I’m overcome with a feeling of claustrophobia—my body starts to hyperventilate. I can’t breathe, and I’m choking trying to cough and having nowhere to expel my breath as I try to get ahold of my emotions.
The dress is ivory, a beaded bodice with a low-cut décolletage, short sleeves that are also heavily beaded. It’s from a bridal magazine I bought a few months ago.
And it fits like it was made for me.
The gravity of the situation causes me to kick my feet out and pound the edge of the bed. I can’t scream, and the fear is written all over my body convulsing like I’m having a seizure.
This sick psycho has been planning this for months. Regardless of me leaving him, he took care of our wedding without consulting me. He knew he was going to coerce me into marriage, one way or another.
I search the space for a sign of escape. This room has floor-to-ceiling windows, but I don’t spot a latch—for good reason. If they did open, you’d fall to your death—good planning on his part. I could either fall to my death or get married. I was starting to question which one would be less painful.
The windows were all on the side facing down the mountain.
The clock on the nightstand shows it was a little after noontime.
I manage to pound on the wall behind me slamming my wrists into the drywall, banging my weak arms as hard as I can, knowing full well the repercussion is Alec storming in here.
There’s a priest coming. Maybe he can help?
I notice the notepad and pen sitting on the bed nestled beside the undergarments. Maybe I could write the priest a warning?
I’d be reciting my vows. They should be private. What if I wrote a message halfway down, so it looked like it was all bullshit promises to love and honor my psychotic husband?
Would Alec ask to see them beforehand? My gut told me yes, he had already thought of this, always one step ahead of me.
Tears burn my eyes.
I freeze as I hear the door creak open, and Alec reappears, his face a mask of scratches and anger.
Chapter Forty
Alec
Her face is frozen, dread etched on it by the taut look, tape covering any words she wants to let loose.
I stride over to her, ethereal in her dress, the unhappiest bride I’ve ever seen.
Fortunately for Levin, I’ve managed to calm myself down.
My demeanor is controlled, the earlier loss of control only present on her face, a swollen mass of blood and bruising.
“Stop.” I am calm, my hands steady as I touch her hair petting her like a favorite pet. “You look beautiful.”
My hands finger the delicate lace of her gown as I sit down beside her, the beading is exquisite. It was worth every penny. Just like her.
She twists to get away from me, her face haggard.
I rip the tape off of her mouth, and a gasp escapes her lips.
“We don’t have long to finish getting ready.” I ignore her grunts. My hand folds around hers, and I say, “It’s either marriage, or I can slash your face with my knife.”
“If I marry you,” her breathing’s heavy, “then you’ll kill me after anyway.”
“No.” I’m disappointed. I wipe a hand over my face. “Contrary to what you think, I love you. I’ll let you live, though you’ll be under watch.”
“I don’t want to live like this,” Levin’s voice cracks, her lips quivering, “… living under constant pressure, the stress of being under lock and key.”
“You decide what kind of prison.” I’m resigned. “But being married to me isn’t a prison, Levin, at least, it wasn’t before.”
“Constant surveillance,” Levin intones, “is still a prison.”
“You had a good life.” I’m detached, my voice sounds like it’s coming from another person—monotone and level. “Stop acting like you haven’t had everything you could want handed to you.”
I start to hum a song ignoring her for a moment, not wanting to think about how our lives will play out, tied together in marriage or bound together by her untimely death.
My choice for the moment is to untie her. “I’m going to let you get ready. Hope you have enough concealer to make yourself presentable.” She winces as I touch the bruise. Her lip is swollen, and the blood has dried. “I’ll be back in an hour to get you.”
The blade of the knife gleams as I show it to her, a gentle reminder of any missteps on her part. I hold my arms up scared she’ll start pummeling me. I issue a warning. “If you pull any more stunts, you might as well have a death wish.” I stand up. “Oh, don’t forget to write your vows. Except death do us part. That goes without saying.”
Chapter Forty-One
Levin
The lock clicks.
He’s back.
I warily touch my hand to my face feeling the stickiness of blood. I am in pain—throbbing in my jaw, my wrists raw, and my chest is broken out in hives.
I search the room for an exit strategy and find none.
I’m stuck. My body is ice-cold like I’ve already died from drowning in sub-zero temperatures.
My hands shake as I hook my finger in the front of the gown.
The power of suggestion comes to mind. Something I read about imagining how you want a situation to go, repeating it, and willing it to be true.
I’m willing Alec to disappear along with this wedding dress. The thought of it crumpled in a heap, and my naked body soaring above Alec, my unhinged fiancé, is at the front of my mind.
In the bathroom, I slide down near the side of the tub burying my head in my hands.
A makeup bag is already on the counter filled to the brim with products.
I wonder if Alec found my phone when he took me.
He probably destroyed it.
I’m lost in thought, sure a witness has to be present at our wedding.
Ideas on how to get help come to mind. They all seem implausible. Alec will never let me out of his sight.
Except for this short amount of time before the priest comes.
The knock on the door startles me.
He sticks his head in the room as soon as I answer it.
“Don’t forget your vows.” He points a finger to the bed. “There’s a pen and paper. Forget about asking the priest to help.” He gives a maniacal laugh.
I roll my eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’ll let you finish getting ready. You have a half hour.”
With that, he pulls his head back out, and I listen as the lock clicks, and footsteps move away from the door.
My heart sinks. I want to throw myself on the bed, rip the wedding dress into shreds, and scream, yet all I can do is finish styling my hair and attempt to cover the contusions on my face.
I’ve never felt so alone in my life, the overwhelming fear of the unknown makes a cry escape from my lips.
Marriage to Alec—a death sentence—no matter what.
My throat hurts with a choking sensation. Even though no hands are wrapped around it, his invisible hands are already cutting off support.
Chapter Forty-Two
Alec
I give Levin until 1:45 p.m. sharp to get ready, not wanting her to have too much time to ponder her next move.
After all, I had met Eric at his loft citing business reasons, but he had started to wise up that this was not business, but personal.
The fight in him was strong, but I was still stronger. He tried to scream as I tightened the belt around his neck. I picture him hanging, legs dangling in his closet, but moments before, I’d forced him to write a suicide note to his family, such a sweet gesture if you ask me.
He apologized for his affair, for tearing up a family, and for being gay.
Eric refused to write it until I showed him the gun Mark’s wife had provided me. It was fitting that the gun belonged to Mark, his lover. Her intentions matched mine, but a gun was too risky, bullet casings too traceable. Though I thought about having it look like Mark had killed him, there were too many complicatio
ns.
Levin needs to calm down, so I slip a couple of Xanax in a glass of white wine and bring it to her. The white wine won’t stain her dress if she spills. By the way her hands shake, these little pills will be a welcome relief.
If she’s comatose, she’ll be less likely to cause a scene.
Her vows were a concern. I scratch my chin, not in the mood to kill her on our special day. I don’t want our wedding to end with my beloved departing and all of this having been for nothing.
I prayed she did not make the same mistake Eric had. When he had put the pen to the paper and started writing, he had tried to write in the middle of the note that this wasn’t a suicide. I had ripped it up and made him start again.
It had fueled my anger even more, and I had no problem yanking his head back and tightening the belt notch by notch. It was a quick death, eyes bulging out of his head, body hanging limp. He was half-naked, boxer briefs on, his apartment spotless except for his lifeless body.
I knock on the door with a glass of wine in hand.
I hear rustling and then footsteps as she walks across the room. “Are you ready?”
Her face looks a hundred times better, the makeup covering the unsettling parts. Thank God. No one wants to look at ugly marks on a pretty face.
“Yes.”
“Vows written?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Okay, you can come out now.” I step back and let her exit the room.
Even with a split lip and a bruised cheek, she looks stunning. She didn't need a hair stylist or a makeup artist. She managed fine on her own. Her hair was pulled back into a chignon, her eyes made up with a touch of eyeshadow and mascara, and her eyes were lined with charcoal eyeliner.
She kept her lips fairly neutral with light lipstick and some gloss.
I smile at her, a peace offering.
“Aren’t you going to drink the wine?” I feign hurt. “Aren’t most brides tipsy on their wedding day?”
She’s considering the wine, probably wondering if I drugged it. “I don’t want to smudge my lipstick.” She’s contrite as she takes a small sip.
My phone buzzes, and I reach into my pocket to answer it. I expect a call from George. The gate needs to be opened outside of the house since they have passed the guard entrance.
I press the code on my phone, then give Levin a warning look. “Don’t disappoint me today. You look stunning. But you don’t want to look stunning dead.”
She is taken aback, and I grab her hand.
“The priest is here. It’s time.” I envelop her in my arms and kiss her pursed lips. I hold her hand, my grip firm.
A minute later, the doorbell rings, and I head that way unlatching the lock.
“Hello, George,” I say as I open the double doors. “And Father Roberts. Thank you for coming on such short notice.”
Father Roberts beams. “All my pleasure. I hear an elopement is in the cards today. What a beautiful view you have up here.”
He lowers his voice. “I normally don’t do weddings outside the church. George provided our parish with a very generous donation, and our congregation thanks you.”
“I was so glad my friend let us borrow it for the weekend.” I lead them into the house. “Please meet my lovely bride, Levin.”
“Nice to meet you.” Father Roberts shakes her hand, his eyes kind and wrinkled. “My, you look like you just came out of a magazine.”
She thanks him saying nothing more.
As I introduce Levin to George, the color drains from her face.
I squeeze her hand, a warning to behave.
Chapter Forty-Three
Levin
“George,” I say. My suspicions were correct all along. “I think we’ve met when I was at the resort. Oh, and CVS.”
I can tell this is a man who rarely loses his composure. He recovers nicely, acknowledging me with a head nod.
He’s dressed formally today—a suit and tie replace his cowboy boots and Wranglers. No chewing tobacco is visible in his mouth.
Father Roberts seems like a jovial individual, and I’m sorry this man of the cloth is an accomplice to a crime he didn’t know was being committed.
As much as I try to match his mood, warning myself to act as a bride should act on her wedding day, the struggle is real. It’s hard to be light-hearted and free-spirited instead of nauseous and anxious when you know you’ll probably be in a body bag soon.
Father Roberts is adamant that a quick tour of the house is a must. He’s secretly impressed with the home, a sizeable difference from his quarters, he tells us.
“Is this your property or a rental?” Father Roberts asks.
Alec hesitates, not wanting to discuss any specifics in front of me. “It’s a rental.”
“Wow, what a place, I can’t wait to see the rest.”
“Yeah, it’s quite the property. You saw the guard gate, it’s like a fortress in here.” He emphasizes the word, so I’ll take the hint—I’m a prisoner in his castle.
“I noticed you aren’t getting in without a good reason.” Father Roberts winks at me. “You remind me of Rapunzel except without the ‘being trapped’ part.”
There’s a choking noise as Alec coughs, air getting trapped, and he reaches for his throat.
The irony in your sentence, Father Roberts, I think wryly.
“How about I get Father Roberts and George something to drink?” I play the good hostess card. If there is one pet peeve of Alec’s, it’s bad manners. You should always treat your guests like they’re the center of attention when they’re in your house.
Alec is attempting to put Father Roberts at ease, especially since small talk has never been his forte. He’s wary of including me on the tour, so he asks George to accompany me to the kitchen.
“I’m good,” George mutters as he fumbles through the kitchen cupboards looking for, I presume, a stiffer drink.
Father Roberts is wearing a white robe but has a briefcase in hand which he sets on the bar stool in the kitchen. I pretend not to notice as I walk over to the fridge, feeling the undeniable burn of Alec’s eyes on my back as he enters the room.
“Look at this yard!” Father Roberts says looking out the window. “Perfect spot for your vows.”
“Absolutely.” Alec’s voice drips with fake sincerity.
I bring glasses of sparkling water over to both Alec and Father Roberts as George busies himself in the kitchen making a vodka tonic.
I reach up and touch Alec’s face adoringly, the scratches jagged in the light. He gives me a stilted smile before depositing a quick peck on my left cheek.
“Baby,” Alec grabs my elbow. “How about I show Father Roberts where we intend to get married, and you entertain George?”
My hopes of being alone in the house while they explore quickly vanish. George is my keeper now. If I hadn’t tried to escape earlier, I might have had an opportunity to be alone.
“Of course.” I give him my biggest smile.
A quick glance at George shows he is watching my every move.
Chapter Forty-Four
Alec
The house is massive and has many dead ends. Hence, it is the perfect place to hold onto the things that belong to you. The entrance to the backyard is much further back since there isn’t much room for a backyard because of the cliff.
The house was designed with the yard as a focal point, but there’s only one way to get there. Once you were outside, you couldn’t leave through any other manner. You’re trapped.
There’s a four-seasons room off of the bar which leads out to the backyard. It has floor-to-ceiling windows and encapsulates the magnificent views.
The patio is carved into the rock from the actual mountain. Patio chairs and green shrubbery with tall shrubs make you feel like you’re in your own private sanctuary. The cacti are high enough to create a feeling of sheer isolation.
The infinity edge pool plays a trick on your eyes like it will cascade over the mountain as it stops right at the
end. The spa is built up higher, and water tumbles from the spa into the pool from various waterfalls.
A small patch of grass with a pergola is the ideal wedding spot.
I stop to show Father Roberts the yard pretending I know more about the house than I do. I tell him it’s a friend’s who rents it out during the peak season. It’s exhausting, this forced interaction with people. I almost wish I had brought Levin with me, but I know she’s in good hands with George.
Since it’s our wedding day, I try to pay attention to the questions he’s asking, but I’m nervous about Levin.
I don’t have to worry long because, at that moment, George leads Levin outside.
“Thought she should help you with the wedding details.” George has her by the arm, the red blotched skin apparent in the light of day.
I nod, as this makes the most sense. It does look suspicious if I’m the one taking care of all the details.
The priest is eyeing George and Levin, the way he grips her, the melancholy expression on her face. Demeanor says it all—the slumped shoulders, uneasy jaunt.
“Are you okay, honey?” His eyes are kind, presence calming.
They all look at her as she opens her mouth to speak. It’s the moment of truth, and I’ll deal with the repercussions of her actions.
Chapter Forty-Five
Levin
Now’s the time, I can tell the priest I’ve no desire to be a bride.
I struggle to stay upright, my heels getting caught in the sod.
George guided me out here, my three-inch heels tripping over various steps. He blindfolded me, didn’t want me to familiarize myself with my surroundings.
I think he gets a sick pleasure from watching me bump into walls and my obtuseness as I collide into what I presume to be a piece of furniture, the smell of pine filling my nostrils.
He doesn’t take it off until we are outside away from the watchful eyes of the priest. And Alec.
Because You're Mine_Psychological Thriller Page 15
