Page 23 of Keep Me

“And what are you going to do about it, darling?”

“Stop calling me that,” I spit.

“I’ll call you whatever I want.”

I take another step closer to him.

“One thing you should know about me,” I say, poking him hard in the chest. “I’m stubborn, and I don’t back down in a fight. And I really fucking want that money, so if you think I’m going to risk losing because you wanna get your dick wet, you’re wrong. I can make your life hell if want to try to blackmail me into staying quiet.”

“You really are a conniving little bitch, aren’t you?” he replies, but the insult doesn’t even sting.

“Yes, I am,” I say with pride. “And you’re right. We are going to stay our separate ways over the next year, and then we can easily split and take what’s owed to us. I won’t ruin it for you if you don’t ruin it for me.”

“Is that a threat,wench?”

I glower at him. “Sure is…brute.”

Moving around him, I continue my stroll down the gravel path, waiting for the moment when he finally moves from his spot and picks up his pace behind me.

I don’t feel bad that all of this is just his family tricking him out of his home. If he wants to be a rude and uncultured brute, then I won’t feel bad at all.

Chapter Eight

The wedding is not really a wedding. Especially considering I haven’t spoken a word to my soon-to-be husband in two days. Not since that day on our walk when he tried to bully me into thinking he could do whatever he wanted and I had to abide.

I don’t abide. Ever.

I spent most of the last two days trying to recuperate from my jet lag without much success. Last night, around three in the morning, I heard some cursing and stumbling down the hall where Killian’s room is, but there were no other voices to be heard, so I didn’t bother much about it.

Now, I’m standing in front of a plain white dress, trying to work up the courage to put it on. I feel so stupid for doing this. I don’t have a friend or family member here. I’m going to stand up in front of some strangers and say my wedding vows to a man I can’t stand and wouldn’t marry even if I did like him.

Vows mean nothing. It doesn’t matter if I make them. It doesn’t matter if I’m not being genuine.

Vows aren’t something I can spend or eat or live in. Money is though. Money can buy me a car, one I can drive by myselfwherever I want to go, preferably far away from anyone else.

Money can buy me a beautiful house in a strange city where I can start a new life.

Money can get me whatever I want, so anyone who says money can’t buy happiness is probably poor and bitter.

A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts.

“Sylvie, are you ready?” Anna calls from the other side of the bedroom door.

I heave a sigh. “Almost.”

Standing up, I grab the white dress from the hanger and toss it over my head, shoving my arms into the sleeves and shifting it down around my breasts and waist. My long wild hair cascades over my shoulders, so I grab a clip from the vanity and pull it into a French twist. Tiny wisps hang over my ears and on my forehead, so I comb them back into the curls, spraying a little hairspray to keep them in place.

When I turn to face the full-length mirror, I pause at the reflection.

I’m not much for weddings. I don’t believe in marriage. And I’ve never pictured myself in a white gown before like so many of my friends did growing up. The sight of myself in a white dress with lacy shoulders and rich, ornate fabric shouldn’t really affect me, but it does.

I look like a grown-up, happy version of myself. Like this version doesn’t suffer from a strained parental relationship and reckless life decisions. This version of myself did everything right. Found a nice partner, fell in love, and is moving through life’s little rites of passage without fumbling at every turn.

There’s another knock at the door. “Coming,” I call after one last look.

When I open the door, Anna is standing there waiting. She’s in a deep-green dress that looks lovely with her warm chestnut-colored hair.

“You look beautiful,” she says without even looking at mydress. I realize as we start our walk down the hall and to the car that she’s likely to be the only person to tell me that today.

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