I try to turn my head back to look at her, but she smacks my shoulder to stay still. “How come I’ve never known that?”
“Because you ran away almost as soon as you turnedeighteen. And then I guess she was saving it for me,” she explains nonchalantly. And for the tenth time—today only—I wonder what she’s been going through while I was gone. In our century, no one should be expected to get married when the opportunity arises just to satisfy their parents. It’s barbaric and not what we’ve been evolving for.
“I’m sorry, Bea,” I mutter, not knowing how to express how truly sorry I am for leaving her. Not them, but her.
“It’s fine.”
To my surprise, she does sound fine. Too fine. Too happy.
I’m happy that she’s happy. But why is she? She was so upset the other day when she figured out she wouldn’t be the one marrying Ezra.
“Ouch!” I cry out as her knee digs into my butt while she pulls the strings too hard.
“All done!” she exclaims happily, stepping aside to look at her creation.
I turn to face the mirror and cry out. Literally in horror.
First of all, my mom was like two to three sizes smaller than I am, and this corset barely covers my nipples. I can’t breathe because it’s too tight, and my boobs are about to push my head off my neck.
Second, the dress itself has a large skirt and underskirt and fifty thousand rings underneath it. It makes me look like Cinderella if her dress was on steroids. And not the good kind. I’ll need a double door if I want to fit anywhere. Or triple.
Third, the feathers. The dress has feathers. I never noticed them in Mom’s wedding pictures, but here they are. In big quantities. Sprinkled throughout the whole skirt, they make me look like I’ve just had a fight in a chicken coop and lost.
The corset is sparkling with gemstones and diamonds. I detest them. That’s what I was forced to wear once I turnedthirteen. And when you wear a shit ton of diamonds, you’re automatically excluded from being a normal kid doing normal kid stuff.
“Oh, no.”
“You don’t have a choice.” Bea rushes to me and grabs the front of my corset. Trying to pull it toward her, she says, “Can you, maybe, like push the girls down a bit before they suffocate you?”
“Let me try.”
I push on my boobs from the top while she keeps pulling on the corset. But it’s stuck to my body as though my own skin has been replaced by lace. Bea did her job very well, trying to attach the damn thing to my body.
“Okay,” she says, stepping back with a puff. “You look good just like that.”
A wince on her face tells me all I need to know.
“You’ve always been a bad liar.”
I start walking toward the closet, but nearly trip over my own feet getting stuck in the skirt.
“Where are you going?”
“To change into something else. I’m not getting married inthat.” I glance down at myself.
“Yeah, good idea,” she agrees easily and joins me in the closet.
The door suddenly bursts open, but I don’t remember sharing the keycard with anyone.
“You look amazing!” Mom exclaims as she steps into the closet with us. With the three of us and this damn dress, there’s not enough space to even move around. But it doesn’t seem to bother her. She steps right to my face and starts fixing my hair around my shoulders with a disapproving glare. “You should have put your hair up. This dress should be worn with an updo,” she finishes, clicking her tongue. “I looked so much different. I had to starve myselffor two months to fit in it. You certainly could have stayed on that island a little longer. And that atrocious hair color,” a dramatic shudder, “cheapens this wonderful dress.”
I share a quick glance with Bea but don’t say a word. Anything we say will be used against us.
“Anyway, time to go.”
“What? It’s almost another hour until the wedding.”
“We moved the time.” She claps her hands. “How exciting is it?”
