Page 55 of Treasured By Them
The violinist begins another soft classical piece. While we wait, I take in the delicate white and lavender roses arranged along the pews. My parents sit in the first row, along with my grandfather. But it’s my father and mother who I focus on. They’re so fucking unhappy together, it makes me cringe. I can see it in my father’s stiff shoulders, in how my mother angles her body away from him. They could be strangers. It would be better if they were strangers.
I don’t want that for Danica and me.
My mother sends a nervous glance over her shoulder toward the wide doors that lead to the foyer, where Danica is supposed to come in. Troy subtly shifts from foot to foot.
Across the aisle from my parents and grandfather are Danica’s parents and grandfather. Her mom and dad whisper to each other, looks of concern on their faces.
What’s taking Danica so goddamn long?
Leah steps into the doorway at the end of the aisle. Fucking finally.
But she isn’t holding her bouquet, and she isn’t walking toward us in time to the soft violin melody.
She’s hurrying forward, cheeks bright with emotion—embarrassment? Concern? My grandfather, Danica’s grandfather, and I meet her halfway down the aisle.
“Where is she?” my father demands.
“I—I don’t know.”
Danica’s parents join us. At this point, all of the guests are whispering among themselves, sounding scandalized. It’s the kind of horrid delight people take in the embarrassment of others, and I want to throat-punch every single one of them.
Danica’s mother gives me a tight, uncomfortable smile. “Maybe she just stepped out for some air. I know she wants this wedding.”
Does she, though?
The last night Troy and I spent with Danica, we fucked her brains out and she enjoyed every second of it.
But then after…
“If you didn’t have to marry me tomorrow, would you do it?”
“No.”
A yawning emptiness carves through my chest.
Danica didn’t just step out for some air. She’s gone.
Danica
I wake in complete darkness, with a splitting headache. Where the fuck am I? The last thing I remember, I was in the church bathroom for a last-minute visit to the toilet before the ceremony. I told Leah I’d be two seconds before hurrying down the hall in my gown.
Now I’m…I don’t know. I kick out with my legs, but they hit something solid and impenetrable. My arms—same.
Satin-smooth fabric brushes against my arm when I explore the edges of my environment. My wedding dress. I’m still in it.
“Hello?” I call. “Hello? What’s going on?”
A car motor starts up. I rock sideways as my prison begins to move.
Horror descends, washing over me in a dark, confining weight.
I’m in the trunk of a car.
