Real Girl (Aston Creek High 4)

My knees shake. I don’t want to be here.

I want to go home, collapse into Shaylee’s arms, and cry for days on end. Hell, maybe I shouldn’t go home. They probably don’t even know that Slade is gone and I’ll have to be the one to break the news. Fuck, that’s going to suck.

This news is going to kill them. Having to tell Daniella that her son was shot and murdered in cold blood. Emma and Rain…fuck. Damian? He’ll be crushed. Gone will be the light-hearted, sarcastic best friend. He’ll be nothing but a shell of the man he once was.

The tears fill my eyes and Lucien tightens his grip on my arm. “Pull yourself together.”

I let out a deep breath, blinking back the tears before they get a chance to fall and leave streaks in my makeup. I can only imagine what Maria would have to say about that. Hopefully, the guests would just assume I was overwhelmed with happiness, but still, a woman like myself who was raised with such high standards should have learned how to control her emotions. This is simply unacceptable. I guess all I have to say about that is Maria was right to demand the make-up artist to use waterproof mascara, otherwise, I’d be a mess by the end of the day.

I plaster on a fake smile, trying hard to keep myself strong. I can do this. I have to do this.

The farther we get down the aisle, the smaller my steps become, desperate to delay the inevitable, but if I was smart, I’d have run down the aisle and gotten it over and done with. The longer it takes, the worse I’m making it for myself.

We get to the top of the aisle when I finally see a familiar face.

Lucy Carroway.

Thank fuck.

She sits in the second row with tears heavy in her eyes and her mother’s hand on her thigh. To anyone else, it would appear as a loving gesture, but I know better. Her mother is holding her in place, ensuring she doesn’t do anything stupid.

We’d both be dead by the time we reached the end of the aisle, but maybe it would be worth it. Not Luce though, she still has so much to live for. She’s going to go so far in life and it’s going to be incredible to watch. Besides, I need her to stick around because with me now living in hell, I need someone to live through and keep me going. Without Slade, I’ve got nothing to live for.

I know the pain of missing him might ease one day, but so far, I’ve been missing my mom and dad for thirteen years and it still aches. I doubt it will be any different with Slade.

Luce desperately tries to blink back tears and the more she looks at me, the harder it gets to keep moving. She goes to mouth something and I tear my eyes away. I can’t. No matter what she says, if it’s words of encouragement or telling me to run, I’m going to break.

I can’t handle it. This is too much.

I’m about to marry against my will. Slade would be devastated…disappointed. He would say that I’m better than this shit. He would tell me to run and never look back. He would tell me not only to survive but to thrive.

Damn him. What does it matter? He’s gone now.

I step up in front of my future husband and as if handing me over like a proud father, Lucien puts my hand in Marcus’. It’s clammy and warm and I don’t miss Lucien’s low warning as he nods to Marcus and steps back. “Hold her tight.”

Marcus’s grip instantly doubles to the point of pain and I hold back a loud gasp, trying my hardest to appear as though I want to be here but judging by the faces of the people in the crowd, they know this isn’t right.

They see the fear in my eyes and I see the sorrow and devastation shining back in theirs, but not one of them will do a damn thing about it because I can guarantee that Lucien has all of them on a tight leash. People in this town aren’t good people. They’re rich and entitled which gives them the sense that they can do whatever the fuck they want. They’re just like Lucien. Some of them worse, some of them not so bad, but no matter what, they all have secrets, secrets that Lucien makes it his business to know.

The music begins to soften until it completely disappears and as it does, the priest steps up between me and Marcus.

He looks out at the wedding guests. “Please, take your seats.”

There’s the usual rumble as the guests drop down onto their asses, getting comfortable and shuffling around in their ridiculous, over-the-top suits and dresses. Ankles are crossed with knees tilted, children are shushed, while husbands pretend that their mistresses aren’t sitting two rows behind.