Page 32 of Owned

I stared as he carried the flowers and the garment bag over to the sofa. He put the bouquet carefully down on the table then unzipped the garment bag. Silky white fabric spilled from inside it, and I stiffened, conscious of what that might mean, especially in conjunction with the flowers.

“Atlas,” I began.

“Wait,” he ordered.

Much to my own surprise, I fell silent as he drew a beautiful gown from the bag. It had lots of flowing draperies, Grecian in style, and with it was a gossamer fine white veil.

Atlas had bought me a wedding dress. God.

“You….You didn’t.” Shock had almost robbed me of breath. “It’s…It’s…”

“It’s what? If you’re worried about the fit, don’t worry. It’ll fit.”

“But…how? I haven’t tried it on or?—”

“I’ve had twenty years of knowing women’s bodies,” he said with the kind of confidence that should have made him sound insufferable yet didn’t. “I know how to buy a woman a dress that will fit her.”

I wanted to argue with him, because how could he know? But all I did was sit there, staring at the lovely gown and delicate bouquet, a complicated mix of feelings all roiling inside me.

No one had ever bought me things, not even my own mom. Oh, she’d fed and clothed me when I’d been a kid, but she never remembered my birthday, and since Christmas was usually when her mental health got worse, we almost never celebrated it. Presents didn’t happen. If I needed or wanted something, I had to buy it for myself.

That’s not strictly true, though, is it?

I swallowed, remembering the only other I time I’d been given a gift. It had been him then too. He’d bought a necklace that spelled my name when I’d turned sixteen. I’d never worn it, my feelings about both it and him far too complicated, but I’d never gotten rid of it either. It was still in my jewelry box all wrapped up in tissue.

This dress was the same, and my feelings about it and him were too complicated and too confusing to accept it.

“I can’t wear that,” I said. “It’s lovely, but I can’t.”

He didn’t look offended, merely arching a brow. “Why not?”

“This wedding isn’t real. It’s just a formality so why bother?”

“Why not bother?” he said, infuriatingly calm. “It might be just a formality, but it’s your first wedding, Rowan. Why shouldn’t you wear a lovely gown and carry a pretty bouquet?”

A lump rose in my throat, my heart aching unexpectedly.

I’d never wanted to get married. I had Mom to look after and work to do, and I didn’t have time or the emotional bandwidth for relationships. Also, tying myself to some asshole of a man seemed a stupid thing to do. Men sucked you in with lies, made you dependent on them, and then when you needed them they abandoned you, so no, I was in no hurry to marry.

Even if I had wanted to, I’d never waste money on a dress I’d only wear once. Same with the veil. As for flowers, well, I’d never bother with those either.

Yet, despite all of that, looking at the beautiful gown and the gorgeous bouquet, I was bitterly conscious of that ache in my heart. As if something in me wanted the gown and the flowers, and the veil too. Wanted to walk down the aisle. Wanted to marry a man I loved and who loved me…

Much to my horror, my eyes prickled with unexpected tears, and I had to look away, blinking furiously and hoping like hell Atlas hadn’t noticed.

I couldn’t understand where the tears had come from, or why the sight of a stupid wedding gown and flowers made me feel so sad. It was appalling enough to feel upset, let alone be crying in front of him.

Just then strong fingers took hold of my chin and my face was being tilted up, Atlas’s golden gaze searching mine. “What is it?” he asked, frowning. “And don’t say nothing.”

Dammit. He’d noticed, the bastard.

I tried to shake my head, but he was holding me too tightly, the press of his fingers making me feel hot and restless. “Just something in my eye,” I said shortly. “Let go of me, please.”

He didn’t. “Why are you doing this, Rowan?”

“‘This’?” I tried not to breathe in his heady scent. “What do you mean this?”

“I mean Charlotte’s fucked up plan.” His tawny brows drew down, his gaze sharpening. “You never answered my question last week.”

---