Page 2 of Wild River

The make up lady blinks at my question, her thick, dark eyelashes batting like crows’ wings. She pauses with the eyeliner held just beneath my eye. “Animals? Romantic?”

I shrug, making whoever is fastening my hundreds of buttons tut behind me. “Yeah. You know, like when swans mate for life. Do you think they love each other?”

Aunt Prue finally looks up from her phone, spearing the make up lady with a stern look. “Ignore her. Becca has decided to make a scene today, it seems.”

A scene?

I’m standing still, aren’t I? I’m letting them dress me, paint my face, tug my hair, get me prepped. All so they can marry me off to a strange, cold man who will barely tolerate me.

Those squirrels scamper through my brain for the hundredth time. My palms are clammy, and I blot them against the finest ivory silk.

Maybe Ishouldmake a scene.

Maybe it would feel good to shout and stomp and tear the hairpins from my hair. It’s insane what we’re doing here. How is everyone so okay with this?

How did my mother and sister and aunts all bear their own wedding days? Were they mad too? Did they secretly want to push the ornamental cake over and rip their gowns into shreds?

“I’m sorry.” My lips are numb, but I force them into a polite smile. “You’re right, Aunt Prue. I’m being unreasonable.”

She nods and goes back to her phone, nails clacking away. “You’ll feel better once they serve the champagne,” she tells the screen. “I did.”

“I’m sure you’re right. Um, could you all excuse me for just one minute? I need to use the restroom.”

All those pairs of strange hands lift away from my body, and my stomach swoops with relief.

“Down the hall on the left,” the make up lady says, jerking her chin at the door. “Make sure no one sees you. We’re not done yet.”

“Of course. I’ll be quick.”

“Do you need help with the dress?”

“No, no. I’ll be careful.”

My hurried steps are muffled by thick carpet. My hand is sweaty, slipping against the doorknob, but I get it open and then close it swiftly behind me.

This area of the manor house is hushed this morning. Empty. Distantly, the sounds of wedding preparations seep from elsewhere in the building, and the buzz of murmured conversation floats through the dressing room door. My breaths are loud. Ragged.

They’re probably talking about me in there. I could put my ear to the crack and eavesdrop; I could hear what those strangers and my auntreallythink of today’s blushing bride.

But I don’t linger. Because I don’t care. Movements jerky, I kick off my heels and scoop up the long skirt of my dress, crumpling the silk in my hands, then take off running down the hall.

They might not be done yet, butIsure am.

* * *

It’s almost too easy to sneak out the back of the manor house. No one sees me; no one yells. They’re all caught up in their own worlds, with jobs to do and people to schmooze. I’m a silk-clad blur, darting past open doorways and sprinting down halls before bursting out of an open door into the sloping gardens.

We’re too high up on the mountainside for much plant growth, but some enterprising gardeners have somehow coaxed flowers to life in raised planters, and it’s a riot of color as I flee down stone steps and past manicured hedges. Bored statues watch me flee, trails of ivy climbing up their bodies. Strangling their throats.

The air is fresh and cool. It’s a sunny day, with puffs of cloud skidding past high overhead. The sky is vivid turquoise, and I’m so freaking relieved to be outside at last, even as I sprint for freedom.

My bare feet pound against the stone path, and my dress whips around my legs as I run. They’ll find my heels soon, but with any luck they’ll just think I’m careless. Unreliable.

What will happen if they catch me? They can’tmakeme marry Tristan Peters, can they?

My heart clenches in my chest, and my arms pump as I run faster through the mountainside gardens. The slope is steep but I don’t falter, because I know the truth: with enough money, you can doanything.The rules don’t apply to families like ours.

Maybe that’s why my sister and mother and aunts all walked obediently down the aisle. Maybe they knew instinctively what I’m only realizing all the way down to my bones today: that we’ve been trapped all our lives, held captive on that chess board. Assets to be traded rather than people to be loved.

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