Page 44 of The Watcher's Bride

“No.” The word slips out of my mouth.

“You’ll put it on, or I’ll put it on you,” the man says, sounding bored.

“No,” I say again, my eyes glued to the dress in horror.

“Por favor,” the maid pleads quietly.

“I’m sorry. I can’t,” I whisper back at her, my voice strangled.

“I can’t hurt you, princess, wouldn’t want to sully the bride on her big day, but if you don’t put the fucking dress on, I will pull Maria’s fingernails out one by one until you do.”

The maid’s eyes widen in fear. She looks at me imploringly, but I remain rooted to the spot.

With a sigh, the man gets out of his chair and slowly strides toward her. He grabs a fistful of her hair, and she lets out of yelp of fear. From his pocket, he produces a pair of pliers, and he roughly grabs her wrist.

“Which one should we remove first?” he asks casually.

Maria starts to scream and tries to pull away, but he holds her tight. “Por favor, señora!” she sobs, her gaze darting between me and the pliers.

“Stop. Please. Okay, I’ll wear the damn dress.”

He nods, letting go of Maria, who sinks to the floor in tears, before pocketing the pliers and sauntering back to his chair.

“I’m so sorry,” I murmur guiltily to Maria as I help her to her feet, hating myself for my hesitation.

“Gracias,” she whispers as she tries to compose herself.

She does her best to shield me from the man’s gaze as I dress, helping me to lace up the corset so tightly it’s hard to breathe. It’s a fairytale dress made entirely of delicate lace. The waist nips in tightly before it slowly tapers out to the long train. The sleeves are equally long, the backs trailing down almost to my knees. With the long lace-trimmed veil and tiara, I look like an elven queen. It’s a beautiful dress, I can’t deny that. A traditional Irish bridal gown.

The one my mother wore on her wedding day.

Most brides would be thrilled to wear their mother’s gown. Even more so if they lost their mother when they were young. But to me, this is a symbol of the horror that’s to come. As I am about to be, my mother was forced into marriage with a man she did not know or love. She was nineteen, a virgin, and the man she married was a monster. She had to vow to love and obey him, to honor him above all others, until death did they part. A death that came too early when I was just fourteen. The coroner ruled her death accidental, but I always had a suspicion that my father was somehow involved.

Will history repeat itself? Is the dress a subtle acknowledgment of this from my father? Is he telling me that I’m destined for my mother’s fate?

Looking in the mirror, I look almost identical to her. I only have one photo of her on her wedding day. The rest were all destroyed after she died. I try to find strength in her memory, to remember all the good times he can never take from me. I take a deep breath and nod signaling that I’m ready to go. As I walk toward my fate, I feel my mother’s presence beside me.

Chapter 27

Nora

“Norelle, my precious child, returned to me at last.”

My father’s eyes survey me with satisfaction as he pulls me into a crushing embrace that holds no warmth or affection. It is simply a show of strength, of possession. I hold my breath, trying not to breathe in the familiar cloying scent of his aftershave.

“Perfect. Just perfect,” he murmurs as he releases me and walks around me. “So like your mother. She was a willful one too. She didn’t realize that roses can only be enjoyed once you rip off the thorns. You’ll learn soon enough if you don’t want to wilt,” he muses, his voice almost lyrical, the faint Irish accent still noticeable no matter how hard he tries to hide it.

I stand perfectly still, trying to remain strong, my chin held high. I won’t let him see me cry. I won’t show him how much just wearing this dress pains me. I have so many questions, there are so many things I need answers to, but the overwhelming thought is the one that I hiss back at him.

“How? How did you find me?”

His mouth twitches in amusement as he moves to sit behind the large mahogany desk. “Find you? Did you think I didn’t know which infested shithole you were hiding in this whole time?”

At the look of sheer confusion on my face, he continues. “Of course, it took me a little while to find out where you’dgone, but I knew you couldn’t have done it without help. After questioning those closest to you, who you saw most days, those with the means to pull off your little disappearing act, I still came up emptyhanded.”

I feel sick thinking about how many people he must haveinterviewed. Of course, some would have gotten off lightly, even my father can’t go around torturing high school students, but anyone on the staff or those who he deemed to be hiding something would have been subject to his unique brand of torture. My heart races and I try to keep my expression neutral. I’m hoping against hope that he doesn’t know about Ms. Miller. I pray he found out another way, from the bus driver or someone who saw me sneaking out that day.

“All of my staff are loyal to me, no one would dare to help you. So that eventually ruled out a traitor, which meant the only other logical explanation was that someone in your school.”

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