Real Girl: Aston Creek High (Book 4)
Page 3
It’s like a big mafia wedding came and threw up in here. There are ribbons, cakes, table settings, six floor-to-ceiling vision boards, a selection of rings, and who can forget the massive over-the-top wedding dress in the middle. I would have called it a gown if it wasn’t such a disaster. That’s not a fucking gown, it’s the laughing stock of the room. It’s fucking hideous.
It’s bright white, covered from top to bottom in crystals which makes it look as heavy as a house. There’s a sweetheart neckline that plunges low between the chest which on me would look like an absolute joke. The train is ten miles long, and not to mention the poofy bottom which I would get lost in. It’s nothing at all like I’ve always imagined.
When I get married for real - not this sham of a wedding - it’s going to be elegant with a splash of sexy. Maybe ivory silk that flows down my body and a veil that sits up in my hair. To be honest, I haven’t really thought too much on the topic. I always just assumed I’d never get the chance. But seeing this monstrosity before me, it makes it clear what I don’t want.
“Right,” Maria says, “take your clothes off and put this on. We need to see how the dress fits. I was able to guess your measurements from previous gowns we’ve had made but you know how it goes.”
I let out a sigh and walk over to the dress with Maria’s eyes on me. “I’m going to have to help you into it. I can’t have you snagging one of the crystals and ruining it. You wouldn’t believe the drama I’ve had with the dressmaker, especially after all the canceled appointments when you never came home. Gloria is an absolute bitch but she works magic. I’ll be happy to be through with her when this is all over, that’s if she’ll even agree to come out for another dress fitting.”
I tune out her chatter as I know not a damn word she speaks is relevant or important. After all, I’ve been dealing with this wedding bullshit since I was fourteen years old. I mean, what teenager wants to spend their afternoons and weekends picking out table settings only to be told they’re wrong and to choose again the following night?
Seeing the dress up close and personal, it’s clear that this trash is costing a lot of money. It’s got only the finest material and quite honestly, I’m kind of scared to touch it. No wonder Maria has been so crazy obsessed with it. This wedding is going to be the event of the year. Everyone will be there. Hell, I’m sure even people I used to go to school with will attend.
It’s going to be humiliating.
Actually, I wonder who’s footing the bill for this sham. Marcus and his millions or Lucien and his? I guess it depends who’s the sneakier bastard out of the two. If I had my guess, Lucien probably would have written it into the fine print of their contract that none of the cost falls on him. Though, I’m sure Marcus didn’t exactly make his money by doing things by the book. In the long run, I guess it doesn’t really matter. When you have that kind of money to blow through, do you even notice shit like this? Though, the way Maria spends maybe they might.
Realizing that Maria isn’t about to let me out of her sight, I start peeling off my clothes, feeling extremely exposed as I’m not exactly wearing any underwear. I was in bed when Lucien took me. I’m just lucky that I at least had sleep shorts and a tank on. If Slade had his way, I probably would have been naked.
He knew not to push me last night, especially after receiving the news of Lucien being in town and nearly watching Roman Westbrock bleed to death on Shay’s living room floor. Turns out that maybe I should have taken advantage of my night with Slade. If I’d known it was our last night together, I would have made it worth it, given him something to remember and compare the others to when he undoubtedly begins to move on.
I stand before her, naked as the day I was born and as I reach for the dress, I feel her judgmental eyes on my body. “You’ve put on weight,” she says in disgust.
“That’s what happens when you’re happy. I’m sure it’s a feeling you’ve never experienced.”
“Watch your mouth, Skylah. You have twelve days left in this house before you have a new home. Let’s make them peaceful as I can assure you, you will not like your other option.”
And what’s that? Is she going to rape me too? For fuck’s sake. I hate these people.
I press my lips into a tight line, not because I’m giving up but because I can’t be fucked to entertain her bullshit. Thinking I’ve surrendered, Maria nods. “That’s what I thought. We’ll have to get a dietician in to sort out that weight. You’ll be down in the home gym with a trainer every day as well. I won’t have you looking pudgy at this wedding.”
I keep quiet, knowing damn well that I won’t be spending my days on the treadmill. In the past few months, I’ve maybe put on two pounds and that’s it. I look fucking good. I always have and I always will. If anything, the two pounds have gone to my tits.
Maria continues her appraisal of my body. “You really did get shot,” she comments with a frown, leaning in to get a better look at the scar. “Marcus isn’t going to approve of a scar. We’ll have to cover it up. I’ll get you a good, waterproof foundation. You’ll have to apply it first thing in the morning before he wakes and again after your shower in case it rubs off. You can’t have your husband thinking he’s getting less than perfect.”
“Well if your husband didn’t shoot me, we wouldn't be having this issue, would we.”
“How can you even be sure it was Lucien?” she questions, walking around the back of the dress to start loosening the corset. “Did you actually see his face? Do you have evidence?”
“I just know it was him,” I tell her, not prepared to explain exactly what evidence we have, knowing she’s more than capable of making it disappear. “You’re married to a psychopath. He stood over the bridge and shot me.”
She lets out a huff and holds the dress down for me to step into. “It wasn’t him. Lucien wouldn’t do that. He knows what this wedding means to me.”
Fuck, these people are screwed up.
Maria pulls the dress up my body and expertly does up the corset back. My tits are squished and my stomach sucked in as far as it can go, accentuating my waist. If this dress didn’t look like such a joke, I think Slade would even like it.
It feels as though it fits like a glove and after only having it on for a few seconds, it’s clear that after wearing heels with a full face of makeup and a thousand guests, I’m going to be completely exhausted. Then I’ll have to deal with Marcus after that.
A chill runs down my spine. This is going to be hell.
Maria fluffs up the skirt and straightens the train before pulling two moronic gloves up my arms that stop halfway between my shoulder and elbow. She pulls the hair tie from my hair and twists it into a bun then pins the veil in.
“Ahh, perfect,” she says, beaming at her creation, not at me.
Maria takes my waist and turns me until I’m facing the bay window that has three large mirrors placed before it. I take myself in.
I look like a stranger. This isn’t me.
Am I really going to marry this man?
Maria walks around to my side and looks at me through the mirror. “Your lips are looking a little lifeless. We’ll see about getting lip filler.”
I press my fingers to my lips.
“No,” I say, not meaning to have said it out loud.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. I’m not getting lip filler. I’m not spending my days working out and eating celery sticks to become some perfect model for you to show off. I’m not going to change myself for you, or Marcus, or anyone. I’m me. Get the fuck used to it. This is how I look and this is the way I was meant to be. There’s only one man who gets a say in how I look and he fucking loves me the way I am. He’d never change a damn thing about me and when I go back to him - which I will - I’m going to be the same fucked-up girl he fell in love with.”
“Are you done?” she questions, narrowing her eyes to sharp slits as she stares through the mirror.
I hold my chin up high, standing my ground.
I turn to her, feeling myself begin to panic, struggling to breathe in this tight dress. “Now you hear me. I am not marrying Marcus Mahony. Not now and not ever.”
“The wedding will go ahead as planned.”
“Over my dead fucking body.”
Maria’s hand slaps hard across my face, knocking the veil to the floor. Pain rocks through me as she dives after it in a panic. I take my opportunity to start peeling myself out of this death trap, pulling at the corset, and trying to bend the boning in the front so I can breathe.
“STOP,” Maria screeches in horror, desperately grabbing at my hands as I begin to hyperventilate. “That’s a two-hundred-thousand-dollar dress. You’re ruining it.”
“Get me the fuck out of it.”
I keep pulling and she finally relents out of sheer panic for her dress. I pull the gloves off and toss them to the floor and as Maria desperately tries to put the dress back on the mannequin, I grab my clothes and break free of this hell hole, going to the only place in this godforsaken house that will bring me some semblance of peace – Blake’s room.
Chapter 4
It’s late in the afternoon when I walk out of Blake’s room feeling oddly refreshed. His room was just as he left it, baggy clothes and all. There were basketballs scattered around the room, signed jerseys, his big ass TV, and of course, his porn stash hidden under the bed. I guess I’m lucky that’s all I found. I’m sure if I was curious enough to really go searching, I’d uncover all of my little brother’s dirty secrets. He seems like the kind to take polaroids of his skanky conquests and steal their panties.
With my stomach grumbling and the need to find some pain-killers, I make my way down the hall and slip into the service walkways which are the staff's access around the house. They’re not to use the main hallways and staircases, those are reserved for family, friends, and guests. Any staff member caught fucking with this rule is usually fired on the spot. Lucien and Maria are entitled assholes like that.
But… it certainly has its advantages. Like times like this when all I want to do is get down to the kitchen without running into either Lucien or Maria. I probably won't have to worry about Maria. She’s probably inspecting the horrendous wedding dress under a microscope, checking that every stitch and every crystal is still perfectly in place. Lucien though, he’s another story. He has his over-the-top security system with monitors covering one whole side of his office. Nothing happens in this house that he’s not aware of. If I’m sneaking around the staff quarters, I’m sure he already knows. Hell, he probably put a tracking chip in me while I was knocked out in the back of the SUV. I should probably check myself for that shit.
I get down to the kitchen and start rifling through the cupboard which holds every pill in the house. I grab the big box and not giving a shit about making a mess, I tip the fucker over and spread it out, listening to the rattle as containers roll off the counter and drop onto the ground.
I find the good stuff and grab a glass of water to help wash them down.
With that sorted, I start searching for something to ease my hunger and find a pot of spaghetti Bolognese which Maria’s chef must have cooked last night. My stomach growls again and I don’t wait another second.
I grab the pot and drop it down onto the counter before finding a bowl and filling it up, making sure to top it off with cheese. Once it’s piled high, I put it in to heat and figure that I should at least do a quick clean up of the pills scattered all over the kitchen. After all, it’s not Maria or Lucien who would be tasked with cleaning it up, it’ll be the staff who don’t deserve to deal with my shit.
As I’m busy putting the box back into the cupboard, a voice rings out behind me. “Oh, Miss Skylah. What a pleasure it is to have you home.”
I look back over my shoulder to find Morley, the head chef who cooks for Maria and Lucien every night. “Thanks,” I grumble.
He walks deeper into the kitchen and upon hearing the microwave, his brows furrow. “Oh, you’re hungry?” he questions. “You should have said something. I would have made something fresh.”
I shrug my shoulders. “I wasn’t in the mood to wait.”
The microwave beeps and I dive for it, pulling out my spaghetti and checking that it’s warm the whole way through. Morley glances over my shoulder. “Oh, um…” he cringes. “Are you sure? I could put together a nice salad. Maria mentioned you’ll be dieting before the wedding. Carbs and cheese aren’t exactly going to do you any favors.”
Geez, no wonder the prick hasn’t been able to find a girlfriend to suck his dick.
I look back at him and glare as I grab a fork. “Fuck you, Morley,” I say, digging the fork in and walking over to the stool. I drop my ass down. “I’m not going on any ridiculous diet, I’m not marrying that fucking twat burger, and I sure as hell won’t be staying here a second longer than I have to.”
Morley glances away, unsure of what to do. “I, uh…have strict instructions to ensure you’re sticking to your diet.”
“Touch my fucking spaghetti and I’ll castrate you.” When he still looks hesitant, I let out a frustrated sigh. “Look, I won’t tell her if you don’t and I’ll eat all my meals down here or in my room.”
“She’s not going to like that.”
“I don’t give a shit what she likes. The bitch kidnapped me, is the reason my parents were killed, and is forcing me to marry a rapist so she can line her pockets. So maybe I deserve a few fucking carbs before my life is officially over.”
“Oh, um…” his eyes drop away. “I didn’t know.”
“How could you?”
Morley bows out and thankfully leaves me to my spaghetti and for the first time all day, I’m grateful. Hell, there’s a whole lot of this shit in the fridge. Maybe I can eat enough to give me stomach cramps, then I can try the dress on again and hopefully hurl all over it. God, that would really make my day. Red sauce on a wedding dress…shit, it’d be destroyed. There’s no coming back from that.
I get halfway through my bowl when a sharp gasp is heard behind me. My head whips around and I find Luce hovering in the hallway. My eyes instantly fill with tears as I shoot to my feet. I haven’t seen her in so long.
This girl was my best friend since the day I first came to this godforsaken town, but what the hell is she doing here now?
Luce hovers by the entryway, not moving and staring at me as though I’m some kind of stranger which has me grounded to the spot. “You’re…what are you doing here?” she questions with a weird reluctance that puts me on edge.
“Lucien dragged my ass back home,” I explain, feeling a bigger gap between us than I felt while I was gone.
Her brows furrow. “He found you?”
“What do you mean? Lucien has known where I was since before I even got there.”
“I…” Luce cuts herself off, looking confused and put off. She takes a hesitant step toward me which is when I see it – hurt. She hates me for leaving without an explanation. One day I was there and the next…nothing. “You ran away.”
I nod. “I did.”
“But why? Every day I’ve been trying to figure out what could have possibly pulled you away from here. We have everything we could possibly need. Was it me? Did I do something to hurt you?”
I rush into her and throw my arms around her, squeezing the living shit out of her. “No,” I say as she wraps her arms around my back and holds on for dear life. “Never you. You and Blake were the only good things about this place.”
“But I don’t get it,” she cries into my hair. “You were always
so happy. It didn’t make sense for you to leave.”
I let out a broken sigh and pull away, staring at the girl whose life I turned upside down the moment I decided to run. “You’ll never believe me if I told you.”
“Try me,” she murmurs, dropping her hands to mine. “You’re the strongest girl I know. For you to leave, whatever it is, it must have been bad.”
“It’s worse than you could possibly know,” I tell her. I give her hand a tug and pull her toward the stool at the counter. “Come on, there are some things you should probably know.”
Luce nods as she sits down beside me, still hesitant, not sure if she wants to trust me after I betrayed our friendship, but I’m sure once I’m through explaining it all, she’ll understand. She has to.
“Why don’t you start with where the hell you’ve been all this time,” she says, grabbing my half-eaten bowl of spaghetti and digging in.
Good. An easy one.
“A little town called Aston Creek,” I say, watching as her face scrunches up at the term ‘little town.’ She grew up with privilege, just like I did but unfortunately, she really enjoys her lavish lifestyle and is a little more materialistic than I’d ever hoped she’d be. That doesn’t change how much I love her. “I have an aunt. My mom’s younger sister, Shaylee. She took me and Blake in. You should meet her, she’s incredible.”
“No shit,” she gasps. “You have an actual blood relative? That’s freaking awesome. Does Blake get along with her?”
“Loves her,” I boast, unable to keep the joy out of my tone. “We’ve never had a real family like this. She has all of mom’s old things and knows stuff about my parents that I’d never been able to find out on my own. It’s incredible. She looks just like mom too and I was enrolled in the same school mom went to…”
“Wait. Enrolled? What do you mean enrolled? You were going to school there?”
“Umm…yeah.”
She pulls back ever so slightly, looking crushed. “You weren’t planning on coming back, were you?”