She locked eyes with me in the mirror. “Hazel!” she shouted. She turned around and rushed towards me, tackling me into a hug, and this time, I didn’t fight it. I hugged her back, tears filling my eyes. The guilt came in an angry rush. I was frustrated at myself for being so obstinate when it came to who my older sister fell in love with. She couldn’t help it; neither could I. We didn’t pick these circumstances but found ourselves in them, and with that, we could only hope that we did the right thing for ourselves.
I couldn’t force Heather into a box, just like she couldn’t do that to me.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she said into my shoulder. I held her tighter.
“I don’t know how I would have lived with myself if I had missed it,” I mumbled. She pulled back and looked at me.
“You look great,” she said. “Grant’s treating you well?”
I didn’t want to get into our break up, or whatever you wanted to call it. As far as I knew, Heather didn’t know that Grant and I had been a thing. “It’s your wedding day,” I said, grasping her arms. I looked at her. “You’re wearing a hoodie for the collaring?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know.” She sighed, motioning to the outfits hanging up. “I don’t know what feels right, you know? Zaid and I did the whole Cinderella’s night out once, but that’s not us. I want to do something that represents our love. Something real.”
Her eyes ran over the room, searching for the best outfit, and my mind wandered to Grant. What represented Zaid and Heather’s love was different than mine and his. Heather had exchanged her freedom for my safety, and while imprisoned, had fallen in love with her captor.
But were Grant and I really so different? He had promised my safety and restoration, and while doing so, we had fallen for each other.
There it was. The truth.
“What represents your love?” I asked, shaking the thought from my head. This wasn’t about us. This was about Heather and Zaid. “What’s the core of you two? What would represent you best?”
“Honestly?” A crooked smile crept onto her face. “Gym clothes. I always wear a tank top and workout shorts when we’re training. Submission is a truly physical thing, you know?”
I did know. I may not have been a completely submissive slave, but I knew how giving your mind and body to someone like that, was an exhausting and exhilarating experience.
“Then wear a tank top and workout shorts,” I said. She tilted her head, and I raised a brow. “That represents you two, right? It’s how you give yourself to him. Wear that.”
She thought about it for a moment. “You’re right,” she said. “He’ll know what it means.”
“Of course he will,” I said. I didn’t have to like him, but he was family now, whether I liked it or not. “This is about the two of you. Not anyone’s expectation of you both. Just you two.”
“Thank you, Hazel,” she grinned and gave me a quick hug. “I hope they’re clean,” she rummaged through a pile of clothes in the corner. She perked up, then faced me. “Are you okay though?” she asked.
Well, that came out of nowhere. “I’m fine. Why?”
She studied me for a moment, then shrugged. “With everything that’s happened,” she bit her lip, “I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
I rolled my eyes. “Focus on yourself. You have a wedding to get to, remember?”
“Collaring,” she corrected.
“Whatever,” I laughed.
She turned back to the pile of laundry. “Can you tell Grant I’m almost ready? Five minutes.”
My heart sank, thinking of having to face him. But I would do it. “Of course,” I said.
She went back to finding the right workout clothes, while I went through the house. It was quieter now. Most of the people were in the backyard, but a few people were inside. Grant was standing in the kitchen, speaking to a woman with a brown chin bob who was chopping up vegetables. He grinned when he saw me, the kind of smile that lit up his whole face. Damn it. He was so handsome, and I hated it.
But I didn’t hate him.
“Heather is almost ready,” I said. “Five minutes. Well,” I paused, “four now.”
“I’ll let Zaid know. We’ll get this over with.”
He reached down, and for a moment, I thought he was going to squeeze my hand, as if to remind me that once this was over, we could leave together, like he had promised. But he didn’t touch me. A moment passed, our eyes locked. Then he turned to find Zaid, going down that same hallway I had come from.
“Grant,” I said. He turned quickly, facing me. His sandy brown hair was clean, cut short like always, and his sunglasses were tucked in his jacket pocket. Arm muscles strained the sleeves of his shirt, but he looked good. He looked like himself. Someone I had woken up with in bed before. The same man who had made love to me for the first time.
