Page 3 of Theirs to Possess: The Marriage Claim
The seamstress and her shop assistant have to move away, and Marcella poses me alongside my parents.
Thank God my veil is hiding my face. Otherwise, my pale skin and stark features would mar their requisite portraits.
“Can you get that posted right away?” my mother asks as Marcella reviews her work.
“You want to see the shots first?”
“We trust you.”
“How about you?” Marcella asks me.
I shake my head. “Whatever you think is best.” If I never see a single picture of myself from today, I’ll be fine with that.
A soft knock comes at the door before it creaks open. “Are you almost ready?”
My only bridesmaid, Evelyn, peeks inside, her smile strained but reassuring. She’s one of Margaux’s closest friends, but even she’s going along with the charade. Probably because her father is in debt to mine.
With a half smile, trying to be reassuring, she crosses the room and takes my trembling hands in hers. “You’ve got this. Everything will be okay.”
Not for one second do I believe that, but I force a nod anyway. My parents—and the no-nonsense etiquette teacher who smacked me with a ruler for every transgression—ensured my manners are impeccable.
A flurry of motion follows. Mrs. Henderson, my wedding planner, sweeps in with military precision, fussing over my veil until it drapes just so, the delicate lace casting intricate shadows across my face.
With a small smile, my mother pretends to hug me.
“Don’t fail me again.” Eyes narrowed, my father stares at me—hard. “Let’s go, Cecilia.”
The door closes behind them, and I allow my shoulders to roll forward with relief.
“You really are a beautiful bride,” Evelyn tells me.
I appreciate her lie—and her brave attempt at loyalty.
“Are you ready, Isla?” Mrs. Henderson asks.
No. Not ever.But I have to do this. I attempt a smile that falls flat.
Shaking her head, the seamstress stands and moves away from me. I’m sure she doesn’t like disappointing my father. But honestly, her frustration probably has more to do with the fact that the bespoke gown from Hautest Bridal Couture looks godawful on me than anything else.
Her assistant fluffs my dress before standing next to the seamstress.
“Isla?” the planner prompts.
Dread claws at me.
More than ever, I understand why my sister chickened out. Who wants to spend their entire adult life with a man who has ties to the Mafia?
Evelyn hands me my bouquet of flowers. “I have to go.”
In a hopeless attempt to steady my nerves, I draw a deep breath.
The assistant adjusts my veil one last time. Too bad it’s not black.
Slowly, right behind Mrs. Henderson, I make my way down the stairs.
Outside the door to the room where I’m getting married, my father is waiting.
He offers his arm, and I suppose I have no choice but to tuck mine inside his. As if suspecting I might flee too, he tightens his grip to the point I wince. “Father!”
