima booked this studio for us, said something about the makeup artist being famous on Instagram. She wasn’t lying. The makeup was glowing with a high soft blush and dusky eyeshadow. I hesitated when she brought out the redlipstick, but seeing it on me now? The artist knew what she was doing.
The hair was another quest. When people told you how you should do something, it became hard to voice your own opinion. I was better at speaking up than before, but I hadn’t reached that level yet. If I were getting ready on my own, I would’ve tied my hair up—most likely in a bun. But the hairdresser didn’t agree with that, not one bit. Instead, she curled my hair and compromised by styling it in a half-up half-down.
My finger trembled at the feel of my hair down my back. It felt like covering your face with a weighted blanket and trying to hide that you were awake from your parents when they came to check up on you. Your heart would be pulsing out of your chest and all you could do was hold your breath, so they didn’t find out.
I hated that feeling.
There was nowhere else to hide.
“I have no words to describe how incredible you look right now.” Umaima caught my eye through the mirror. A big, obnoxious smile on her face. When I turned around, it got even wider, if that were possible.
I rolled my eyes. “Stop being dramatic.”
“No, I’m being serious. You look like a dream.”
“Nowyou’re exaggerating.”
She moved closer and fingered the material of the diamonds. I didn’t know how much it cost Christian to add the gems to this dress. They were no knock offs; they were real esquire diamonds you’d only see on the royal family. “Did you really pick this dress?”
