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“When I get married.”
“Ah.”
So, one more reason her father offered her up like a prize cow, ensuring Elodie will never have full control over her own money. “Can we fake a wedding?” I ask.
She giggles. “Like hire actors to perform all the roles? That would be funny.”
“But can it be done?”
“You really think they’re gonna put us in charge of planning?”
“If we say we want to do it…”
“I don’t think you’ve ever been properly introduced to my stepmother. We’ve been to six dress designers already. My dad put her in charge of everything.”
“Are they gonna follow us to the marriage license office, too?”
“They don’t trust us, Ollie. You need to wrap your head around that.”
“Drew really doesn’t want us to get married.”
Her eyes twitch, and her lips purse. “Yeah, I know.”
“You want to go through with it, don’t you?” I ask, but I think I already know the answer.
That fact is acknowledged when she turns her face into the pillow and nods. It’s her way out. It might not be ideal, or the future she dreamed for herself, but I think she’d rather be committed to an asylum than live with her abusive father any longer than she has to.
“It doesn’t have to be forever,” she says, “I promise, I’ll go to school—I’ll find a way to make my own money—I’ll do whatever I need to, but he’s just getting worse.”
I rub a hand down her back. I never thought I’d be the kind of guy to say something like this, but the words come out anyway, and I’m pretty sure I mean them. “I’ll never let anything happen to you, El. I promise I’ll take care of you.”
She rises and launches herself into my arms, sobs bursting out of her like tidal waves hitting the shore. Maybe I can talk my parents into letting us fake the wedding?
Fuck. I’m so screwed. No one ever told me loyalty was hard. Or that it would require me to pick sides against someone I care about. I wasn’t exactly raised to come to someone’s rescue, and I have two people now who need saving. Goddamn Drew Riley for reminding me I have a heart. And fuck my parents for making said heart believe it’s worthy of love. A love they may have been faking all along.
I may have nothing to gain in terms of my freedom from talking to my parents, but at least I might be able to put this miserable thought to rest—that they never gave a shit about me.
Once Elodie stops crying and lets go of me, I remember to order Drew’s dinner. With that done, Elodie’s show back on, and a full glass of wine in front of her, I go upstairs to call my mom.
Buying time seems to be my MO lately, and even if I do wind up needing to marry Elodie to keep her safe, maybe we can slow the timeline down to give us all a chance to work out where our off-ramps are.
I put a headband on to get my hair out of my face—my mother’s always pushing it out of my eyes—before sitting down on my bed and putting through a FaceTime call.
She answers on my second try.
“Ollie! What a surprise!”
I smile for her and examine the screen. She’s in her own apartments, which means my father isn’t likely nearby. Good. “How are you?” I ask.
“I’m wonderful. So many compliments on the party. You and Elodie were lovely together. Chelsea also sent over some possible dates for the wedding that would work.”
Chelsea Lafayette is Elodie’s current stepmother.
“Did you pick one?” I ask.
“Not just yet. We’re waiting to hear back from your father’s office about his availability this summer, but when we do, we’ll let you know!”
She says this like it’s just how things like this are done. And I guess if the marriage is arranged, why shouldn’t the wedding be, too?
