My phone chimes, and I groan when I see who it’s from.
Adrianna.
Stepmother: I know you’re off today, but that doesn’t mean you get to slack off. I need you to finish my gown for the rehearsal dinner.
Which isn’t for almost a month still.
I have to get more fabric today if you want the train to still be ten feet. Don’t worry; it will be finished on time.
Stepmother: Ten feet minimum. I want to be the center of attention. Get some extra material to make me a matching pantsuit in case I change my mind.
I know the type of material she wants, and it’s not cheap. She’s just doing this to be cruel and waste my time. She and I both know she’s going to wear the gown. She’s been going on about it since the engagement. But arguing with her will get me nowhere.
Of course, ma’am.
Stepmother: Do I sense sarcasm in your message?
No. Of course not.
Stepmother: Good.
I twirl my thumbs, trying to decide if now is a good time to ask her the question that’s been lingering in my mind lately, especially with my dad’s birthday coming up.
A weird sense of bravery washes over me. I can’t tell if it’s good or bad, but it’s too late to think it through because I already typed my message and hit Send.
Do you think I’ll be able to go over to the house and have one thing?
She replies almost immediately.
Stepmother: If you wish to steal from me, you can do it without my help. Besides, you already have many of their items. You can have the rest when I’m finally able to dispose of your last name.
My heart sinks.
Maybe I should do it without her help, take what I want and don’t look back. But she wouldn’t hesitate to charge me, and I don’t need new problems on my plate.
I don’t type out the words I want to say because those wouldn’t get me anywhere. So, instead, I appeal to her ego.
I understand. Thank you.
She sends a thumbs-up emoji, and I toss my phone to the end of the bed. The weather must’ve felt my mood because I check my Weather app, and it says it’s going to be cloudy all day.
Great.
When I glance over at my dressers, my mood picks up ever so slightly. If there’s anything that’ll make me feel better, it’s wearing a fun outfit that I’ve designed and created.
I spend the next half hour getting ready to leave, carefully putting together my outfit and doing my hair and makeup.
After a little deliberation, I decide on my floral-painted, slightly flared blue jeans and one of my corset tank tops in a pretty pastel blue. The color reminds me of the extensions I wore when meeting Dean and Asher.
I still can’t believe I let them go down on me in the gazebo. That’s insane. But there’s something about the way they look at me … it makes me feel soalive. I might be lying or concealing who I am, but I’m still me, and they seem to genuinely like me.
I don’t want to sound annoying or conceited, but I’ve never let myself explore these types of feelings before. I was homeschooled most of my life until now. I didn’t have a prom or attend sporting events.
I didn’t get to meet boys or flirt. I’ve lived most of my life in my head, thinking, overthinking, and then thinking some more, constantly wondering if the decisions I’m making are the right ones. Does anybody ever really know? Or is that what we’re all trying to figure out on our own?
I have no idea if meeting up with Dean or Asher was the right decision. The answer is likely no if you take my stepmother’s rules and blackmail into consideration. But if you’re evaluating it from a place of my happiness … then it was a perfect choice.
I just don’t know which voice to listen to—passion or reason. I’m torn, and, God, these boys aren’t making it any easier. Especially after our last gazebo date.
