Page 85 of Partnering with the Artist

Sighing, Mom sets down her bowl. “After the ball, and assuming Maelin agrees, what time and where will you both be getting married? We will meet you there.”

“Does this mean…” Zakery begins, looking at me, then looking back at them. “We…we have your blessing? We can get married next Sunday?

“If that’s what Maelin wants,” Dad begins, eyes narrowing, “and if you’re aware that hurting her will result in swift retaliation.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Zakery breathes.

Dad and Mom exchange a look. Then he smiles, and says, “Good,” before stealing the bill—from the billionaire.

Certainly, I have never seen Zakery more aghast, nor my father more smug.

?

One week.

That’s all that’s replayed in my head ever since my parents confirmed that—if I wanted to—I could marry Zakery with their blessing. I have a single week. During the drive home, while Zakery smiled and laughed and talked about how we might set up our life together, I took slow breaths and counted the days.

It’s real now.

Very real.

I don’t know what to do with the weight of this reality.

It’s all up to me now.

Sayingyes, getting married, means moving out of the house with Morana, moving into the Bachelor manor, becomingMaelin Bachelor. It’s a lot of change to consider. Alotof change to consider…in a single week.

My parents approved, so I love Zakery. That’s what I said.

I said if they approved, I’d decide to love him.

And loving him means marrying him, and marrying him meanschange, and change is…scary. Uncertain. What if I’m making a mistake?

What if I’m not ready to love someone again?

Focusing on the dress before me, I try not to notice how verywhiteit is. Pinning pink flowers and butterflies all over the layered skirt, I count my breaths and keep my mind from racing away. One, two, three, four…five…six…seven days.

Seven of them.

Six, really, since it’s already late today.

And does the day itself count? Probably not. So five.

Counting is not helping. Stepping back to see how I like the way I’ve arranged the accessories on the dress I’ve made doesn’t help either.

I can’t delude myself.

It’s a wedding dress.

It’s in my size.

And it’sexactlywhat I would want my wedding dress to look like.

It is beautiful.

Clenching my fist, I march from the room, across the hall, and into Zakery’s.

Startling, he turns from the panel he’s putting together and looks at me. A bright smile overcomes him, and my fears…stutter. “Hi, princess.”

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