"Yeah, sweet heavenly bliss…" I murmured, stirring sugar into my coffee as though I could dissolve my misery with it. The sarcasm dripped so heavily it might've stained the floor.
My mother gave a little "oomph" of disapproval and marched out of the room. I took the opportunity to savor the silence, wrapping my hands around the mug and inhaling the steam.
*****
By 5:45 PM, the peace was long gone. I was stuffed into the emerald dress and "dolled up" within an inch of my life by Mrs. Numero's personal makeup artist. The woman was efficient and terrifying. My lips gleamed, my lashes were a mile long.
When she was done, she didn't even ask me if I liked it. Instead, she whipped out her phone, snapped a photo, and sent it directly to Mrs. Numero. Within seconds, my mother's phone rang from the kitchen. A moment later, both women were squealing down the line. I swear I could hear the actual squeal pitch rise in competition, each one trying to outdo the other in excitement.
I sat there in my dress, staring at my reflection in the darkened TV screen, and wondered when exactly my life had stopped belonging to me.
At 6:00 sharp, a BMW purred to a stop in front of the building. The driver didn't so much as glance at me as he opened the door. I slid in reluctantly, my dress tugging at my ribs, and watched the city blur past the tinted windows.
My nerves were already wound so tight I could hear the blood rushing in my ears. I tried not to think about where we were going, or what kind of "impressing" Junior had planned for me tonight. Instead, I stared out at the skyline as it melted into evening, its glittering lights mocking me.
Was this it? Was this my future—looking lovely on command, smiling at the right people, being paraded? The thought made my stomach clench. I gripped my clutch tighter.
As soon as I stepped out of the BMW, the humid evening air hit me. And there he was—Junior—waiting at the entrance of the hotel as if the world had arranged a spotlight just for him. He leaned casually against the gleaming chrome railing, his tailored charcoal suit hugging his frame. Every strand of his hair sat obediently in place, catching the last blush of sunset. He looked untouchable.
I barely had time to register the irony of it all before he moved. His hand reached for mine and before I could form a single word, he slid a diamond ring onto my finger.
I stared at the rock sparkling on my hand, my mind tripping over itself. It was huge.
"Well, isn't this romantic!" I hissed.
"You want me to go on one knee?" he asked smoothly, as if my sarcasm was foreplay.
I snatched my hand back, fingers curling into a fist. "Don't bother. You'd get dirt on your suit, and that would be tragic."
The corners of his eyes creased with amusement as though my rebellion entertained him more than it offended. "The charade has begun, my lovely," he said. "Put up your best act."
I glared at him so hard it was a miracle flames didn't shoot from my eyes. "Don't call me that. I am not your anything."
"But you are quite lovely tonight," he murmured, his gaze dipping briefly to my lips before sliding back up to my eyes. The compliment was casual, almost careless, but it slid into me like a blade. He knew exactly how much power he carried.
Before I could come up with a clever retort, his hand brushed the small of my back, steering me toward the grand entrance of the hotel.
"Now," he said under his breath, his smile sharp enough to draw blood, "smile like you adore me."
I let out a bitter laugh, keeping my lips stiff. "What makes you so sure I won't trip in these heels and take you down with me instead?"
"Because, darling," he said, leaning just close enough for me to catch a trace of his cologne, "you don't hate me nearly as much as you pretend you do."
My pulse skipped, betraying me, and I cursed it silently as I allowed him to lead me inside.
The hall glittered like money itself. Men in suits filled the space. Their watches gleamed, their cufflinks winked.
Junior belonged here. He stood like a king among princes, slipping his arm casually around my waist as if I were some prized accessory he was proud to display. "Gentlemen," he announced smoothly. "Meet my fiancée."
My fiancée. One by one, the men turned to me, smiling and shaking my hand, murmuring congratulations.
Then one of them chuckled as he clasped my hand. "So, Miss Williams," he said with a sly grin, "how did you manage to get your hooks in this man? We've been waiting for this moment for years already. He's dodged every net we tried to throw over him."
The circle leaned in, waiting for my answer. Junior raised a brow, clearly entertained, probably expecting me to choke. But I refused to play dumb. Two could play at his game.
"Oh, we've been together for years already," I said sweetly, tilting my head just enough to look the picture of adoration. "Teenage sweethearts, you know. I guess he just wasn't ready to make it official." I lifted my hand and flashed the enormous diamond under the light, letting it sparkle. "Recently, he just walked up to me and slid this rock on my finger. So here I am—trying my best to make him look less insufferable."
Junior's cough cut through the air, his drink nearly going down the wrong pipe. He pounded his chest once, eyes narrowing at me with that don't-push-your-luck look, but it was too late. The older man barked out a laugh and soon the rest of them were chuckling as well.
"You've got a lot to handle here, Junior," the man wheezed, wiping his eyes. "I wish you luck!"