“I thought you wanted him for yourself.”
She rolls her eyes. “That was before I learned a few thingsabout him. You’re doing me a favor by taking him off my hands. But really, let’s just leave. I have some money stashed away; it will be enough for us for a couple of months. And then we will figure something out.”
“I can’t,” I whisper.
“Why?” Her brows draw together.
“I don’t want to go to jail,” I explain quietly.
“He won’t go through with that.” She sounds a little doubtful. “Plus, he knows our parents now. It’d be awkward.”
“Parents that hold the voting shares for his company he’s about to lose,” I remind her. “If he can’t get the shares, he’ll do it out of spite. I go to jail. They get cast out from the society because of their wayward daughter: me.” I point a finger at my chest. “So yeah, I can see all of it happening. And no matter which scenario I go with, I always end up locked up.”
That draws her attention and makes her stop moving around my closet.
“He can blackmailthemwith my jail.”
“And they’d let him.” She resumes her chaotic activity.
“What do you think they’ll do to me for that?”
She stops again. “Probably deliver you to jail themselves. If it comesfrom them, it gives them extra points with the society for being good citizens.”
“Yep.”
“Shit.”
“Yep.”
A knock on the door interrupts our conversation. Expecting my mom to rush inside and smother me with her threats, I open the door wide. But it’s not my mother. In fact, I don’t even know who it is because the whole space alongside the doorframe is covered in white tulle. It’s everywhere. It’s giant. It’s sparkly.
“What the?—”
Someone on the other side moves this white monstrosity through the frame, getting stuck halfway in. With a few French curses, the person pushes through. A tall Tahitian lady can barely manage what I assume is the wedding dress.
“Where do you want it?” she asks, trying to wipe sweat from her face with her shoulder.
“Here.” My sister jumps into action. “On the bed.”
The lady drops the dress on the bed—not so gently may I add—and rushes outside without waiting for any signatures or anything really. All we hear is her constant “Merde.”
I walk up to the bed. “Is that…?”
“Your dress.” Bea points at the white, sparkling monstrosity.
I whip my head toward her. “No fucking way I put this on.”
It takes us forty-five minutes to put it on, and it’s as hideous as I expected. It’s big. Really big. But very tight. In fact, we can barely tighten the corset.
“Breathe out,” Bea orders while pushing her knee into my ass. I’m not sure how she’s managing to keep balanced and not fall. “Exhale, Maeve. For fuck’s sake.”
“I can’t breathe!” I squeak. “I can’t wear this.”
“No pain, no gain,” she grunts. “This was Mom’s dress. You know it’s a tradition to be married in that.”
“Why the hell does she have this dress with her on vacation?”
Bea puffs, trying to pull my corset closed, nearly breaking my ribs. “She’s had it with her since you turned eighteen.”
