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Why?
Open your eyes, Karys. Open them very wide.
Because you knew, I whispered to myself. Even as a half-child/half-woman, you knew he was lying to you, protecting you from the ugliness of the truth. You let him, but you hated yourself just a little for the acquiescence. For the burden he carried alone.
A breath gusted from my aching chest. I thought back to what Bertha had said as her spirit began to leave the world.
I hope you hate us first.
It finally made sense. She’d hoped I realized that they’d protected me from the harshest of the truths about Sundara and the world around it because that would mean my eyes had finally been opened. It would mean I had come to learn the terrible truth in all its multi-faceted misery.
But don’t hate us forever.
“Oh, Bertha,” I moaned softly.
I didn’t hate them, even Zakai.
Especially Zakai, I thought desolately.
But Zakai had made it clear he hated me.
I glanced at Dawson again, passed out in bed. The man I was going to marry and someday have children with. I frowned, biting at my lip and returning my gaze to the sky. Why had I once again craved the pain tonight?
What lie was I telling myself now?
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Our engagement was a whirlwind. Dawson convinced me there was no reason to wait and we set the date for a Saturday at the beginning of June. Dawson’s mother swept in, a woman with a chirpy voice who perpetually wore sunglasses, even on cloudy days. “We have so little time, darling! I made seven appointments for us this Saturday and I know that sounds excessive, but really, time is of the essence. My goodness! Less than six months! It’s unheard of. And with you being an orphan, all the work falls to me. The stress, my goodness,” she said as she fanned herself dramatically. “Are you ready, Karys? Wait, are you wearing that?”
If there was a fun side to organizing a wedding, it was the parts I spent planning with Carly. I asked her to be my maid of honor and we spent afternoons digging through racks of colorful dresses, and choosing the shoes I’d wear with my dress. She’d been in school as a fashion design major and had recently taken a job as a personal shopper for one of the largest department stores in the City, and so she not only gifted me with her style advice, but she made me laugh with funny stories about her “uppity” clientele and all their demands.
Of course, we’d end up spending far longer at lunch chatting afterward than on the actual wedding task, so it was no wonder I enjoyed those days the most.
“You’re dress shopping tomorrow?” Carly asked, picking up her glass of white wine and taking a sip. We’d just sat down at an outdoor café after spending the morning stuffing three hundred invitations into envelopes. Two hundred ninety-three invitations were going out on Dawson’s behalf, seven on mine: Carly, Ayana, three friends from college I’d kept up with, and two co-workers I’d gotten to know on a more personal level.
I rolled my eyes. “Yes. And I’m sure it will be just as intolerable as I expect with Minnie at the helm.”
Carly laughed. “I still can’t get over the fact that she’s named after a Disney mouse. Just pick the first thing you try on. You’re so gorgeous, any dress will look amazing on you anyway.”
I smiled. “Thanks. It’ll probably be easiest just to let Minnie choose for me.” I picked up my own wine glass. I rarely drank, but if anything inspired the desire, it was the thought of a day dress shopping with Dawson’s mother. I took a sip, glancing out to the street where a bus came to a stop, Zakai’s face plastered to the side. Oh God. As quickly as that, my mood dipped further.
“Hey, are you okay?” Carly asked.
“Yes. I . . .” I blew out a breath, taking another drink. “Carly . . .”
Carly leaned forward. “Hey, talk to me. You’ve seemed off these last few times we’ve gotten together.” She paused. “Karys, are you getting cold feet?”
My shoulders sagged as I blew out a breath. “No. It’s not that.” I met her kind eyes. “All this wedding stuff has me . . .” I shook my head. I’d confided in Dawson about Sundara, about Zakai, but he was the only one I’d told of my own accord. I barely knew how to talk about it.
“Is it about your past?” Carly asked quietly.
I nodded. “I know I’ve glossed over things, but the truth is, God, I could use someone to talk to.”
“Oh, Karys,” Carly said gently. “You can talk to me about anything.”
I nodded gratefully. I pointed to the bus still idling in the street. “The man in that picture,” I started. “I used to believe he was the other half of my star . . .”
