by Masen, Kat
“Oliver, please… don’t do this.”
“Then walk away right now. With me. Don’t go back to that restaurant.”
The ultimatum unraveled itself. I never wanted to place one on her, but my rage controls my irrational thoughts.
It’s that life or me.
No halfway point.
No comprises.
Her face turns ashen. She crosses her arms tight against her chest as she squirms on the spot.
“Just stop! We’re all adults here, and there’s a proper way to do things, and running away isn’t one of them,” she answers, patronizing me.
“Do you love me?”
“Oliver…”
Her silence doesn’t warrant a response. It’s clear my feelings aren’t replicated. My heartbreak begins to transpire to grief, giant waves crashing into my already shattered walls.
What’s left of me is fragments on the floor, scared that the next wind will blow them away. So I make the decision I should have done a long time ago when I knew she would never change, especially for me.
“That’s the difference, I guess, between you and me,” I croak, my head down unable to look into her eyes. “Goodbye, Gabriella.” Spinning on my heel, I walk away, desperate to escape her face and this life. She’s stolen a part of me, making it impossible to even think about how I’m going to pull myself together.
Gabriella Carmichael had done what I’d tried to avoid all along, yet somewhere during our time together, I allowed her to own a piece of me. To come so close to pure love, and to lose it so violently is the ultimate pain.
And now, I have to bear the ramifications of my careless heart.
I have no clue where I want to go or be.
But I know this much—I want to get as far away from her as possible.
Forget she ever existed.
Forget how she felt beneath my touch.
And forget how I fell hopelessly in love with her.
Gabriella
Six Months Later
“Gabriella, shoulders straight.”
Amelda, our seamstress, works around me, impatiently running her thread against the expensive laced fabric my mother insisted I wear. The fabric was imported from Italy, handcrafted and worth a small fortune.
As I stand on the podium—the final dress fitting before the wedding tomorrow—my eyes hastily wander to the tall golden mirror perched in front of me.
The structure of my cheekbones appears gaunt, somewhat aging me beyond my years. My skin has become a pasty white, being no longer sun-kissed by the California sun.
My mother was quick to castigate me for allowing my appearance to fade away before the most important day of my life. She called in her emergency beauty crew—the team attempting to work miracles on my tired body. No matter what they forced upon me, it was unable to remove the dark circles carved beneath my eyes from the insomnia which has depleted me.
My frame, once fit and curvaceous in the right places, has lost its shape. From the top of the princess-cut bodice, below my collarbone, my chest is visibly bony. The reflection, a small fragment of the hell I have been battling inside of me, reminded me of what the last six months has become.
I walked back into my prison, succumbed to the guilt my family had placed upon me the second I walked back through the door the night after I made love to Oliver.
It’s as if a spell had been cast over me—my feelings, my thoughts everything controlled by my father. The moment he laid eyes on me, I knew it was over between Oliver and me. There would be no turning back.
Father sat quietly behind his table, ignoring my presence as my mother stood by my side. The stale stench of cigar smoke lingered inside the room. The olive-green walls surrounded by dark brown shelves housing ancient literature feels like it’s closing in on me. The room itself has a dark shadow with the drapes closed and only the small desk lamp illuminating my father’s face.
“You have disgraced our family, Gabriella,” he bellowed, refusing to look at me. “You have humiliated the King family name.”
“Father,” I pleaded, desperate for him to understand. “I didn’t mean to. Oliver is… I promise you will love him just like I do.”
“Love?” he ridiculed, followed by a turbulent laugh. “You think love matters? He is not the right fit for our family. Don’t be ridiculous!”
The echo of his yelling bounced in the room, my mother fanning herself as she often did when my father was mad. His eyes were narrowed. Rigid. Cold. Hard. Anger was a silent hunter looming in the night ready to strike when you least expected it. But I did expect it and don’t know why I thought this would be any different. I love Oliver, I thought I could make Father see that.
“There is a proper protocol for this family. I gave into your childish whims and allowed you time in California, assuming you would learn your responsibilities and what is asked of you,” he reminded, in the same arctic tone. “Instead, you have embarrassed us, spending time with some boy from Australia? We are pureblood American! You have disgraced us, our heritage. You have continually brought shame to this family.”
My lips began to tremble, the fight to control my destiny vanishing in a fleeting moment. He never argued with his fists, but his words packed a powerful punch. Father’s words always had an air of finality to them, and no matter how hard I rallied against them, nothing would change his mind.
“Now, you will listen to me. You will marry Sebastian. You will move into the King residence once you’re married. You will relieve your mother of her duties and take on her charitable roles. I will, once again, ensure that this scandal does not break to the press. This is damaging to my reputation.”
“Your reputation?” I cried. “What about what I want? I don’t want to marry Sebastian. He’s not good for me. And I don’t want to follow in mother’s footsteps. I deserve more!”
“You deserve nothing!”
“I deserve a life,” I plead, wiping the tears away from my cheeks. “I deserve to make my own decisions.”
“You were born into this family carrying our legacy. I will not have any child of mine deterring from what is requested of you. Things could have turned out a lot different for you, Gabriella. Why don’t you ask your mother?” The bitter resentment carried in his voice. I didn’t want to ask any more questions. “Now, you walk out of this room because tomorrow morning we have breakfast with Sebastian. Your engagement is to be announced and a wedding date set.”
“I can’t do this,” I sobbed openly.
My father turned to face me, his cold and heartless stare boring into me. “You will do this. You know why? Because without this family, you are nothing. No place to live, no money to survive. And trust me when I say, your betrayal to us will pay a very heavy price.”
The nightmare replayed over and over until I shut my eyes and try to forget that night. Forget the night I was pulled back into the dungeon, a slave to my family’s responsibilities to society.
Andrea, my mother’s hairstylist, shoves her iPad in front of me, requesting I look at the endless pictures of styles because my wild hair will be a nightmare to tame. My mother got her two cents in, telling me how awful I was as a child and why she let the nannies take care of it.
I don’t expect anything less.
I smiled, nodded my head, and went back to staring at the mirror like a ghost.
This drags on for what feels like hours. My sisters join me, my eldest pregnant with baby number two, reiterating how poor timing this was to get married during her third trimester. Of course, it’s all about her and nothing to do with me.
“So, tonight Sebastian is going on his infamous bachelor party,” Clara snickers. “The Playboy King’s last hurrah.”
For as long as I could remember growing up, Clara and Antoinette bullied me into thinking the worse about situations and people. God forbid they look in their own backyards and see their husbands are not so perfect either.
Things between Sebastia
n and I are steady. We reached a mutual agreement about our impending marriage—as long as I don’t hinder his political career, he doesn’t care what I do.
My sister planned a girls’ night out.
I’m not stupid, Sebastian had dropped hints that their night involved many rather questionable bars in town, but given his new job, my father warned him to be on his best behavior.
“You’ve lost so much weight. A bit too much, now you look like a starved African woman,” my mother states.
“That’s rather politically incorrect of you, Mother,” I scold her. “Comparing my weight to women struggling in Africa is uncalled for.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Gabriella, stop getting all worked up over nothing.”
As soon as I’m done, I excuse myself to get ready for tonight. There’s nothing special planned to say goodbye to my singlehood. Simply a dinner at La Chateau with my mother and sisters’ friends. I invited Aubrey to attend, but their flight won’t arrive until late tonight. I was disappointed she won’t be there but glad I get to see her tomorrow. We still chat on the phone every so often, but not once is Oliver mentioned.
I am wearing the dress my mother laid out for me—pale pink reaching to my knees with modest straps and closed-in black pumps. It’s ugly, but I don’t care how I look. Tonight will drag on no matter what I wear.
We arrive at the restaurant around seven. My mother and her friends laugh around me, drinking Dom Perignon as they ridicule other women in their circle. Nasty comments about weight and botched plastic surgery.
My sister, Clara, drinks too much. Tipsy and splashing her champagne glass around, accidentally spilling some on her Versace dress. She trash talks everyone as well—a minion of my mother. No one, no matter how accomplished or beautiful they were, will ever be good enough in their eyes.
Antoinette, my older sister, complained the whole time. I’d feel sorry for her if she weren’t such a bitch. She ends up leaving early, giving me an excuse to exit the restaurant to gather my thoughts.
I stand in the side alley, pulling out my cell. Oliver’s number is still stored in my phone. I have no clue whether or not it’s still active, I’ve been too scared to call him.
I need closure before tomorrow.
I just need him to know how sorry I am for treating him the way I did.
It’s all I can think about.
My finger scans through my phonebook, and in one swift motion, I hit dial only to be met by a string of tones.
The number is disconnected.
Lowering my head, I slide against the dirty brick wall until I’ve reached the ground. The small piece of my heart still beating shrinks, setting a wave of nausea as my chest tightens, and the air becomes incredibly stiff.
I’ve waited too long to say I’m sorry.
I’ve waited too long to tell him I love him too.
My insecurities and lack of confidence guided me back into the dark place only Oliver had managed to pull me out of. He was my knight in shining armor, and ironically, the real Prince Charming.
But tomorrow, my so-called fairy tale is supposed to begin. Five-hundred guests, every influential mogul and their trophy wives will be in attendance watching me walk down the aisle.
The reception, a staggering one point five million dollars, is being held at my parents’ property. My mother planned the whole thing, so the details are irrelevant to me.
I just need to be there, all dressed and ready to walk down the aisle.
And this time tomorrow, I will be Mrs. King.
Gabriella
Inside the grand property of my parents’ home, guests have gathered, seating themselves on the rows of white chairs perfectly positioned on the pristinely manicured lawns.
The lush gardens are the ideal backdrop for the day. My mother loves gardenias, hiring a famous wedding coordinator who made sure my mother got exactly what she wanted. They are placed at the end of each aisle, accompanied by a fancy emerald bow—emerald being the color of our family’s emblem.
It is beautiful, but weddings always are. It’s just a completely surreal feeling when you’re the person it centers around.
As I stand behind the tall pillars, the wedding coordinator, Jean-Claude, gives me a one-minute warning.
Several people are hurrying around me touching my hair, powdering my face.
The train of my dress is dragged along the ground into a perfect position.
There are voices all talking at once, instructions about who is walking when. Even the poor flower girls are being reprimanded for accidentally spilling some petals before the music has started.
I clench my fists tightly, my nails digging into the palm of my hand, yet the pain is absent. The only thing I am acutely aware of is the sound of my heart throbbing against the cage of my chest. It’s beating incredibly loud, restricting my ability to breathe evenly.
The lace against my skin suddenly feels tight, trapping me beneath and causing a wave of heat to engulf my skin. The room begins to spin, with the voices becoming a sea of noises until Jean-Claude calls my name. “Gabriella, it’s time!”
There is no time to think or even process his words as my father has placed his arm into mine, and the aisle is before us. Classical music begins to play, and the guests rise from their chairs with judgment on their faces. My feet move on their own accord, lost in a hazy daze until Sebastian is standing before me, taking me from my father.
He looks handsome, dashing as always in his black tuxedo and perfectly placed bowtie.
But he isn’t Oliver.
He isn’t the man I love.
The minister begins to speak, and with my hands placed nervously in Sebastian’s, I scan the crowd until my gaze meets Aubrey and Chance. They both look well, Aubrey wearing a mauve chiffon dress, and Chance in a navy-blue suit with tie.
In a room of five hundred people, the only two people who feel like family are smiling back at me. As the minister continues his sermon about the sanctity of marriage, my mind wanders back to when I first met Chance and Aubrey.
My heavy suitcase dragged along the path, stopping just shy of the porch steps. The house looked weathered, perhaps rustic would be a more appropriate term to use.
“Hi,” a voice at the fence startles me. A female neighbor. “I’m Aubrey. This is CJ, my son. So, you’re staying here for the summer?”
I nodded, noticing the little boy playing in the yard with his ball.
“I’m Gabriella. And yes, just here for the summer.”
A small shaggy goat appeared beside the boy. I had to do a double-take.
A goat?
Here in Hermosa Beach?
How bizarre.
“You have a goat?”
“That’s Pixy.” Aubrey smiled proudly. “He’s also known as Esmeralda Snowflake or even, if you ever catch my husband around, Mutton or Bugger.”
“Hey, who you talking smack about?” A man walked out onto the porch. He had a thick head of copper hair, and the closer he walked toward us, his face became more apparent. Rather good looking with baby blue eyes and a chiseled jawline beneath his scruffy face.
“Chance, this is Gabriella, our new neighbor for the summer.”
“Nice to meet ya, Gabbie.” Chance extended his hand, his accent thick and not from around here.
I reached out to be polite and contemplated telling him I didn’t care for that nickname but decided to do that another time.
“Please excuse my husband and his need to abbreviate everything.” She motioned for me to lean in. “He’s Aussie. It’s what they do.”
“Oi,” Chance hollered from where he stood. “There’s a lot of things I do, princess, many of which you never complain about.”
“And please excuse his crass comments.”
I laughed, already liking the two of them.
“It’s a breath of fresh air,” I told Aubrey. “I think I’m going to like it here.”
Their support and on
going friendship, despite my flaws and mistakes, means everything to me. Chance and Aubrey have always supported me from the moment I stepped foot next door. They never once judged me for my poor decisions, nor did they inflict their personal opinions on me. They welcomed me with open arms, and no one in my entire life has done that besides them.
A shot of confidence ran through me.
The only person’s opinion I should care for is my own.
If I don’t stand up for what I want, for who I want to become, then I might as well be dead.
Regardless of the eyes all heavily focused on me, when I stare back at Sebastian, my heart confirms what I have known on all along.
This will never work.
I can’t half give myself to someone. Even with his flaws, Sebastian deserves someone who will love him whole. That’s what love can do, it can bring out the strong version of you when you least expect it.
“I’m… I’m sorry, Sebastian. I can’t do this.”
He smiles through his teeth. “Gabriella, don’t be ridiculous. Everyone is watching.”
I pull his hand to follow me behind the screen covered in gardenias. The crowd gasps, whispers beginning, but I no longer afford to care what they think. This has to be about me, for once.
“Gabriella, are you fucking kidding me right now?”
“I don’t care. So they’ll watch us, judge us, and then they’ll move onto something else newsworthy. I care about you, but I can’t marry you. My heart doesn’t belong here.”
“Heart?” he seethes, eyes blazing at me. “It’s a goddamn marriage. Do you know how good we look on paper?”
“Paper,” I repeat, bowing my head. “But paper means nothing, Sebastian.”
I step off the backstage, hiding behind the pillars as the sounds of the crowd become louder. My parents both race toward me.
My father is anything but forgiving, towering over me ready to rein in his control with his stare deadly and ready to kill. “Gabriella, get back on that stage and marry Sebastian. How dare you humiliate us. If you walk away, you walk away with nothing. You understand me? You will be nothing to our family. I will make damn sure of that.”
