by Claire Vale
That left me with George Evans. A good, solid choice. I placed the last card down in front of me.
Mom sighed her disappointment but didn’t get a chance to argue further. Councilman Thorpe was calling for our attention again. It was time. He stood at one end of the aisle, near the main entrance, and put a hand up to silence the lingering murmurs.
Mom squeezed my arm. When I sent her a quick glance, her smile told me she’d make her peace with whatever I decided.
“Miss Simmons,” Thorpe called out. “Miss Jenna Simmons.”
I winced on her behalf. The marriage ceremonies were performed from the lowest ranking scores to the highest.
Jenna pushed her chair back and stood, a serene smile on her face and obviously not the least bit embarrassed to be called first. She made her way in and around the tables to join the councilman at the end of the aisle.
All eyes were riveted on Jenna as she handed Thorpe her envelope.
“Miss Simmons?” Thorpe prompted, examining the envelope. “Um, this hasn’t been opened. My dear girl, you do know the procedure, surely?”
We all knew the procedure. It had been drummed into us in Domestic Science. She simply had to accept one of her offers. What was she doing, handing him the envelope? Unopened?
Jenna’s smile widened. “I don’t need to open it,” she said, pronouncing her words loud and clear for the room to hear. “Whatever’s in there won’t change my mind. I’m not accepting any offer.”
The bottom dropped out of my stomach.
Oh my God.
Oh my God oh my God oh my God. She’d told us. She’d warned us. Why hadn’t I taken her more seriously?
A look of confusion crossed Thorpe’s white-bearded face. “But you haven’t seen the offers yet.”
Jenna shrugged. “Like I said, it wouldn’t make any difference. I’m not getting married. I am not graduating. There, I don’t think I can say it any clearer than that.”
“Jenna!” a shrilly voice came from behind, snapping my head around to see Mrs. Simmons shoot to her feet. “Jenna, please…” Her voice faded and she swayed, had to slam a hand on the table to steady herself. “Please, don’t…”
A coordinator rushed to attend Jenna’s mother and I used the distraction to make eye contact with Jessie. What the…?
She pulled a face at me, mouthed, I don’t know.
I tried to catch Brenda’s eye, but she was staring at Jenna, her jaw slack, her mouth hanging open.
A commotion up front turned me forward again. Mr. Simmons was barging out from the staging area, a room adjacent to the main entrance.
He was a large man, jowls flopping with the force of his footsteps as he marched up to Jenna and grabbed her by the arm. “I’d like a word with my daughter,” he said and started dragging her without waiting for a response from Councilman Thorpe.
“No, you can’t do this,” Jenna shouted, squirming and trying to jerk free. “Councilman Thorpe, this is my decision. This is the only choice I ever get to make. Or was that all just a lie?”
Thorpe gave a nod in the direction of the entrance and two guards emerged to intercept Mr. Simmons. “Sir, please release the girl.”
“This is my daughter.” He side-stepped them, dragging Jenna with him. “My daughter.”
The guards moved to cut him off again. “Sir, if you don’t release the girl right now, you’ll be in violation of the law and remanded into custody.”
The threat was enough to stir fear in a grown man and Mr. Simmons was no exception. He dropped Jenna’s arm and backed away a step.
Thorpe approached Jenna. “Miss Simmons, are you absolutely sure you want to do this? You do realize you will be removed from society?”
“Yes, I know and yes, I want this.”
Thorpe gave another nod to the guards and they herded Jenna out of the reception hall. The coordinator guided Mrs. Simmons to join her husband and they were led out, too. In a heartbeat, it was over and a chorus of mutterings filled the room.
“Did you know about this?” demanded my mom.
Now there was a tricky question. “Um…” I sighed. “I honestly never thought she’d do anything like this.”
But I should have. Jenna had never been like the rest of us. She openly mocked the rules and had never cowered in fear of the repercussions.
“Poor Mrs. Simmons,” Mom murmured.
I frowned at her. Poor Mrs. Simmons? What about Jenna? “What will happen to her?” I asked. “Where will they send Jenna?”
“I don’t know,” Mom said distractedly. “Nowhere good, I’ll tell you that much.”
Mom’s lack of sympathy irked me. She wasn’t a hard, cold person. “What if that had been me marched out of here, never to be seen again?”
“That could never have been you,” Mom said. “You know better than that ungrateful girl.”
Did I? Or did Jenna maybe know better than me? No, I shook my head at the preposterous notion. She’d made a mistake, but I had to admit I admired her style. She could just have stayed home and waited for the Guard to come and take her away. Wherever they sent her, I hoped she’d get the opportunity to live her life on her own terms.
Councilman Thorpe called the room to order. “Ladies and gentlemen, please let us continue. Miss Saunders,” he announced. “Miss Carolyn Saunders.”
Carolyn accepted an offer from a cute-looking boy called Simon Lovell who hurried to take his position with a huge grin while her father walked her down the aisle. This side of the marriage arch, her father handed her over to Simon and they stepped through the arch to meet Pastor Newbury on the other side for the marriage rites.
After that I zoned out in a state of mild panic and racing thoughts. Daniel. Jenna. George Evans. Nervous energy hummed along my veins as my brain spun round and round in circles.
Daniel’s rejection.
Jenna’s brutally public show of defiance.
Shy George Evans with the kind eyes.
Maybe Daniel had changed his mind completely. As in, maybe he’d decided he was too young and wanted to wait another year or two before settling down.
Was Jenna incredibly brave or just reckless with her future?
I’d chosen George Evans with my head and gut, but I knew with absolute certainty my heart would never follow. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
Daniel had crushed me.
Jenna made me want to hide my wise, safe choice under the bed where I’d never have to look at it in the bright light of day.
George…well, he didn’t really invoke much of anything in me. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
My mom spoke to me and I listened. Names were called out and I watched. I didn’t really pay attention, however, until Brenda made her way to stand next to Councilman Thorpe. While she’d chatted about a few boys after each ball, she’d never expressed a genuine preference. She’d had the right idea, keeping her heart wide open for a handful of possibilities. But then, Brenda had always been the sensible one of our trio.
I held my breath in anticipation, desperately wishing her all the best.
Brenda placed a hand on her breast and smiled. “Daniel Edgar.”
My eyes widened. I rubbed my brow, positive I’d misheard.
The world around me faded and time slowed as Daniel stepped from the crowd and walked to await his bride at the arch.
I hadn’t heard wrong.
My blood ran to ice. This wasn’t a betrayal. I knew that. If the most eligible bachelor in town offered out of the blue, how could she possibly not accept? I knew that. All those things, on some level, I knew. And still, it looked and felt and tasted like a betrayal of the worst kind. It hurt like a knife stabbed into my back.
I had less than ten minutes to recover. That was never going to happen. My name was called straight after Brenda and I stumbled blindly to my feet.
Mom’s grasp slid from my clammy hand. She’d been holding tight for the last ten minutes and I was grateful for the anchor. She also hadn’t tried to mak
e me feel better with useless words and empty platitudes. She’d just held on and let me battle silently through the emotions. I was still mid-fight as I weaved a path between the tables. I searched for George Evans and instead my gaze collided with Roman West as he pressed forward to stand within spitting distance of me and Councilman Thorpe.
I squared a look on Roman West, my heart hammering in my chest. He had the face of a Greek god and I didn’t mean that in a good way. His chiseled jaw was set in mutiny. A storm raged in the deep hollows beneath his cheekbones. His strong brow rode low on grey eyes that were stone hard and cold. I had no idea what I’d ever done to this guy, but one thing was crystal clear. He’d pressed forward to warn me, up close and personal, that I’d regret it to my dying day if I accepted his offer.
Councilman Thorpe cleared his throat. “Miss Hamilton?”
Somehow Roman West’s expression managed to darken even further. His cold gaze seared me to the bone.
I got it.
Roman West was big, bad and dangerous.
And I was in a dangerous mood.
I pulled on a smile and looked him in the eye. “Roman West.”
His brow sank lower.
My smile sweetened. Maybe I had a death wish. Maybe I’d gone totally insane. I didn’t really care. Roman West shouldn’t have offered if he didn’t want me this badly. Men had all the choices in this world. I had one. If he regretted this marriage for the rest of his life, I could live with that.
Yeah, I was in a dangerous mood.
6
My father walked me down the aisle, one slow step after another drawing us closer and closer to the marriage arch. I almost didn’t recognize Roman when we finally got there. The raging storm was gone. His face wore a mask of indifference and his eyes were a blank slate of stone.
When we stopped beside him, my father recited the words a thousand fathers had recited before him, but I doubt many had issued it so thinly veiled in dark, ominous warnings. “I hand my daughter, Georga Rose Hamilton, into your keeping. As I have cherished her, so will you. As I have protected her, so will you. As I have guided her, so will you.”
Roman wasn’t required to say anything and he didn’t. He inclined his head at my father and hooked his arm in mine. I threw a look over my shoulder to give my father a reassuring smile. He returned a much grimmer version and I felt his eyes on my back as I turned forward to step through the marriage arch. He hadn’t been given the opportunity to voice his opinion about my match, but I gathered he was not happy. But this was my father. Would any man have been good enough for me?
On the other side, Pastor Newbury gestured for us to kneel side by side on a pair of silk embroidered pillows, still arm in arm.
Where there should have been a hundred doubts and fears pulsing through me, there was none. I was lit from the inside out by that spark of rebellion. I hadn’t courted it. I hadn’t even seen it coming until my gaze had collided with Roman West.
Jenna had taken a huge risk to live life on her own terms. I wasn’t that brave. Or maybe I just wasn’t that stupid. But I was tired of playing it safe. I was done with being the perfect girl with the perfect scores. I wanted to be reckless and careless. I’d rather suffer the repercussions of living than remain a passive passenger. I’d chosen to remain in society, but I would find a way to live on my own terms within this marriage.
Would I still feel this rebellious if I’d been kneeling here beside Daniel? I suspected not. I don’t know what that said about me—probably nothing good.
Roman’s fingers laced through mine as he extended our joined arms before the pastor. His hand was so much bigger than mine, his fingers thicker, his skin rougher…everything about his touch was foreign, his scent was ash and pine and overwhelmingly male, and I wasn’t surprised at the odd sensation coursing through me.
Pastor Newbury stooped to bind our hands loosely with a blue silk scarf as he blessed our union and beseeched the Good Lord to forgive our sins and unworthiness and deliver us from the curse of infertility.
From there he led straight into the vows that we were to repeat after him. For this part, I had to turn my head to look into Roman’s eyes. Still a blank slate of stone. If the eyes were the window to the soul, then Roman’s soul had taken a hiatus. A shiver crawled up my spine. I’d rather have the raging storm than this…this nothing.
I, Roman West, take you, Georga Rose Hamilton, to wife, to cherish and protect and guide until death do us part.
His voice startled me, a smooth baritone that made each word rumble up his throat. By far the most pleasant feature I’d encountered in the guy.
I, Georga Rose Hamilton, take you, Roman West, to husband, to honor and obey until death do us part.
And that was it.
Pastor Newbury bid us to stand and I was officially married to Roman West until death do us part. Divorce was not a concept tolerated in Capra. That was one half of the reason for these quasi-arranged marriages. Relationships were messy. In the old world, marriages were founded in love and most broke in hate. The other half of the reason was time. Childbearing favored the young. Our doctors had achieved an 80% success rate for IVF, but that number dropped dramatically once a woman hit her mid-twenties. Capra didn’t have the luxury of waiting for couples to find love.
The pastor unwrapped our hands and folded the silk scarf into a neat square before handing it to me. This would be the same scarf used to bound my newborn children one day. Our society was a strange mix of faith, science and rehashed traditions. I suppose we were hedging our bets, but sometimes it felt like we were just throwing spaghetti up to the ceiling to see if anything would stick.
Roman and I were quickly shunted on to a small room through the back for The Ringing. I’d only ever seen a picture of the laser tattoo machine, and it was smaller in real life. The operator was a man I didn’t recognize, but I supposed he was from the Quantum Zone.
He was a middle-aged man with peppered hair and a welcoming smile. “May I be the first to congratulate you on your nuptials.”
“Um, thanks,” I said, remembering my manners.
Roman made some noise. It could have been a response or perhaps he was just clearing his throat.
“I’m Mr. Farmley and I’ll be taking you through your Ringing today.” The smile faded from his lips but not from his light brown eyes as they settled on me. “Ladies first?”
My gaze slid to the machine that had been set up on a table. My feet refused to move.
“I’ll go first, if you’d prefer,” Roman said.
“That’s not necessary,” I said stiffly, irritated at the implication. I wasn’t scared of the machine. It was the finality of it all that froze me.
I got myself moving to sit in the designated chair.
“This won’t hurt at all,” Mr. Farmley said as he clamped my wrist into the brace and spread my fingers to fit the handprint indentures. “We just secure your hand so it remains absolutely still.”
The tattooing took about two minutes. All I felt was a warm, prickling sensation as the laser imprinted my skin. RW3Z in the middle with a lightly patterned line to form a pale blue band around the top part of my ring finger. It hadn’t hurt, there’d been no sizzle of fire-hot metal roasting skin, but there might as well have been. I was branded. With my husband’s citizen number.
Roman would already have his citizen number tattooed to his inner wrist, but he still had to be Ringed. Once he was done, we collected my overnight bag and were ushered out a side door and onto the street, efficiently making way for the next couple. Chauffeured sedans were pulled up alongside the curb, but it seemed Roman had his own transportation. A black truck parked across the street with a double cab and some sleek contraption fastened to the hood. When he opened the rear door of the double cab and tossed my bag onto the bunk seat, I almost expected to be tossed in after. Between the blank stares and long silences, I certainly felt like a piece of unwanted baggage he’d acquired.
Needless to say, he didn’t toss me in the
back.
He walked around to open the door for me. “Mind the high step.”
I had to gather my skirts above the knee to climb up and slide onto the passenger seat. He closed the door and went around to the driver’s side. Without another word, he put the truck into gear and started the engine.
We rode in silence, although there wasn’t time for it to become really awkward. A right turn off Main Street toward the lake, then a sharp left, and I knew exactly where we were headed. Parklands. Hemmed in by a six foot wall. Easy enough to scale, but that wasn’t what kept people out. Parklands was the Council Residential District and if a patrolling guard caught you wandering about, there’d be hell to pay.
“You live here?” I asked, frowning at Roman’s shadowy profile as he pulled up before the barrier. “I thought Parklands was reserved for the council families.”
“And wardens,” Roman said.
It struck me anew how little I knew about the wardens. Their role inside town was minimal and we’d been distinctly discouraged from showing any interest outside the walls. I’d never expected to ever meet a warden. Now I was married to one. Not just any warden. According to my mom, Roman had grown up outside the walls.
The prospect should have terrified me.
Instead, I felt a little thrill. I’d never leave this town, but perhaps I’d get the chance to see some of the outside world through Roman’s eyes. If we ever got around to a proper conversation.
A guard emerged from the kiosk and Roman rolled down his window.
“Evening, sir,” the guard said.
“Jeremy,” Roman acknowledged with a slight nod toward me. “This is my wife, Georga.”
The guard’s gaze flickered to me, the barest hint of a smile touching his mouth. “Congratulations, sir, I didn’t realize we were expecting good news today.”
“You and me both,” Roman murmured, too low for the guard to hear.