The Marriage Sacrifice

But now, after spending some time with Dom, she could imagine herself falling flat on her face at her own wedding. She needed to get her head examined or something if her thoughts were going in that direction.

“Yes, and I notice you’re not sticking to the diet. I told you only raw foods, and you’re not losing weight as fast as I told you you would.”

“Mom, I don’t care about counting calories.” Sage was used to her mother’s complete lack of love and understanding. For her mother, she expected a slim daughter, and what she got was Sage. For herself, Sage loved her body and who she was. Not in a conceited way, but she had accepted who she was a long time ago. To have her mother constantly put her down annoyed her. So her weight was several pounds heavier than the average woman’s. Her tits were in double letters, and her hips were considered “child-bearing.” Not to mention her thighs, which liked to rub together if she wore a skirt or dress. It didn’t matter. Her mother would want one thing, while she was happy to be another.

“You certainly don’t care about creating the right image either.” Her mother held up a newspaper.

Sage couldn’t get a good look at it as she pulled the paper down.

“How do you think this makes me and your father look? It’s good you and Dom are finally getting along, but to do this to your parents, I don’t know what we did wrong in raising you.”

Sage rolled her eyes. This was how her mother went. It didn’t matter that her parents didn’t raise her. Nannies did, and the television. She couldn’t recall spending that much time with her mother.

If she had, she probably wouldn’t have turned out this way.

“Instead of berating me for all the bad things I’ve done to you, why don’t you tell me what it is you’re actually holding?”

“This.” Her mother held the picture up. “Look at you. No makeup. Covered in cream. You’re not following the diet. You’re supposed to present a certain air of sophistication, Sage. You’re a Boyle, and as such you should be taking that into account when you go off and do these silly things.”

Sage was hurt.

The picture her mother had was of her and Dom, moments before, and during, and after the kiss. The pictures were like a movie wheel on the front page of the newspaper. It had been a long time since she’d been on the front cover of anything. The picture itself, in all of its unflattering glory, didn’t bother her.

The moment she shared with Dom, the same one she’d been thinking about, time and time again—that was what bothered her.

“Get me out of this.” She started to pull at the bodice of the dress.

“Don’t. Be careful. There are pins.”

“Get me out. I don’t want to be in this. Get me out.”

Finally, seeing her panic, the woman helped her out of the dress. She slid out and rushed toward her own dress, quickly pulling it over her head.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to go and kill my fiancé.”

“Sage, don’t be so dramatic.”

“You better hope he’s in hiding because there won’t be a wedding.”

She rushed out of the wedding shop without a backward glance. There was already a cab waiting for her, and she quickly got into it. She gave the driver the address to Dom’s building. On the way out, she snatched a copy of the paper.

While she waited to go and commit murder, she stared at the picture. She had thought the moment they shared was real. Between just the two of them without any interference from the press, from their family.

Dom had to have known they were there. Why would he have kissed her otherwise? She felt like a complete and total fool. Here she was, replaying the kiss in her head, and the whole time it had been a giant fucking lie.

It pissed her off, and made her even more angry than before.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to think past the pain.

This was why she avoided the press. No, not avoided, she had simply never given them anything worthy to print.

She paid the cab driver and entered Dom’s office building. She walked straight past the main desk, going to the elevator. No one stopped her. She wondered if they had seen the paper as well and knew who she was.

She wasn’t in a good mood, or a happy one.

The elevator seemed to be taking its time, and she watched as the lights moved across, heading on up to the top floor. Each one that flashed let her know she was getting closer and closer to killing him.

The fair was her thing. It wasn’t a place to have the press invading.

The elevator doors opened, and she stepped off.