Page 24 of Arranged Scars
“Go to hell. I’m not doing this.” I get out of there. He’s about to try to make me feel like I’m beautiful, even though I don’t feel that way at all, and it’s so cliché I could barf. Screw that straight to hell.
Finn follows. I hear him behind me. I don’t look back until I reach the front door. I have to pause to pull on my clothes over my wet bathing suit. It’s not comfortable, but I’ll survive. He watches from the stairs.
“I mean it. You’re beautiful, Caroline. Maybe that’s why I despise you so much.”
“Must be pretty fucked up in that twisted head of yours.”
“You have no idea.”
“Let’s get something straight.” I face him before leaving. “You’re right. We’re getting married. But just because I’m going to be your wife doesn’t mean you own me. I don’t owe you a thing, not my past, not my future, nothing. I’ll play the game and that will be enough. Do you understand?”
His eyes crinkle with amusement. “Loud and clear.”
“Good.” I yank open the door. “And I want tulips.”
“What’s that?”
“Tulips. Flowers. For the wedding. I want good tulips too.”
I get the hell out of there before he can reply with something infuriating and sarcastic.
9
CAROLINE
Ikeep thinking something will happen, some unforeseen event, some surprise twist, some long-lost hero, but that’s not life. There’s no magic, no mystery, no mystical force looking out for me.
There’s only the inevitable march of time and the unyielding power of my family.
“I went back and forth with the caterer ten times to get this menu right. Can you imagine that, dear? Ten times! And you know how I loathe talking on the phone.” Mother chatters on about the day and all the arrangements she was forced to make, even though I know for a fact she loved every second of it. My mother doesn’t live for much, but she practically dreams of bickering with vendors.
“Sorry to hear that,” I murmur, looking at myself in the mirror. My makeup is simple, just barely more than what I do on a normal day, and my hair is up in a braid. Mom wanted a team of stylists in here working on me, but I outright refused.
I feel vulnerable enough without having to deal with strange women poking and prodding at me all morning.
Ideally, I’d be alone, but I can’t exactly kick my own mother out of the bridal suite.
“And then there’s the band. Oh, Lord, the band. I told them, please, I want the men to have on red ties, a very simple request, but guess what? They don’t have on ties at all! Can you imagine!”
“The horror.”
“A very simple request and they ignored me. I’m rather livid, I’ll be honest. I’ll be writing a review online, don’t worry.”
“I was beside myself, but I feel better knowing you’re on it.”
She clucks her tongue at me, shaking her head. “You make jokes, darling, but appearances matter. The people out there are important. Do you know how much money is in that room?”
I don’t, and I really don’t want to. This wedding is about ten times larger than I thought it would be. Dad invited all his union buddies and the Whelans brought half the politicians in the city. Somehow, my death march has turned into the event of the century.
I drift over to the floor-length mirror and study myself. My only contribution to this entire ordeal is the dress. It’s a fitted crepe sheath in ivory with a high neckline, conservative to please my family, but with a deep, open V in the back that drops to my low waist. I turn slightly to look at my back, the smooth skin mottled by ugly, twisted scar flesh, and my heart does a little skip. I think of Finn in the pool telling me he thinks I’m beautiful, and I get mad all over again, because I know there’s nothing wrong withme, and I also know I hate myself so much it’s like acid reflux trying to close my throat.
This dress is a fuck-you. It’s also a gauntlet. If I can survive walking out in front of all those people showing my biggest, most horrific wounds, then I can survive being Finn’s wife. I can survive anything at that point.
Mom comes up behind me. She looks so old and thin. I don’t know how that happened. She smiles and adjusts my dress slightly, shaking her head as her eyes roam down my spine.
“You should wear that shawl, darling. Don’t look at me that way. You have a beautiful figure, but your skin just isn’t smooth anymore.”
My jaw tightens. Another wave of anger and nausea hits me. “You’re seriously talking about my back?”
