Page 9 of Stolen Bride

“Yes, and now I’ll be a vegetarian for life.” Gracie gags, pressing her hand against her mouth.

“Girl. Please, just come out tonight. It will be your bachelorette party. He’s having his stag party. The guards are minimal. You get one last final hurrah, and it’ll be a blast.” Camille gives me a pleading stare.

“Fine.” I relent and cave to their pleading.

“Yay!” they squeal like preteen girls.

“And you can’t back out. We’re going to my bedroom to find some outfits for tonight.” She points her finger at me, and I give her a silent nod, hoping she’ll give me some peace. Thankfully, she does, leading Gracie to the door.

The girls leave me in my room alone. I have no interest in what they pick because I want to dance and drink to forget what’s going to happen. Maybe I’ll even get my first kiss by a man of my choice. A man who doesn’t make me sick to stare at. Someone who stirs a hint of interest. It doesn’t even need to be insane lust or love at first sight because I don’t have time for that, but I want a shot at something of my choosing—just once.

Closing my eyes, I allow myself for the first time a fantasy of meeting a tall, dark, mysterious stranger while the music is so loud we can’t hear more than the pounding of our own hearts.Will he cup my face, look deep into my eyes, and command me to give him my lips?

It’s too much, and I feel the pleasure down to my core as I imagine his lips falling on mine as I let out a moan. My hands grip the worn-out pillow and bring it to my face, only to have my bedroom door fly open.

“Girl, we were calling your name for like two minutes,” Gracie says.

“Trying to suffocate yourself?” Camille adds. “It’s not going to work like that, dummy. Anyway, get up. We’re getting ready to leave.”

“Ugh, whatever. How are you going to get me out? You know I can’t leave.”

“Don’t worry about that.”

Twenty minutes later, we’re packed up and ready to leave the house with the extra clothes in our overnight bags. All we need to do is talk to her father about the sleepover at Gracie’s.

My stepsister is allowed to leave without asking for permission, but she needs to get approval to take me with her. I stand at the bottom of the stairs and listen to their conversation. He’s sitting on his favorite recliner watching the Heat game. When he sees Camille, he pauses it. “What’s going on, princess?”

“Hey, Dad. Stella and I are going to Gracie’s for a sleepover.”

“Have fun.” He waves. My hand clasps over my mouth with shock because he didn’t stop me from going.

“Wait.” I think he’s going to tell her, “Hell, no,” but then he asks, “Is her brother going to be around?”

“I doubt it. He doesn’t live there.” I’m not sure who her brother is or anything, but he’s supposed to be popular and wealthy. Camille hasn’t even formally introduced me to her friend because I’m not important enough, so I don’t know her as anything more than Gracie.

“Pity. He’s rich, and you could try to meet him.” Of course he wants to push a hot guy who isn’t old or gross toward her.

She waves off the idea like it’s stupid. “Anyway, I was thinking of doing a makeover for Stella before the wedding. One nice little sisterly bonding thing.”

“That’s so sweet of you, pumpkin.” I want to roll my eyes, but it’s actually what we’re doing so I’m looking forward to having my hair and makeup done.

“I know, right? She should be grateful, but I’m sure she’ll find something to complain about. Anyway, we’ll be leaving soon.” There is the Camille I know.

He looks at me and glares. “You better behave, young lady. Don’t think you’re going to be plotting any escape while at Miss Grace’s. Tommy’s guards won’t be far from the house,” he warns me with a sneering wag of his finger.

“I know. I’m not going anywhere. I know I’m a prisoner for the rest of my life,” I mutter that last bit, but his eyes bulge out, having heard every word.

“Don’t act like a little bitch. You’ve been given every privilege when you came from nothing. Your mother was a dirty whore, and now you’re getting a chance to marry up.” He loves to degrade her even though he’s the one who visited her workplace weekly, paying for sex because he couldn’t get it for free.

I fight the anger building up in me because it’s only going to get me hit again. I’ve already gotten a bruise from this morning’s outburst. My future husband-to-be doesn’t care that my stepfather hits me as long as I have all my teeth and he doesn’t leave any scars. So, bruises are more than okay if I deserve them, which they both agree I do.

Sometimes, I feel like the only way out is the ultimate way out. I’ve considered it more times than I should. Maybe it would be better to find help, but who can I trust? Everyone seems to be on his side, and the only time I was able to confide in a teacher, I was pulled from the school and transferred to a special school where I was no longer allowed to have private discussions with teachers, and friends were out of the question.

“Yes, Stepfather.” I nod and walk away. He’s quickly on his feet and grips my forearm, spinning me around.

“Did I dismiss you?” I mask the pain and shake my head. “Answer me, little bitch.”

“No, Stepfather.”

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