Page 5 of Beautiful Scar

He’s right. He’s right. I raise my chin. I straighten my spine. But no, god, no, I can’t get married to a stranger, to a man I’ve never met.

All my life, I’ve beengood, and in exchange, I’ve been protected.

But this?

He’ll hurt me. He’ll cut me.

I turn to make a run for the door, but a body blocks my way. A strong hand gently takes my arm, and Anton leans down. “Sorry, but you’re the guest of honor. We can’t have you getting away.”

My god. I’m trapped. I’m caught.

They’re going to put me in a cageagain.

“Dasha.” Dad appears at my side and steers me away from Anton. All the men are staring at me now. The two strangers at the far end seem unhappy about this—and one of them is probably my future husband.

Valentin is speaking to them in urgent, quiet tones.

Probably explaining my disability.

My stupid broken brain.

“You can’t do this,” I say, choking back a sob. I have to be good. If I’m good, they’ll treat me well. Straight back. Follow the rules. Raised chin. Do everything just right. “Please, Papa.”

Except I’m crumbling to pieces.

“Be brave,” Dad whispers, cupping my cheeks with his broad hands. “Do this for the family. I promise, they’ll be kind to you.This is a sacrifice, and it’s a painful one, but you’re doing it for the greater good.”

What greater good? What good is any of this?

All I want is my living room, my podcasts, and my comfy blankets.

Maybe a nice pair of slippers and some tea.

That’s all I’ve ever needed.

I just want to be left alone.

“Dasha, it’s time.” Valentin’s voice is smooth and commanding. If he knows I’m on the edge of having a panic attack, he doesn’t let it show.

The two strangers are gone, disappeared into the main chapel.

“Fucking psychotic,” Evan mutters, looking disgusted, but he doesn’t move to stop this.

He’s as powerless as I am.

“Be strong,” Dad says, lightly nudging me toward Valentin.

I walk to him woodenly. Straight back, chin up. Be good and proper, and they won’t hurt me.

I swallow to keep myself from throwing up in my mouth.

“Do the right thing,” Dad calls as I stagger to the entrance.

Valentin looms at my side. He seems as grim as a man leading me to a noose.

“One foot in front of the other,” he mutters and pushes open the door.

The chapel is bright. The lights slam into my face like a punch to the nose. I stumble forward, knees wobbly. My dress feels so hot. What was I thinking wearing long sleeves to a wedding? I’m not even in the right color.

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