Bitter Arrangement: Chapter 8

Six hours until the wedding.

I really should’ve gone dress shopping.

“Aw, you look—” Cass starts saying, but her mouth clicks shut when I glare at her.

“Don’t you dare lie to me on my goddamn wedding day.”

She laughs awkwardly. “You sure about that?”

“Just be honest.”

“Okay, well, you look like you’re wearing a dress your dad picked out of a Macy’s catalogue.”

I sigh and smooth out the ugly pleated skirt. I’m standing in my bedroom in front of my mirror, and I’m hating every inch of what I’ve got on.

“Which is pretty much dead on as a description,” I admit.

The sleeves are long and the neckline is high, and it looks like something a woman would have worn in the 1920s, except somehow even more conservative.

This is what I get for refusing to engage with the planning process.

“But on the bright side, you really are gorgeous,” Cass says, coming over to give me a hug. “Seriously, Riles, your husband? He’s going to flip out.”

My husband. Alexan Sarkissian.

Creepy stalker psychopath.

And obscenely gorgeous.

Those grainy photos didn’t do him justice. Last week, when I saw him standing near the trees, peeping at me from a distance, it was like opening Pandora’s box and liking all the nasty shit that came rushing out.

He’s a gorgeous monster. I mean, what kind of weirdo stalks his future arranged wife while she’s out for a run instead of just talking to her?

The same kind of bizarre nightmare that sends random dirty texts at odd hours of the day.

But at least he’s handsome. Like, really, really handsome. Thick brown hair, curvy lips, a square jaw with a good amount of stubble. Tall, muscular, and that stare. An intense look like the eye of an unblinking security camera.

He’s so hot I want to lick his teeth and suck his fingers.

How’s that for losing my mind?

I lean against Cass for a minute, looking at us both in the mirror. She’s my maid of honor, and at least her dress is decent. The cream color works with her tan skin, and her hair’s falling in absolutely perfect little ringlets.

“You want to switch?” I ask lightly, trying to smile and sound like I’m not breaking to pieces inside.

Cass doesn’t smile back. She only hugs me tighter. “You’re going to be okay.”

If she knew as much about my future husband as I do, I’m pretty sure she’d be planning my escape right now.

Which begs the question: why aren’t I running away?

I could probably pull it off. Dangle out the back window, drop to the street, and just start walking until my feet feel like they’re going to fall off. Except if I do that, then I’ll be cutting all ties with my family. No more brother, no more Cass, no more cousins and uncles. No place in the world.

I’d be cast adrift on an endless sea of shit.

And who’s to say anywhere’s better than being here right now?

“Think they’d still make me go through with it if I started puking?” I ask her, looking at myself in the mirror. “Because seriously, this dress is making me feel pretty ill.”

“Pretty sure they’d still roll you out there and make you say the words, and your first kiss with your new husband will taste awful.” She makes a face. “That’s not how you want to set the tone.”

I groan, covering my face with my hands. “Oh my god. Am I really going to have to kiss him?”

Because I want to. Just not in front of the entire family.

“I’m not sure how you’d avoid it.”

“I could dodge and weave.”

“Good idea, make him work for it.”

“He’d probably just end up bashing his face into mine and giving me a black eye.”

“Imagine how the photos will look with a bloody nose.”

I sigh dramatically. “Might be worth it.”

She hugs me again. I really want to keep making jokes about this situation, but suddenly nothing feels all that funny.

The wedding is happening. It’s really happening. And I’m going to walk down the aisle with that stalker freak.

There’s a knock at the door. Cass hesitates, but she peels herself away and goes to answer. I can tell by the way her spine stiffens who it is, even before my father speaks.

“Hello, Cassidy. May I have a moment with my daughter?”

“Of course, Mr. McGrath. You’re looking very dapper.”

“Thank you.” He doesn’t smile as she slips out of the room and shuts the door behind her.

My father gives me a hard look. He doesn’t move to give me a hug, doesn’t smile, doesn’t show sympathy. He only tilts his head to the side and pinches his lips together as if he were studying an unruly child.

“You aren’t going to tell me how beautiful I am on my wedding day, Daddy?” I give him my best smile and spin my dress.

“Cut the shit, Riley.” His tone is sharp. He’s clearly not in the mood for my games. And frankly, I’m not either, but fuck him for acting like this all the time. “I want to make sure you’re not going to cause trouble.”

“It’s my wedding day,” I say, struggling to keep the malice from my tone. “Why would the blushing bride cause trouble?”

He steps closer. His jaw flexes with frustration. All these years, my father never once hit me, not even at his most angry. He’s said plenty of nasty things—but he never touched me.

Now, for the first time ever, I wonder if he’s finally going to do it.

And a sick part of me wants him to.

Go ahead, you bastard. Show yourself who you really are.

“If you run, I will follow,” he says very softly, staring at me the whole time. “There’s no hole you can hide in. No country you can disappear to. No friend will help you. This wedding is happening, and afterward, you’ll do your duty as a wife to that man. Do you understand me?”

I ball my hands into fists. I can see myself hitting him, screaming in his face, letting him see how much this is killing me.

But he won’t give a shit.

Because I’m nothing but a disappointment.

“Yes, Dad,” I say through my teeth, tasting the words like bile.

“No trouble this time, Riley. No outbursts, no stubbornness, no bullshit. Walk down the aisle and do right by the family for once.”

“I will.”

“Good.” He turns away. “Don’t embarrass me.”

Then he leaves, and I’m left alone.

Anger flares in my guts. I’m not mad at him though. That’s exactly what I expected from my prick of a father.

No, I’m pissed at myself, yet again.

There’s something about that man. I hate him so much, but no matter what he says to me, I still crave his approval. He turns me into a quivering, pathetic little child with nothing but a hard stare and a sharp word.

It’s absolutely crushing, and it’s not me.

Nobody else in the world would ever dare treat me that way because I’d never let them.

Except for my father.

I fall to pieces every time, and I loathe myself for it.

On a whim, I storm into my closet, pop out the board, and open my hidden safe. Inside are all my treasures, tucked away and hidden.

I grab out the antique watch. It ticks at me, quiet and steady, and I shove it down the front of my dress and get it wedged down in my waistline, the bulge hidden by the skirt.

It’s awkward and uncomfortable, but it instantly makes me feel better.

The watch reminds me that I’m not a weakling. I’m not the little loser girl I crumble into whenever my father treats me like crap.

I’m a thief. And a pretty good one, too.

I pat the watch and take a deep breath. “You can do this,” I whisper to myself as I shut the safe and put the board back into place.

Another knock. Cass comes back into my room, looking sad. “You ready?” she asks. “The car’s here.”

“I’m ready.” I hold my head up high. No crying on my wedding day. “Let’s go get hitched.”