by Misty Walker
Bohemian Law
Copyright © 2019 Misty Walker
Cover Design: K Webster
Photo: Adobe Stock Photos
Editor: Emily A. Lawrence
Formatting: Champagne Book Design
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information and retrieval system without express written permission from the Author/Publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Playlist
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Author Links
About the Author
To my Ty-bot. Your reminder that, “the book won’t write itself” kept me on task and focused. Turns out you were right, it didn’t write itself.
“Good Vibrations” by The Beach Boys
“Just Exist” by Eliza & The Delusions
“Mother” by Charlie Puth
“Sweettalk my Heart” by Tove Lo
“hot girl bummer” by Blackbear
“Teeth” by 5 Seconds of Summer
“Goodbyes (feat. Young Thug)” by Post Malone
“Trampoline” by SHAED & ZAYN
“Time (Edit)” by NF
“Sunflower” by Post Malone & Swae Lee
“Such Great Heights” by The Postal Service
“If We Never Met” by John K
“damage ☹” by Naaz
“What Am I” by Why Don’t We
“The District Sleeps Tonight” by The Postal Service
“In the End” by Annika Rose
“Boys Like You” by dodie
“Sun in Our Eyes” by MØ & Diplo
“Forgetting All About You” by Phoebe Ryan
“Lights Down Low (feat. gnash) by MAX
“Turn! Turn! Turn!” by The Byrds
“Blowin’ In the Wind” by Bob Dylan
“Nothing Better” by The Postal Service
“Pull yourself together, Thea,” I murmur to my reflection. I grab my lipstick and paint on a healthy coat of coral. Today is my engagement party, and I use the term loosely because no one has asked me to marry them. It’s been arranged. For my family, an engagement party is really when the groom’s family pays the bride price. Today, Wen’s family is paying my family fifteen thousand dollars for the privilege of marrying me.
Cousins, aunts, uncles, friends, basically every Romani within a hundred-mile radius are outside waiting for me to descend the steps of my trailer. I take a final look at myself. I’m wearing a formal gown that matches my lip color almost perfectly. The off-the-shoulder puffy sleeves I would typically love look ridiculous. The sweetheart neckline swallows my small breasts, taking away my femininity. The see-through lace bodice is itchy and irritating. A gigantic bell skirt usually gives me the grand entrance I crave, but today it makes me look like I should enter a children’s beauty pageant. Or it could be the two-foot-tall tiara on my head that makes me look pageant worthy. Yes, it’s definitely the tiara. I don’t look like an eighteen-year-old girl facing an arranged marriage. Or maybe that’s exactly what I look like, at least to my family.
Normally, I would jump at the chance to dress up this way.
Normally, I think the more glam, the better.
Normally, I would rush out of this trailer to show off my brightly-colored dress. But normally, I’m not being sold off like yesterday’s meat. Everything just feels so wrong.
I put on my too-tall gold heels that will no doubt sink into the field with every step and take a deep breath, blowing it out in an audible puff. I try to walk out of the trailer, I really do, but I just can’t. Instead, I fall onto the narrow couch that sits along one side of the small space across from the kitchen. The thick plastic covering the cushions makes a crinkly noise and I sigh. The gold flowered fabric underneath looks brand-new because ever since the day Mom and Dad bought this trailer, they have covered it. Comfort be damned.
Scanning my surroundings, I see my childhood. I’ve lived all of my eighteen years in this twenty-three-foot trailer. My parents’ bed on one end, my two sisters and me in the loft above, and my brothers crashing wherever they land. Sometimes the pull-out couch, sometimes outside, and sometimes the floor. They don’t seem to care they’ve never had a real bed. We’re a wild bunch by nature.
Boisterous ramblings outside bring me back to my reality. My engagement party. My fiancé. It’s not that Wen is a bad guy. He’s actually nice, but he’s more like a brother to me than a future husband. Both of our families, along with five others, have been caravanning all over the U.S. together for as long as I can remember. He’s handsome enough with wavy brown hair, light green eyes, and a stocky, muscular build. All good enough traits, but he looks like me, like my brothers and sisters and cousins. He looks like family, not a lover.
A knock startles me and I focus on the opening front door. Mom pokes her head in. “Get your ass out here, Thea, or there’ll be a riot.” Just as quickly as she appears, she’s gone again, the door closing. I know she’s right. Functions like these usually end in drunken fighting, but if Wen’s dad thinks I’m being disrespectful, the fists might swing way too early in the night.
I get up from the couch, shake off the nerves, and step out. What lies before me is one hundred percent insanity. A large tent is outlined with all our trailers. Underneath the tent are long tables with coral linens, chairs covered in the same fabric, huge gaudy centerpieces featuring tall Lily of the Valley blooms being held up straight by bright yellow rocks in clear vases with massive yellow ribbons tied in bows around them. There’s a seven-tiered cake on top of one of the tables. It’s bright yellow, with edible pearls circling around each layer and a few Lily of the Valley blooms top the tallest tier.
One might wonder if Lily of the Valley is my favorite flower. It’s not. They’re just expensive and at these events, expensive is key even though no one here has real money. We live like peasant people in mostly broken-down trailers. We fill our water tanks with jugs at the car wash. All the women are handy with a needle, so we can sew and mend all of our clothes purchased at thrift stores. We forage most of our food from a grocery store or restaurant dumpsters. We’re a Romani family. We don’t live by laws. We roam until we find a place we like, stay there until we get evicted by the cops, and then roam more. We have short tempers and curse like sailors. We don’t seek higher education, don’t have birth certificates, and sure as shit don’t make nice with gorgers. But because we spend most of our lives in squalor, we save for when there�
��s a reason to celebrate, and when there is, we do it big. No expense spared.
I look at the people milling about. Everyone dressed in their absolute best. Most people would look around and see tacky. Men wearing suits from all the colors of the rainbow, women wearing dresses fit for prostitutes, and children decked out in miniature versions of what the adults have on, but to us, this is tradition. The more outrageous the better, everyone trying to outdo the other. I smile, knowing they’re all doing this for me, even if marrying Wen makes me cringe.
“Don’t you look fuckin’ fantastic!” My twelve-year-old sister, Indiana, compliments. She herself is in a ball gown with ruffles shaped into giant roses on her skirt. I make a mental note to deconstruct her dress sometime so I can learn to make one just like it.
“Thanks, sis.” We hug as close as we can get with so much fabric around our lower halves. A clearing of a throat breaks us up and I look at the source of the sound before wishing I hadn’t. It’s Wen. He’s in a coral tuxedo that matches my dress to the very shade. His hair is greased back in his usual way and he’s sweating profusely along his hairline. Guess I’m not the only nervous one. “Hey-a, Wen.” I punch his arm lightly in a friendly gesture, hopefully communicating just how I feel about this arrangement.
“You look gorgeous,” he says, putting an arm around my waist. I hear the clicking of camera shutters, so I allow the exchange and return it. Technically, we shouldn’t have any contact until we’re married, but our families are a little more relaxed. We’re allowed side hugs and hand holding. Now we’re engaged, so even a kiss on the cheek is acceptable.
“Looky here!” Mom shouts, followed by a chorus of “over here” and “smile for the camera” from all the bystanders. Wen and I do as we’re told for a half hour before I call it quits and tell all the assholes to find something else to take pictures of.
We make our way to the table labeled Future Groom and Bride. He pulls my chair out for me, which creeps me out because not long ago we were giving each other wedgies and wet willies. When had everything changed?
Our dads stumble over to our table, each with forties in their hands. You can throw a five-thousand-dollar engagement party, but you can’t account for class with this bunch. They stand in front of us, clapping each other on the back and grunting out congratulations. Wen and I sit awkwardly, wondering what our roles are in this manly exchange.
“Don’t they make a goddamn good-lookin’ couple?” Dad claps Braithe, Wen’s dad, on the back.
“Fuckin’ right they do!” Braithe claps Dad.
“This is what it’s about. Bringin’ two families together. Can’t fuckin’ wait for some grandbabies to pop out of my girl.” Dad puffs his chest out proudly and I shake my head. Sometimes he’s even too crass for me, and I once drew a dick on my sister’s forehead. She was six months old, and I used a sharpie. It was like a gift that just kept on giving. Every time Mom would walk around the band with that baby on her hip, I would laugh myself stupid.
“Too bad she doesn’t have those nice birthing hips just like Lavinia,” Braithe says.
Dad’s face instantly turns bright red in anger when Mom’s “birthing hips” are mentioned. I roll my eyes. Here we go.
“What the fuck are you talkin’ about my goddamn wife’s hips for?” Dad gets in Braithe’s face and Braithe throws his forty down, sending beer spraying all over. Normally, I would encourage this behavior because watching two overweight men fight is fuckin’ hilarious, but it’s my engagement party and everyone went through so much hassle for it, so I step around the table and get between them, resting a palm on each of their chests.
“Now, now, boys. It’s too early for fighting. At least wait until after we have cake. Both of your wives put a lot of work into this, and you know what will happen if you ruin it.” I try to reason with them. Both of them wince thinking about getting in trouble with their spouses. “That’s what I thought. Now, Dad, go get Braithe another beer and then you two can go throw axes or something.”
They both shrug and walk away. Crisis averted.
I walk back around the table and sit next to my betrothed.
“Thanks for that. Mom would have lost her shit if those two had come to blows.” Wen leans in and kisses my cheek. I hear more cameras click.
“It’s fine.”
We eat our dinner and thank all the well-wishers for coming. Everyone is so excited, but I just can’t get into it. I always knew they would marry me off young. I’m lucky they waited until I was eighteen, but now that it’s a reality, my feet want to run.
“You two!” Mom sing-songs. “It’s time to cut the cake!”
I look at Wen and shrug. He rises and holds his hand to help me. Unfortunately for him, I don’t need a hand to help me up. He should know this. Even in six-inch heels, I can stand up perfectly fine on my own, thank you very much. I ignore his hand and get up, allowing my heels to sink into the lawn enough to ground me. He stares at his hand for a moment before shaking his head and going to the cake table without me. I’d feel bad, but just because I’m being forced to marry him doesn’t mean I’m going to suddenly turn into a damsel in distress. It’s better he accepts it now.
Everyone gathers around us, looking like a rainbow threw up. A sight that would usually make me giddy with excitement, but given the reason for this event, I feel like everyone is better suited wearing black.
It’s not like they would stone me to death if I didn’t go along with this arrangement. It’s more like I’d be exiled. Tradition is huge around here. Occasionally, one of us will fall in love and marry a gorger, but when that happens, you’re out. You’ll never be invited to family get-togethers, your kids will never get to play with all the other kids, and if you run into us on the streets, we will wish you well and move on. That’s not what I want. I love my family. I love our way of life. If marrying Wen is the price I have to pay, then so be it. At least that’s the lie I’m telling myself right now.
Everyone quiets around us and I know what will happen next. Wen drops to one knee with a small black box in his hand, and I panic. My feet get the overwhelming urge to run and I have to swallow back bile rising in my throat.
Mom, who took her place on my right, elbows me in the side, hard. “Knock it the fuck off,” she whispers behind her smile, her lips not even moving. I look down at Wen, who stares up at me with dopey lovesick eyes as he opens the box. A teeny, tiny stone sits in the middle of a gold band.
“Theodora, will you marry me?” Seconds pass and no matter how many times I open my mouth, I can’t say anything, I just stand there with a fake ass smile on my face. The one word I need to say just won’t come out. Everyone looks around at each other with collective awkward looks on their faces. I can feel the heat of their stares on me and my panic rises. It’s becoming hard to breathe as I look for a way out, but the crowd is gathered too tight. There is nowhere to go. I look down again as Wen’s face morphs into irritation. The more time passes, the more difficult I’m finding it to spit out the one word everyone is expecting me to say. I open my mouth to speak, not sure of what will come out, but I’m cut off.
“She said yes!” Mom shouts and throws her hands in the air.
I did? I don’t have even a second to think about it before everyone is crowding around even closer and celebrating. Someone is shaking a bottle of champagne over the crowd, dousing us all in alcohol. The little kids turn their faces to the sky and open their mouths, hoping to catch the liquid. The cake gets cut and served. Wen wraps his arms around me and plants a wet kiss on my cheek and me? I just watch it all happen. Watch my life end, watch my choices taken away, and watch my future go poof.
After I come back into myself, I make the wise choice to drink. It’s the only way I’ll live through this party. Grabbing a bottle of whatever is on the table, I chug, take a breath, then chug more.
“It’s going to be one of those nights, huh?” Wen asks, already knowing the answer. Here’s the thing. I like to party. I’ve been boozing it up sinc
e I was sixteen. I’ve even chased my booze with a cigarette occasionally. Our people may have a shorter life expectancy, but while we’re here, we fucking live it up.
“It’s a party, right?” I say, moving my hips to the music. I love to sing and dance. If I’m ever short on cash, one trip to any street corner and I can bring in enough money to buy a bike my little sister eyes, or a new car battery for Mr. Boswell’s old Chevy, just by singing and playing my guitar.
“I was hoping we could steal away for a bit and talk?” His sweet puppy dog eyes pull at my heartstrings for all of three seconds before I want to smack him straight. I know he’s happy about this arrangement. Ever since puberty, he’s looked at me differently, but I’ll never not see the pudgy boy with buck teeth, a slight lisp, and who was three inches shorter than me. He may have shot up in height, lost the baby weight, and grown into his teeth, but I can’t see him any differently. I’ve tried for the sake of our union. I just can’t.
“Maybe later? I love this song and my sisters want to dance with me.” I point over to where Indiana and Charity are dancing, moving to the music like certified strippers even though they’re twelve and seven. It’s so fuckin’ cute.
I make my way over to them, spinning and swaying in time. Charity, who’s seven, is bent over on all fours with her legs straight, twerking her tiny little bum all over the place. Her long poofy skirt jumps and bounces with each move of her tush. I smack her ass a couple times, making her giggle.
My parents watch us and laugh, clapping to the music. Young married couples are making out in the shadows, teenagers are sneaking liquor and beer behind the trailers, older kids are tending to their baby siblings, men are throwing axes in the corner, nearly everyone having the best time, except Wen. I spot him at our table, angrily studying his beer. He’s the only one not having fun. I guess it’s time to go have a talk, because things have been stressed between us since our dads decided we should marry. We really have been friends our whole lives and I hate it when he’s pissed off.
I leave the dance party and approach our table. “Wanna take that walk?” I ask, holding my hand out for him to grab. His face brightens, and he grabs hold.
