His gaze never leaves Dillon. “She deserves this, Dillon. You know she does.”
“It’s none of your business,” Hannah answers.
He faces her, his face red, and he leans forward. “I’m the one who turned down the internship in the first place because I wanted Emma to have it. It’s perfect for her, and everyone should see that!”
“You…what?” I hear my own voice as if it’s coming from a distance.
Jace’s eyes flare with a sudden dawning horror and then his shoulders sag on an exhale. “Shit.”
The blood is roaring through my ears. “You what?” I cry.
“Emma, let me explain—”
“It’s okay,” Dillon says in a low but commanding voice that silences everyone at the table. He surprises me by putting an arm over my shoulder and gently squeezing. I’m shaking and he’s strangely calm. “I’m sure Jace meant well.”
Warily, I search his eyes for a sign of anger. Instead, he seems almost happy. “I had no idea,” I say.
“I know. It doesn’t matter.”
For some reason, I brace myself. His smile frightens me more than his tension. “You mean that?” I whisper.
“I’m going to make this all okay.” His eyes glimmer like tiny blue flames. “You’ll see why tomorrow.”
Dread sends shivers through me.
“You cold?” he asks. He pulls me closer. “Come here, baby.”
Don’t call me that! I want to scream.
But I’m careful not to say a word.
I study myself in the bathroom mirror and Cinderella stares back. I’ve turned myself into a fairy princess—at least from the outside. All that’s missing is the smile. I’ve been even more afraid since Mrs. Lyght dropped her little bomb at lunch yesterday. That’s how screwed up my world has become. This is the best news I’ve ever gotten and all I can think about is whether my boyfriend will poke more holes in himself because of it. Is that the wonderful surprise he’s got planned for me?
Roses arrived earlier today.
All along I’ve been thinking that everything will be okay by prom. But Dillon picks me up in an hour, and my stomach is so twisted I haven’t been able to eat since lunch yesterday. I called Mrs. Hobbs. She said Dillon was fine—that he’d been busy on his computer and on the phone making some sort of plans. She told me she’d spoken to the doctor. There was a scheduling snafu but she had a consultation scheduled for next week. She was going to wait and tell him about it after prom. Everything is all right.
Still, I lay awake last night, every creak of the house, every hoot of an owl making me jump. My eyes flickered to the window so often I finally turned on the bedside lamp.
I have to get ahold of myself. If Dillon is slipping out of control, he wouldn’t be making all these plans, would he? The thought calms me a little—enough to appreciate my reflection. Thank God for salons. Hannah and I met at the neighborhood spa this morning and treated ourselves to manis and pedis, worrying over which shade of polish to choose as if it were the biggest decision in the world. She was sweet with me, almost protective. I’m doing the right thing for Dillon, and she wants me to know it.
From there, we moved to the salon. Sandra, the stylist, grinned when she felt the thickness of my hair and said, “This is going to be fun.” Fun turned out to be curling my hair and gathering it in back in a jeweled clip, leaving soft waves to drape over my shoulders and back. I’ve had my hair in a ponytail so often I hadn’t realized how long it’s grown. Sandra curled tendrils at my ears and fluffed up my bangs and then she did my makeup.
Even now, with the apricot dress soft against my skin and my hair and makeup done, it’s hard to believe this is actually prom. I’ve imagined this night ever since my freshman year. Marissa and I used to thumb through racks of prom dresses, picking the ones we’d wear while my mom would patiently wait and nod over every frilly gown.
Tears prick my eyes at the memory. Marissa should have been with me today—I should have been with her. Their prom isn’t for another week, but I don’t even know if they’re all going as a group or if she’s found a date. I’ve messed up—so many things I’ve messed up. I reach for my phone, suddenly knowing that I need to talk to her. I open contacts and hit her name, waiting as the phone dials, nearly breathless to hear her voice.
The call connects. “Hey, Emma.”
Not Marissa’s voice.
“Hi, Sarah.” My eyes close and my head dips. “Where’s Marissa?”
“Kitchen. She went to get us sodas.”
“Then I’ll wait.”
“It’s not a good time.”
“Sarah—”
“It was a good time last week or the week before or the week before or the week—”
I cut her off with a sharp, “I get it, all right? But I need to talk to her now.”
There’s a frustrated huff of air on the line. “Did it ever occur to you that she might have needed to talk to you over the past year when you’ve been too busy with your boyfriend to make time for her?”
“Sarah.”
“I’ll tell her you called.”
“Sarah—”
The screen flashes. Call ended.
I stare at the phone. I don’t know what to do. Should I call back? Should I call Marissa’s house phone? I’m like a kid at a birthday party blindfolded and turned around so many times I don’t know where to turn. I’m reaching out and grasping nothing but air.
I’m still staring at the phone when it beeps again. I startle, but it’s not Marissa. It’s a text from Mom.
Can we Skype? I’d love to see your dress—just for a few minutes.
And I type YES because I can’t stand feeling this alone. Because after everything, I still want my mom.
When her call rings in on my computer, I hit the video button. My face flashes on-screen and there’s an instant when Mom’s brows draw in and her smile falters. I can see the question on her face. Are you okay? Because even with cover-up and two kinds of de-puffing eye cream, I still look like Tired, Stressed-Out Cinderella. The fact that she sees it—that she knows me that well—brings a lump of regret to my throat. Maybe we’ll get back to the point where she can say, “Honey, you look like shit.” But right now, she can’t. And the expression on her face says she knows it, too.
“Let me see your dress,” she asks.
And I move the laptop so she can see the satin bodice and the line of fabric hugging my middle and hips. It was tighter two weeks ago, which makes me realize that I’ve lost weight.
“What shoes are you wearing?”
“Four-inch heels that you’d hate.”
“Ouch,” she says, but she smiles. “You’ll be as tall as Dillon. Have you talked to Lauren?”
“Not since your birthday. We haven’t been able to connect.” Truth is, I’ve been avoiding her calls. She’s the one person I can’t lie to, and I’m too embarrassed to admit what’s happening. Even this past Saturday at Mom’s birthday lunch she could tell something was wrong, but I blamed it on the fight with Dad. She was so relieved I’d finally told him that she didn’t even ask about Dillon. The subject of Rome turned out to be easy, too. I dodged the whole discussion by saying the application was finished and I didn’t want to talk about it. Everyone assumed I was nervous about jinxing my opportunity. Another thing I’ll have to explain, but not yet. Not until Dillon has seen someone and I can finish the story with a happy ending.
The silence stretches out and I almost feel sorry for Mom. For a long time, I’ve wanted her to suffer the way we have, but I’m starting to see that she has. She cried when I brought her the memory book and told her Dad was still holding out hope. I wanted to forgive her then. I almost did and maybe I would have if I hadn’t just made a different choice. She should have been strong enough to make the choice I did. To stay.
“Well, I won’t keep you,” she says. “You look beautiful, honey. Tell Dillon to take care of you tonight and drive safe.”
“I will.”
“I lo
ve you, Emma.”
I flush and look down. “I’ll send you pictures tomorrow.”
When I hear the doorbell a little later, I walk out of my room to find Dad standing in the entryway, holding the door for Dillon. He looks like every girl’s prince with his hair gleaming as black as the tux that’s fitted over his wide shoulders. His shirt is white with pleats down his flat midriff, and his vest is a glossy charcoal gray. He’s holding a wrist corsage of white and peach roses.
“Oh,” I say stupidly. “I forgot to get you a boutonniere.”
He smiles. His cheekbones are sharper and I know he’s lost weight, too. “I don’t care about that, Em. It’s enough to see you like this. You’re beautiful.”
“Thank you.” His voice is reverent, full of love. This is a night I’ve dreamed of, and with him standing here like this, I can almost forget about all the other stuff. The blister on his wrist is healed so that it barely shows. Even the bandage is gone from the back of his hand, replaced with a smaller pad over his palm. I remember now that he got his stitches out today.
“You both look wonderful,” Dad says. He’s beaming at me, and it’s as if we’ve fallen right back into the roles of doting dad and little girl. As if everything is right with the world. For one night I want it to be. I want to ride off in an orange pumpkin and have my magical evening. I want to try to believe in fairy tales again. I lean up and kiss Dad’s cheek.
“I’ll see you at the lake for pictures,” he says.
When Dillon swings open the door of the truck, it smells like vanilla and leather polish, and every surface is shining. “My lady,” he says. He sees me struggling with my purse and my skirt and reaches out a hand. “Here, let me take that.” He tucks my purse under his arm and takes my hand in his and helps me up, then carefully arranges my skirt around my feet before closing the door.
He’s smiling when he climbs in beside me. “Are you good? You comfortable?”
“I’m fine,” I say. “The truck looks amazing.”
“I want everything to be perfect for you.” His eyes lock onto mine. “Tonight is just the beginning.”
He shifts the truck into drive, and I spend a minute trying to pull on my seat belt and arrange it so it won’t crease my dress. He turns left out of my street and I straighten the wrist corsage, smelling the sweetness of the roses. I’m a little light-headed and realize now I should have had something to eat or drink. When he makes another left, I sit up straighter. “The lake is back that way.”
He turns to give me a quick smile. “We’re not going to the lake.”
My heart revs with the sound of the engine. “Did the plans change? I need to call my dad. He’s meeting us over there.”
He turns out of the neighborhood and signals for the freeway entrance.
“Dillon?”
“Remember I said I had a surprise? This is it.”
He turns onto the freeway. Dread spirals up my spine, tightening every nerve ending. “You said you were all right. You said everything was all right.”
“Everything is better than all right,” he says. He’s thrumming with some kind of manic energy. I look around and spot a small black suitcase on the floor of the backseat. My throat goes dry. “Why is there a suitcase back there?”
“It’s part of the surprise.”
Panic beats in the pulse of my neck. “Dillon, what’s going on?”
“I’m going to make sure no one can ever separate us again.”
Sweat dampens my palms as I look at the open highway ahead of us. I lean down for my purse and my cell phone. I brush away my skirts, then turn to face Dillon. “Where’s my purse? I need to call my dad.”
“I’ve got it over here.” He pats the compartment on his door.
I work to breathe, to keep my voice low and controlled as the miles stretch out behind us. “Where are we going, Dillon? Tell me now. I mean it.”
“I’m taking you to Vegas,” Dillon says. He glances at me, his eyes shining. “That’s the surprise. We’re getting married tonight.”
The words sink in along with the complete certainty in his gaze. My chest convulses and an unhinged sort of laugh bubbles up my throat. He doesn’t seem to notice. He laughs, too. I cover my mouth with my hands because I’m going to lose it completely and I can’t do that. I’m such an idiot. The word rings through my head. I’d nearly convinced myself the surprise would be a sapphire bracelet to match the earrings he’d given me at Christmas.
My heart is beating like a bird in a cage. I work to breathe. Stay calm. Breathe. “Dillon, no. This is crazy. We’re not getting married. We’re going to prom. Tonight is prom.”
He shifts to the fast lane. “I told you it would be a special night, didn’t I?”
I swallow a choked sob as another mile marker flies by outside my window. “I want to go to prom, Dillon. I’ve never been, and everyone is waiting for us. We’re supposed to be at the lake for pictures.”
“It’s okay. I told Hannah to let the others know that we wouldn’t be there.”
I grip the handle of the door as he takes the overpass heading west. “It’s sweet. Really sweet. But—”
“This will be our prom story,” he says. “One day you’ll be telling our kids how Dad whisked you away to get married.”
Another awful laugh bubbles up, this one sounding more like a cry. “This isn’t the right way. When we get married, it’ll be with our families there and our friends.”
“Our families and friends,” he repeats with an edge to his voice. He lowers the visor—we’re heading full west now and the sun is sinking. It’ll be dark in another hour, and panic spikes at the thought. “Why should any of them be a part of this? They don’t understand. They think you’re giving up your future for me. They don’t get that we’re committing ourselves to a future together.”
I shake my head but he doesn’t see. “Dillon, we don’t need to prove anything to anyone.”
“I’m not doing this for them,” he says, his look full of surprise. “I’m doing this for you. For us. So we’ll never have to worry about being parted again.”
A green sign flashes overhead. I scan the upcoming exits, but I’m not familiar with this area. Downtown Phoenix is fading away, and instead of strip centers and red-tiled roofs there’s more open desert.
“Dillon, stop,” I say. “We can’t do this.”
“That’s what I thought at first, too,” he says. “But we’re both eighteen and the ceremonies in Vegas are completely legal. We’ll need to file the paperwork with the state of Arizona, but there’s nothing to stop us.” He reaches out and curves a finger around a tendril of hair by my ear. I jerk my head away.
“Don’t worry, baby. It’s all planned out. I found us a little chapel.” His eyes glow as he looks at my hair, my dress. “You’re going to be the most beautiful bride.”
I press myself into the corner of my seat. “You have to stop the truck. This isn’t the way to do things.”
For the first time a flash of unease crawls over his face. “Did you want a big wedding? I know we talked about it once before and I told you I’d give you your dream.”
“Yes,” I cry quickly. “I want a fairy-tale wedding, Dillon. With everyone there.”
He nods. “We’ll do it again, then. A second wedding, just the way you want.” His expression softens, turns dreamy. “My mom will love helping you plan it and we’ll have all the time in the world. As soon as we have the license, no one can separate us—not even your dad.”
He turns up the radio. Bass drums throb from the speakers, beating through me like bursts of fear. I stare through the windshield. The billboards are a blur, the mountains looming in the distance. How did I get here? How did this happen?
I think of Dad; I can hear his voice in my head.
We only see once it’s too late.
But I know now that he’s wrong. We do see. We see every damn sign along the way. We choose not to pay attention.
Oh God. I’ve been so angry with Mom all th
is time. I could never get past the question of How do you leave? I never for a second wondered if the real question was How do you stay?
A rolling ball of brambles skitters across the highway, swept ahead of us in an uncaring breeze. My gaze follows it as it bounces across asphalt and into a field of dirt before we’ve moved too far past for me to see it anymore. I’m being swept along, every bit as out of control as that tumbleweed.
Except that I’m not some dead thing. I have a choice.
An impossible choice.
I blink away tears and draw in a breath. “Stop the car, Dillon. I’m serious.” I hold on to the dash with one hand and the edge of his seat with the other. “I’m not doing this. We’re not doing this.”
“It’s the only way,” he says.
“But it’s not. There are always other ways.” I turn off the radio. “Take the next exit.”
He’s staring straight ahead.
“I’m not marrying you.” I raise my voice over the noise of the engine and the rush of air. “Do you hear me?”
The truck jerks as he speeds up. Another exit flies by. “Stop the truck so we can talk!” Fear throbs through my voice. My gaze darts up and back. Where’s a cop? Please, God, let there be a cop! He hits a pothole and I scream as the truck jumps, yanking my seat belt tight. “Stop it, Dillon!” I yell. “You’ll kill us both!”
His fingers whiten as he grips the steering wheel tighter.
“Dillon, you promised you would never hurt me. You promised!”
It’s as if he doesn’t hear me. What do I do? Marry him? Do I marry him?
Blood beats in my ears. “If I’m dead, I can’t love you, Dillon.” The words fly from my mouth, desperate and afraid, but I see his face flicker with doubt. I force myself to shift closer to him. I grip the back of his seat with my hand. “If I’m dead, how can I save you?”
He slants a look at me, his eyes staring. Hopeful. Happy. His foot lifts off the gas. The truck stops rattling and bouncing, though the desert is still flying by.
I swallow the urge to be sick. “It’s okay, Dillon. We save each other, don’t we?”
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