by Nyla K
Marry the boring rich girl, and then you’ll be unstoppable.
Chapter Seventeen
Traci
Sham.
It’s an interesting word. Sounds a little too fun for its definition, though.
Fraud. Pretend. Not genuine.
That’s what this wedding is, and that’s what the entire goddamn marriage will be. A sham.
Way too silly-sounding. Catastrophe is more like it.
Dad and I are sitting in the car in silence on our way home from picking up my bridesmaid dress, and his tux.
Yep. This wedding is really happening. Lazarus is marrying Evangeline in two days, and I haven’t been sober since my junior year.
It’s hard to believe I barely ever used to take my medication, because now… Now that my best friend is gone and the man I have a secret longing for so strong sometimes I can barely feel anything else is marrying a walking cliché, my prescriptions are the only things keeping me from cancelling it all out.
I haven’t talked to Merci since she borrowed some kid’s phone at a Halloween party and called me drunk, which was several months ago. Apparently this boarding school she’s at is more like a prison, because they don’t even let them have cell phones. I’ve never heard of such things.
It sucks having lost the first real friend I’ve had since my mom died. I feel like I’m floating through each day, just existing for the sake of keeping myself upright, but it’s becoming more and more difficult.
And then there’s Lazarus.
He’s getting fucking married, which is already unbelievable. But the fact that I’m expected to be in his wedding is really the icing on the cruel shit cake life is force-feeding me.
The wedding is going to be huge. Ceremony and reception at one of the most expensive resorts in Miami, over three hundred guests munching on hors d’oeuvres prepared by a gourmet chef, bottles of Dom everywhere… Just a big, fat display of money and affluence, and all fake fake fake everywhere.
Lazarus insisted that I be a bridesmaid, though I think it was more for my dad than anything. Dad’s the best man, obviously, and the rest of the wedding party is made up of Evangeline’s friends and relatives, so I think he wanted to have someone else up there with the two of them, so it would feel more like a marriage of two people and less like Evangeline is hosting a half-million-dollar party in her own honor.
The dress is pretty, I will say. It’s a cream-colored satin, low in the back with a high-slit and those shoulder straps that fall down a bit. I look sexy wearing it, so I guess that will be a plus. The last thing I want is to feel like a child standing up there next to Evangeline’s silicone-stuffed friends.
I peer at my father, watching him as he drives. His brow is furrowed, and he’s obviously stressed out. I can see it around his eyes. He’s overtired from overthinking. I recognize the look.
“Dad…” my voice chirps out before I can even decide if I want to speak up or not.
“Yea, T,” he sighs, still watching the road.
“Are you really going to let Lazarus marry that -” I pause before I say cunt and change my wording to, “Woman?”
His eyes dart to mine for a moment. “Trace, it’s not a matter of letting him do anything. He wants to marry her.”
“Okay, but do you want him to marry her?” I shift in my seat to face him.
His silence answers my question before he has a chance to bullshit me.
“It’s not about what I want,” he mumbles, with a visible tick in his jaw. “It’s his life.” He comes to a stop at a light and turns his face to mine, giving me a broad fake smile. “And I wish them all the best.”
I can’t help but laugh, though it’s more out of sickening amusement than actual humor.
“Dad, that’s ridiculous. He’s been your best friend forever. You know they’re not right together, why would you let him -”
“Trace, enough,” he stops me. “Like I said, Lazarus wants to marry Evangeline. And so he will. You’re right, he’s been my best friend for a long time, and the one thing I know most about him is that if he really wants something, nothing will stop him from getting it.”
My stomach twists painfully. “And what he wants is Evangeline? Really?”
“It’s not even about her,” he whispers, head shaking a bit as he pulls through the gate of our community. “He’s been through a lot in his life. He wants something that he never had growing up. I get it.”
“Yea, but…” My words get lost in my throat, not knowing what I could even say to that.
The argument is futile. He’s marrying the bitch in two days, and we all just have to lie back and take it.
Dad is quiet as he parks in our driveway and turns off the engine. We both get out of the car and grab our garment bags, bringing them inside. I drape mine over a chair at the breakfast bar, going for a bottle of aloe water in the fridge. I kill half of it then hand it to Dad to finish the rest, like we always do.
My eyes fixate on the acceptance letter to the University of Miami, hanging onto the fridge door by a Statue of Liberty magnet. It makes me cringe.
All these feelings, these emotions… They’re annoying. I want them gone, now.
Nothing an orange pill or two won’t fix, I suppose.
“Trace, I know it’ll be different with Lazarus married, but he’s still our family,” my father speaks from my side, his tone like a switchblade poking at my heart. “That won’t change, I promise.”
That’s great, Dad. But the problem is I don’t want him to just be my family. I want to be in Evangeline’s place.
Nodding slowly, I fake a smile to extricate myself from this conversation so I can go upstairs and be alone.
Hours later, I’m lying in bed, staring at Lazarus’s number in my phone, wishing I could talk to him. I haven’t seen him in a few days, and even that was only a quick pop-in. He’s been running around doing things for his wedding. Plus him and Dad have been busy at work, trying to fit all their client meetings around the four-day bachelor party trip to Vegas they took, the wedding and then the honeymoon. God, don’t think about the honeymoon.
I just know they probably got up to some crazy shit out there in Vegas. If Lazarus is saying goodbye to his freedom, then there was likely a lot of sinning going on in the city made of it.
I wonder if he’s the kind of person who remains faithful in a loveless marriage. Honestly, it could go either way. He definitely has a moral compass, and if he’s going through all the trouble to show people that he can be a husband, then one could assume he wouldn’t want to be a cheating one.
But then he’s also a very dark person with a lot of demons, which I happen to find insanely sexy. Maybe he’s only getting married to someone he obviously doesn’t love because he knows he’ll be getting his rocks off with all sorts of secret flings, anyway.
My mind is spiraling. I can feel it already… And the more I think about Lazarus, especially about him having sex, with anyone really, the more it brings an aching throb to my core.
I want to touch him. I want him to touch me.
I want so much that I know I’ll never get and it drives me absolutely, lustfully mad. I just wish I could see him, or listen to him talk. Maybe that would sate this desire that’s running rampant through my mind and body like a disease.
But I won’t see him until tomorrow night, at his rehearsal dinner. And after that it’ll be his wedding day, and I’ll have to stand there and watch as he marries someone who is so ridiculously wrong for him it makes me want to scream at the top of my lungs.
Instead of screaming, I hold my breath until my chest burns, and when I finally let some air in, my head is fluffy. Tears push behind my eyes as I squeeze them shut and curl into a ball. My anxiety has hit a new level as my brain shuts down in extreme duress.
I think I’ve passed out, but when I open my eyes again, everything around me is dark. I have no idea where I am, and no matter how much I blink, my vision is still blurry.
I feel around and I do
n’t think I’m even in my bed anymore, or in my room. A scent tickles my nose, bringing on a thrilling wave of eager anticipation and comfort at the same time.
It smells like Lazarus.
I get up and immediately begin stumbling around, looking for him. I can’t find him anywhere, but then I see his gray eyes glowing in the dark and I freeze. They’re staring at me, but I can’t see the rest of him. His entire figure is shadowed and cloaked in blackness, except for those scary eyes, hazy gray with little flecks of blue around the pupils.
I’ve never seen eyes so haunting. They still make me nervous after all this time. The only difference is that when I was a child, I would avoid looking into them, but now it’s all I want to do.
“I want to see you,” I whisper into the darkness, sounding small and jittery.
“I’m not yours to see.”
His voice booms like thunder, rippling in the air until I can feel it around me like water. It’s frightening, but I like it, because it’s him and I want more.
“I know, but I just…” I walk again, toward the eyes, and they disappear. “Don’t do this.”
“What am I doing?”
I turn frantically, searching for the eyes again, until I find them behind me. I dart in their direction and they vanish once more.
“You’re making a mistake!”
Every time I find him, there he goes, chuckling that wicked barely-a-laugh sound he does, condescending and smug, fucking with me because it’s fun for him.
Watch how desperate this little girl is…
“You know nothing.” His words, spoken in a hushed growl, seep into my brain and instead of making me feel foolish enough to back off, they spark my yearning even more.
He’s surrounding me, from my toes to my hair, spinning me around and around until I’m dizzy and falling down.
I tumble and tumble, falling through the floor, dropping and crashing, my limbs being scraped and scratched as I bang them while I fall.
“Lazarus!” I shout his name as I plummet.
And then I hit my bed, startling awake.
My breathing is heavy, sweat glistening my forehead and my chest. My heart races fast as I glance around my room. It’s dark, but everything looks normal. Rubbing my elbows and knees, I feel for any injuries, and obviously there’s nothing, but that dream felt so real.
Flopping back down onto my pillow, I stare at the ceiling while controlling my breaths; in through the nose, out through the mouth.
All I can see are gray irises, all I can hear is that deep, rumbling voice. I dream about Lazarus all the time. Sometimes they’re sex dreams, wherein he’s touching me and I’m begging him not to stop. Sometimes they’re strange dreams, like the two of us scuba diving, me chasing him in between sharks, turtles and stingrays. And then there’s the occasional weird one, like tonight, leaving me unsettled.
His words are always vague, his messages cryptic. I’m smart enough to know it’s just my subconscious fucking with me, manifesting my thoughts into strange choppy little short films. But I hate how they confuse me and mix me up between what’s real and what isn’t.
I would much rather just dream about him kissing my neck, or swimming in teal water while pointing out colorful fish.
Rolling onto my side, I hug my knees to my chest and look out the window, the pale glow of the moon peering between the curtains while I wonder why I seem to have a curse on my mind, and how the hell I could possibly break it.
Chapter Eighteen
Traci
The day of Lazarus Weston’s wedding comes, and it’s all a blur until we arrive at the resort hotel.
Being ushered around by a bunch of people who don’t know me, telling me where to go.
Stand here. Sit still. Walk. Stop. Walk. Stop.
My hair and makeup were done for me, which was good because for the first half of the day, my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I took an Adderall and snuck a glass of champagne, which gave me just enough strength to put my dress on. But now I’m waiting around, bored.
Boredom leads to thinking and thinking leads to panicking, which leads to breakdowns, something I definitely can’t do right now.
I haven’t seen Lazarus since last night, at his rehearsal dinner. He too looked bored the whole time, which made sense because it was very boring.
And then there were the occasional little smiles he would give his bride-to-be, the kisses they shared, prompted by people goading, “Kiss!” But still, they looked like an actual couple, and dare I say… a happy one.
It smashed through my heart like a fucking wrecking ball, and the only thing I could do to erase the images of them holding hands and whispering things to each other was to ingest way too many of my pills, drugging myself up so I could pass out the second I got home without having to dream about my father’s best friend for once.
Dad was with Lazarus all morning and afternoon, the two of them getting ready together and doing whatever the hell guys do with their best man right before their wedding. But now Dad is with me, and we’re waiting to get this shitshow on the road.
I’m actually doing okay right now. Numb.
I made sure to snort some Xanax in the bathroom before the ceremony started, although at this point that was an hour ago. Still, it’s the only way I’ll get through this… This abomination.
Come to think about it, we have been standing around for a while, and despite feeling none of the gut-stabbing emotions I usually do when thinking about this moment, I’m growing impatient. The ceremony was supposed to start at five. It’s almost six-thirty.
The wedding planner told us there was a delay, but that was like forty-five minutes ago, and we haven’t seen him again since. I understand a bride running late, but Jesus…
What does Evangeline need to do to get ready? This isn’t a goddamn Broadway performance. It’s a wedding to a man she most certainly does not deserve in front of three-hundred guests. Did she hire Beyoncé’s team to make her up or something?? Honestly…
“What the fuck is taking so long?” I mutter out loud while pacing around the small room where we’ve been instructed to wait while they get their shit together out there.
“Language,” Dad attempts to scold, though we share a look of worry. This is entirely too long to be waiting for a bride. Something must be wrong. “Let me go check with Jerald and see what the holdup is. I’ll be right back.”
Dad meanders off and I roll my eyes to myself. This is so stupid.
Who the fuck does this broad think she is, anyway? Making Lazarus wait is super inconsiderate, but who knows… Maybe he allows this kind of behavior in their relationship, which would be disappointing since he’s never been the kind to tolerate people disrespecting him.
I don’t know much about his past, but my dad told me before that Lazarus had a troubled upbringing. Apparently his mom was a drug addict who lost him to child services when he was born. After that, he bounced around in foster homes, and it wasn’t until he landed in the final one at fourteen and met Dad that he was able to find his way, despite all the pain and heartache he’d experienced.
Maybe that makes Evangeline feel like she can walk all over him, or makes her think he’s weak in some way. But to me, it’s the opposite. Living through pain makes you strong. There’s a reason they say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Because it’s true.
If you can make it out of hellfire and torment alive, you’re a true ass-kicking champion. And after that, you throw a middle finger up to the world and make yourself rich, like Laz did. He’s a warrior.
He’s brave, and deep, and complicated. He deserves someone who understands and cherishes that. He deserves someone who shows up for him… On time.
Ten minutes later, Dad stalks over to me, looking equal parts furious and devastated.
This can’t be good.
He shoots a withering glare at Evangeline’s friends across the room, tugging me by the arm.
“What’s going on?” I’m radiating tension. All the
anxiety pills in the world couldn’t prevent this kind of unrest.
Dad’s brows pull together and when his eyes meet mine, I know something bad happened. My stomach clenches, preparing for the blow.
“She’s not coming,” he breathes, raking a hand through his hair.
My heart lurches and I’m momentarily unbalanced, but I push past it.
“What do you mean she’s not coming?” I hiss at him, and this time we both peek at Evangeline’s ditzy friends, making sure they’re not listening.
Dad rubs his eyes. “I mean she’s not coming. Like, she’s blowing off the wedding. She told Jerald she couldn’t go through with it.” He pauses for a moment before growling out loud, shoving a potted plant off the table next to us, causing it to smash on the floor.
Everyone in the room looks up, but fuck them. Fuck this whole situation.
Holy shit… Did this bitch really stand him up on his wedding day? Is this really happening??
I start pacing again.
“Does Lazarus know?” I ask Dad, my tone nothing shy of frantic.
I didn’t want them to get married; we know that. But I certainly didn’t want her to embarrass him in front of everyone they know like this.
A blinding hot rage bubbles inside me, and I swear to God, if I ever see that bitch again, I won’t be able to stop myself from tearing out her extensions and shoving them down her pretty little cunt throat.
“Jerald said she texted him a while ago.” My dad takes a deep breath, attempting to calm himself down.
“So he’s known this whole time?”
Now I’m worried. That means Lazarus has been off somewhere, dealing with the knowledge that he’s been stood up at his wedding.
I need to go find him.
I expect my dad to say just that, but instead he seethes, “I’m going to fucking kill Jerald Cartwell.”
He’s more enraged than I’ve ever seen him before, and it’s unnerving. I really can’t have him murdering one of his clients. If he goes to jail, I’ll have to bust him out, which I’m sure is more difficult than it seems.
