Rouge: Act 4 – Scene 34

Lacey

Tears soak my cheeks and as the Baron pulls my phone away, the screen sticks to my skin.

His face twists in disgust. “Look at all that makeup.” He flashes the phone in my face before wiping the foundation off on my Valentino gown. “You won’t wear that whorish shit anymore.”

I don’t say anything. I’m defeated and drained. After all that I’ve had to endure from the Garde, the Baron, expectations, isolation… none of it compares to losing Kian. Lying to him snuffed out the last spark of energy I could muster.

The Baron texts on his own phone before frowning at mine. “That’s weird, there’s Wi-Fi up here.” He glares at me. “Did you have internet service this whole time?”

My eyes narrow as I shake my head and he huffs.

“Well, it’s no matter. I was going to get my bodyguards to turn it on, but since we already have it, hopefully we won’t have to wait too long to see if Kian will follow through on his word.”

Rain pitter-patters against the window behind me. The glass is cold on my back where the crisscrossing ribbons reveal my bare skin and I slouch against it. Part of me wishes the window’s frame would give way, even as my stomach lurches at the thought.

The phone buzzes between us and the Baron barks a laugh.

“Ah, he actually sent it. Let’s watch this disaster.”

He grabs me by the hair, making me yelp. I hold on to his wrist as he drags me toward the couch where he plops onto a cushion and dumps me at his feet like a dog.

“You’ll watch him take advantage of you, and you’ll realize that this is the nature of our society. Your parents bought into it, as did their parents’ parents, and you’ve enjoyed the perks up until you were called to play your part. Now it’s time to step up and do your damn job. You have this fantasy in your head that Kian McKennon represents freedom and love. But that doesn’t exist in the Garde and Kian’s no better than the rest of us. He doesn’t have the power to free you and he doesn’t love you. He loves your money and your status. Fucking you is a bonus.”

He snatches my head up and I hiss as he uses my face to unlock my phone. It works despite my grimace, and he presses the notification that’s from “Roxxy.”

“I should’ve known you’d do something crafty like this, you little bitch,” he mutters more to himself than me and swipes the message.

My texts with Kian appear and fear shoots down my spine when I realize I can’t remember the last time I deleted our messages as a safety precaution. Thankfully, Monroe is solely focused on the video for now as the wedding takes over the screen.

Thunder rumbles and rain pelts the glass and as soon as the video begins to play, Monroe falls silent for once. I’m captivated, too, so much so that the pain ravaging my body fades into the back of my mind while I drift into the faint memories that break the surface. The combination of drinking and whatever was in Kian’s syringe makes our wedding hazy, but where I can’t recall everything, the video fills in the blanks.

I’m standing across from him in one of the over-the-top midnight chapels that I’ve only ever seen the inside of on television. He’s changed into a black suit and other than my runaway bride costume, nothing else looks out of place. The venue isn’t gaudy or silly, and pretty red flowers—albeit fake—vine around the white lattice wedding arch. As I gaze up at him, I’m perfectly calm, with a blissful smile on my lips.

It starts with the priest asking if we have our own vows and rings. I wince at Kian and answer no. He only chuckles at the admission, so I return to sheer excitement as the priest reads through the traditional ones for me. When I repeat, “I, Lacey O’Shea, take you, Kian McKennon, to be my husband,” I don’t bat an eyelash and my smile is practically blinding.

At the beginning of the night, he was a masked stranger who had nothing to do with the society that couldn’t care less about me. I was the woman who protected herself by hiding behind the mask that society taught her to wear. But by the time we stood before the priest, both of our masks were off. I knew it was Kian, and we held hands the entire time I pledged my life to him.

I recite each phrase happily, promising to have Kian and hold him from that day forward, for better or worse, whether we’re rich, poor, sick, or healthy. I beam as I vow to love and cherish him until death. The emotions from that night flood back to me, overwhelming me, reminding me of the hope and freedom I felt marrying him. He was my escape from the Garde at the time, the answer to the peace and freedom I’d been craving.

When the priest turns to Kian to say, “Repeat after me,” Kian shakes his head and shocks me.

“I’ve got my own.”

As I watch, the pain my mind tried to trick my body into forgetting begins to slowly kick back in. I hold my breath, partly to stave off the ache any movement causes, and partly because I need to hear every word.

The priest nods and steps back.

Kian inhales deeply, seemingly gathering his thoughts before he clears his throat.

“I… I have wanted you, Lacey, from the moment your father promised you to me. When the marriage was called off, I mourned the future we’d never have together and I tried to forget. I lost myself for a while after losing you. But then my father gave me an opportunity.”

He must’ve squeezed my hands because I glanced at them before I smiled up at him again. My fingers tingle now as if they remember better than I do.

“Tonight, I had a choice in how to use that opportunity, and I choose you. Is tú mo rogha. You are my choice, tine.”

Beside Monroe, my breath hitches in my lungs, and I try my best not to make a noise. In a society where so much is dictated for us, choosing your own fate is a powerful rebellion. But tears fall freely down my cheeks as I remember every time Kian confessed that he chose me. All he wanted was for me to say it back… but I never did.

“Even though we’ve never properly met,” he lets go of my hand to reach into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and bring out a small silver band. It glints in the light as he slides it easily over my left ring finger. “Cha robh dithis riamh a’ fadadh teine nach do las eatarra.”

“What does that mean?” I ask in the video as he holds both of my hands again.

A hopeful smile plays across his face. “It means that even though we’ve never met, there’s still a fire that lights between us. I realized it tonight during our dance and again when you kissed me. You are mo thine, my fire. We were meant to be together and when two people are meant to be, no one can explain why the fire sparks between them, but it kindles all the same.”

I gaze up at him, eyes wide and no doubt my pulse is racing. Even now as I watch it, my heart flutters in my chest, my body feels buoyant and airy, and it finally dawns on me.

He always talks about how he dreamed of love and knew it could ignite between us. And here it is, right in front of my eyes. We felt it flare in its purest form that night and the flame has only increased as we’ve gone through these trials together.

Even when we were apart, he encouraged me through text messages and calls, gave me peace during our clandestine meetings, held me when I was overwhelmed. He was vulnerable and trusted me with his secrets, even going so far as to give me a physical reminder of something that matters so deeply to him—his AA chip—to promise his devotion and protection.

I tricked myself into thinking all I wanted was the independence that Kian represented. But it wasn’t just freedom I hoped for with him. It was love. And he’s given me that and more from the moment we met.

The priest smiles at us both and the elderly women watching us sigh with dreamy smiles almost as big as mine and Kian’s. I notice them now, but back then, I was too enthralled at the way Kian looked at me, like he couldn’t wait to eat me up and worship me at the same time.

When the priest raises his hands, he announces, “What God has joined together, let no man separate. Sliocht sleachta ar sliocht bhur sleachta! May you have children and your children have children, and may the Lord bless this marriage for all of your days. You may now kiss the bride—”

Before the priest can even finish the words, I’m already lunging at my new husband to make out with him. Kian quickly catches me and cups the back of my head. Somehow, he continues the kiss as he scoops me up underneath my thighs. Once he’s holding me bridal style, he carries me down the aisle, with one arm supporting my spine so he can massage the nape of my neck, the way he’s done so many times since.

The screen becomes blurry as tears fill my vision. My fingers drift over the screen as it pauses on Kian grinning back at me—

The phone suddenly disappears from in front of me. Two crashes come one after another before I realize that the Baron has thrown my phone at the wall and the broken remnants have shattered onto the marble floor.

“You thought you could play me by marrying that fool? You’ll ask for an annulment and you’ll get it. I promise you that.” An evil smile slowly curves across his face and my belly churns with nausea. “And if you need any more motivation to end it, I’m happy to report that Kian’s already been cheating on you.”

“What?” the word escapes on a breathless whimper as if he’s punched me.

No…

“Today, during our poker game, while you were locked away without your phone up here, he was messaging one of his conquests. In fact, he left without taking his money to go meet her and refused a rematch. Who the fuck does that? Only a man about to get laid would ever think to.”

“I don’t even gamble. I win and give everything back to the house.”

Kian’s confession floats across my mind and I reach for the coin in my dress pocket as my heartbeat begins to slow to normal again. I know without a shadow of a doubt that he didn’t cheat on me. He was working on finding answers to free my father. Judging from our conversation a few minutes ago and how many times I had to interrupt to protect him, he found some. He’s been on my side this entire time.

At least me letting him go keeps him safe.

No matter what happens tonight, I trust that he’ll do whatever it takes to free my father, and Kian will be safe from the Baron’s wrath now that I’ve ended it. But I’m still imprisoned up here with Monroe. After that video… I don’t think I’ll ever get out.

I don’t want to pretend anymore, and I can’t lie any longer. If the Baron kills me tonight, I want to say it out loud, at least once, before I go.

Kian loves me. And I…

“I love him.” I shake my head lightly and clutch the coin in my palm as I meet the Baron’s wide eyes. Lightning flashes through the window, highlighting Monroe’s face as it purples with rage. “I love Kian.”

As soon as the revelation leaves my lips, the Baron crashes in on me and yanks me up by my hair again. I scream and try to scramble for purchase against his collar. His brown eyes are wild with rage and his slicked-back dirty-blond hair has fallen out of place.

“Once Kian satisfies his lust for you, he’ll leave you. Your father will be in jail—or dead—and you will have sacrificed his life to be treated like the whore you are.”

He twists my wrist, sending blinding pain through my arm before throwing me to the ground. I land on it at the worst angle and I feel a pop before a wave of agony pours through me. My vision goes dim again. Nausea overwhelms me and I purge the watery contents of my empty stomach on the rug next to me. But the Baron doesn’t even let me do that in peace.

Mid-gag, he kicks me again, screaming and shouting that I’ve tricked him. That my father will never see the light of day again. That he’ll murder Kian. He doesn’t vow to kill me, even though it’s the one threat I’m wishing for right now.

With each one of Monroe’s strikes, I curl up tighter on the cold marble floor next to the window. He’s beaten all the strength out of me, and a haze tunnels my vision.

Crashing thunder jolts me awake to find Monroe straddling my waist.

“No, no…”

His hands wrap around my throat, cutting off my feeble pleas. I kick and thrash, but even as I manage to suck in tiny sips of oxygen, the fight slowly leaks out of me. My legs fall limp, my face grows hot and tight, and darkness barrels toward me. When my mind taunts me that I’m going to die with Kian believing I don’t want him, I give in and slip away.

It’s a blow that hurts more than anything else. More than the Baron shaking me so hard that I slam against the marble floor. More than when my head crashes into the hard ground.

My mother’s words drift across my mind with that final impact.

“At least he doesn’t touch your pretty face…”

…but no one cares about a pretty face in a closed casket.