Page 8 of Cruel Heir

“We’re going to have to redo it all.” Celeste’s voice quivers, just a little. “Here,” she says quickly, opening one of the cabinets above the glass bowl-shaped sink. “Take your makeup off, miss. We’ll have to fix it all, so he won’t see you’ve been crying. You need to be perfect for—”

“For my wedding?” The words come out thickly through the tears, heavy with sarcasm. “This all happened so fast. I can’t—I can’t—”

Celeste is silent for a long moment, as if she’s weighing what she should or shouldn’t say. “He won’t give you a choice,” she says finally, her voice very soft. “But you shouldn’t keep him waiting too long.”Her voice still quivers at the end, as if she’s afraid, too, and I look at her pale face. It strikes me, then, just how terrible this man must be, to elicit so much fear in everyone around him.

“We’ll take care of it, miss,” Celeste says, taking a breath, and she gives me a small, faint smile. I feel the tiniest flicker of comfort, a feeling of camaraderie. The sense that I might not be entirely alone here.

I do as she suggested, wiping off what remains of my makeup from the party. Celeste slips out of the bathroom once more while I finish bathing, leaving a thick robe hanging beside the door for me. I slip into it once I’ve dried off, feeling the slightest bit better—only to have all of that feeling dissolve when I see what else has been laid out on the bed next to the wedding dress.

“He can’t expect me to wear that.” I look at the lingerie that’s been laid out—a pair of sheer white lace panties with a ribbon bow at the back, and a matching sheer bustier made out of illusion lace, boning, and ribbon. “This is—”Ridiculous. A mockery.I’m so stunned that I can’t get the words out, looking at what’s in front of me in horror. It’s clear that this man, whoever he is, plans to put me through all the paces of a wedding in a matter of hours. What’s even more horrifying is that he clearly planned for this—had someone buy these items and set them aside for this night.

Celeste gives me a helpless look, and I swallow hard.I have to find some way to get through this.I can feel myself trembling, and I don’t know how I’m going to find the courage to manage it. I’m not brave. I’ve never needed to be. And now I’m facing something so horrible that I never even imagined it was possible.

“Just slip into it, and I’ll help you with the lacing,” Celeste says calmly. “I’ll turn my back if you like.”

“Please.” I reach for the lingerie with shaking hands, feeling more vulnerable than I ever have in my life. Something about the flimsy, sexy lace underthings makes it all feel more real and immediate—glaring evidence that before the night is over, this man plans to make me his in ways that he has absolutely no right to.

It takes everything in me not to burst into tears again as I slip intothe lingerie. I stand there shivering, more from fear than cold, as I hold the bustier against my breasts, glancing over to where Celeste has tactfully turned her back.

“I’m good now,” I whisper, and she walks to where I’m standing, nimbly lacing up the back of the lingerie.

“Come sit down.” She motions to a chair next to the dresser, and hands me a small mirror. There’s a handful of makeup products on the dresser next to me. “I’ll do your hair. He doesn’t want much makeup on you, just a little bit of mascara and lip stain, maybe. ‘Natural’ was what he said, but I don’t think men really know the meaning of that.” She gives me another of those small, almost conspiratorial smiles, and this time, I feel sure that it’s meant to lift my spirits.

If I survive the night, I wonder if I might have a friend here.

Don’t get your hopes up,I tell myself.He might take you somewhere else after tonight. You might never see Celeste again, for precisely that reason.I can’t imagine that a man who would go to these lengths to kidnap and marry me would want me to have friends.

I notice with some irony that the mascara is waterproof, and I wonder all over again who got all of these things—who he tasked with getting lingerie and a wedding dress and makeup and hair products. It makes my stomach turn to think of someone in this room, carefully arranging the items meant to prepare me for my humiliation. I wonder if it was Celeste, and if that’s why she’s being so kind to me now—out of guilt.

I can feel her hands shake as she starts to dry my hair, taking it section by section. “I’m sorry if this is rough,” she murmurs, running a brush through it as it dries. “We need to hurry.” She reaches over, switching on a curling iron, and I hear her breathe slowly, as if she’s trying to calm herself down. “He’s already not going to be happy to be kept waiting this long.”

“I thought he wanted me to be perfect,” I murmur sarcastically, unable to stop myself here in private with only Celeste to hear, and I hear her suck in a quick, sharp breath.

“Careful, miss,” she whispers, her hands going still for a moment. “You need to be careful.”

“Do you want to elaborate on that?” My voice quivers now, too, imagining what this man must be like. Everyone has walked on eggshells, refusing to help me, moving me quickly through all of these steps as if he might jump out at them at any moment. “Why—”

“Just trust me, please.” She takes the curling iron, starting to wind sections around it with a brisk efficiency. “I know it’s a lot to ask tonight, miss. But you don’t know him. Don’t make him angry if you can help it.”

The fear in her voice is plain. Whoever this man is, he controls everyone around him through fear, and not respect. He’s different from my father in that way for certain, it seems.

When Celeste is finished, she picks up the jeweled pins that I wore earlier tonight and carefully pins back sections of hair, keeping it artfully out of my face while still leaving most of it loose. I look at myself in the mirror—a dusting of blush to hide how pale I am, a little mascara, a rosy lip stain—and I don’t recognize my reflection. I’ve never seen myself so frightened, so unsure. I’ve spent my whole life knowing exactly who I was and what my future was supposed to hold.

Celeste goes to the bed, lifting the dress. It’s made out of heavy reinforced silk, the skirt covered in embroidery and seed pearls, the bodice dipping into a v-shape with illusion lace filling in the gap. It’s strapless, and as Celeste helps me into it, I see that between the bustier and the stiffness of the dress, I actually have cleavage in it. The back of it laces as well, and I know why—no one knew my exact measurements. This way, the dress was guaranteed to fit me with some room for error.

The worst part about it all, as I look in the mirror while Celeste fastens the dress and slips the fingertip-length veil into my freshly curled hair, is that I look beautiful. I look like abride. The dress is full and princess-like without swallowing my slender frame, the delicate embroidery enhancing my own slender features and making me look even more fragile and innocent. I look like a porcelain bridal doll,and I know that must be what he wanted. A beautiful, delicate thing that he can toy with or break as he pleases.

“There.” Celeste ties the lacing in a bow at the small of my back, her fingers resting there briefly as if to comfort me slightly. I do, in a way, feel slightly better—the stiff heaviness of the dress feels almost like armor, something to protect me from this man’s intentions, even if briefly. I can’t let myself think about later, when it will undeniably be shucked away. “I think the jewelry you wore here will be perfect,” she adds, going back to the vanity to retrieve it. “Something old and blue.”

That does nothing to reassure me. If anything, it makes this all feel like even more of a mockery as Celeste hands me the earrings and ring and helps me hook the bracelet around my wrist. I put these same jewels on earlier tonight for my debut, so much hope and excitement welling inside of me, feeling as if I had my mother with me as I took the first steps into my new adult life.

Now, all I feel is fear and a haunting sensation that all of that is coming to an end. Any future I might have hoped for, any happiness that I might have had.

I slip my feet into the white, jewel-toed heels sitting by the bed, and glance at the door. There’s nothing left to do but go downstairs—alone. No bridal party, no one to give me away to my groom. He’s chosen to take me instead, and the awful reality of that is what’s waiting for me.

Celeste walks over to the nightstand by the bed, where there’s a phone—one likely used for calling down to whatever staff the occupant of the room might need. She taps a button and says something quietly into it, quiet enough that I can’t hear it over the pounding of my heartbeat in my ears. I clench my hands into fists, feeling my short nails bite into my palms, and wait for her to hang up the phone.

“James is coming upstairs to open the door,” she says quietly. “He’ll escort you down.”

---