Page 21 of Knot All That Glitters: Part 2

Charles, my favorite of my father’s guards, pokes his head in hesitantly, like maybe he’d find me in a state of undress or something, but he finds me fully dressed and sitting still like a statue. “Miss Bell.”

I tip my head at him in acknowledgment, but say nothing.

“How are you feeling?” The official story is that I’ve been sick, really sick, for months now. That’s why no one has seen me out and about, why I haven’t been to any of the events my father attends.

I shrug, because again I’ve been told to be quiet, and give him what I hope is a reassuring smile.

His brows draw together as he looks at me carefully. If any of my father’s guards are going to be worried about me, about the obvious change in my personality, it would be him. So I give him an even bigger smile, but that only makes his frown deepen.

Well, shit. He’s never looked at me that way before. He’s always been particularly concerned for me, but never… never like this. His mouth opens and then he closes it, shaking his head sharply once. Twice.

I watch all this, understanding that he’s worried, but not able to do anything about it. Or even being able to bring myself to care. If I was my normal self, his obvious concern would make me feel all warm and fuzzy. But as it is, I can barely force that smile to my mouth.

“You have a visitor,” he finally informs me, and there’s the sound of someone hurrying up the stairs.

For one wild moment I think maybe it’s Ren, maybe he’s letting me see her. Finally. I’ve been so good, so… quiet, and demure and still. Another louder part of me hopes it’s not. That part of me that can still feel something is terrified of what it would mean if she was here, that I did something wrong, that she will be punished for it instead of me.

But it’s Caroline, the seamstress, who seems to visit every other day. This time she’s carting two long black garment bags with her.

I push to my feet as Chuck steps back from the door, and Caroline gives me a smile.

She never talks to me, never asks for my opinion on anything. I’m just a doll, one she pins fabric on and measures and then leaves.

Today is more of the same silence, only this time she helps me into a cream-colored dress. It’s a little frillier than I’d normally like, and definitely more conservative than is in fashion. It fits like a glove, tailored to fit my body. Or it would be if I hadn’t lost so much weight since the last time the seamstress came to measure me.

She frowns, pinching the fabric and then looking at me closely. “I’ll have to take it in,” she mutters to herself, not to me. I’m sure she’s under strict instructions not to engage in conversation with me. “By tonight. Shit.”

I don’t respond, even though I have the insane urge to apologize. Or I do for a half second before the drugs smother it. She pins the fabric, then helps me slide it off before opening the other garment bag.

This one I blink at rapidly because it’s white and fluffy and looks an awful lot like a wedding dress, but… as far as I know, I’m not getting married. Still, I say nothing as she pulls the dress over my head, muttering again about how she’ll have to take it in. It’s clear the dress is unfinished, still in the beginning stages of construction, but it’s a lot farther along that it should be, considering no one has proposed to me.

When she’s finished pinning the white monstrosity and I’m back in my normal clothes, she tucks it back into the garment bag. The door opens without a knock and my father steps in. “Are they ready?”

The seamstress folds the two garment bags over her arm and keeps her eyes lowered. “The engagement party dress will need to be taken in. I should be able to have it done in an hour or so. The wedding dress is coming along. I’ll have it finished in time for the ceremony.”

My father nods. “Thank you. Have the dress back in an hour.”

Her head bobs once and then she scurries away. I watch her go impassively, then look at my father, who is watching me like a hawk.

“Ceremony?” I ask, voice rusty with disuse.

He gives a decisive nod. “Yes. You are marrying Brian in a month on New Year’s day. The engagement party is tonight. He’ll be able to keep you in line. His alpha presence is almost as strong as mine.”

Technically, it’sstrongerfor me. I can ignore my father’s bark thanks to Hale’s command staying in place, but he never protected me from Brian.

“A month? That seems fast, won’t people talk?” It’s as much of a protest as I can muster, and my father has always been concerned about optics, how things look to the media, his constituents.

He folds his arms over his chest and nods. “It is fast. But what with you being so sick recently, you both want to embrace life and your romance. There’s no point in waiting when you know, right?”

I get what he’s saying. If people think I was on the verge of dying for the last few months, they’ll understand why we’re having a rushed wedding. Most will probably find it romantic. Like we don’t want to waste a single moment of our time together.

This turn of events should upset me. I know I should feel sick at the thought of marrying Brian. But I just can’t bring myself to feel much of anything these days. Numb. That’s what I feel. Numb and compliant. Detached. Like I’m watching this happen to someone else.

My father waits as if he expects me to lash out. He should know better. When have I ever done that? Not once in my lifehave I acted against his wishes… until I met the Calloway pack and look how that turned out.

I gave them my heart, and they… stomped all over it. Ripped it to shreds in some messed up game that I still haven’t figured out the point of. Why would they do that to me?

A tendril of anger and hurt wraps around my chest, but then it’s gone.

---