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1
Grace
I prop my shaking arm on the vanity as I swipe on a touch of lip gloss. My honey-blonde hair is pulled back in a simple updo, with a few curled tendrils framing my face. My hazel eyes are accented by tasteful eyeshadow and mascara that highlights my long lashes.
The look is understated. Classic.
The picture of an innocent bride.
So why the hell am I so fucking nervous?
I really shouldn’t be getting anxious about something I’ve been looking forward to for months, but now that my wedding day is here, my insides are in a twist. My hands won’t stop shaking, and I don’t know if it’s just typical wedding day jitters or something else.
I love Brian. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have agreed to marry him. If I didn’t completely love him, I wouldn’t be here right now, minutes away from walking down the aisle and marrying him. We’ve been together for over two years, our sex life is decent, and the next step after spending a few years in a relationship is marriage. Because that’s what people do.
Isn’t it?
Ever since my life changed in the blink of an eye when I was sixteen, when I was yanked out of the violent, dark world I grew up in, I’ve always tried a little too hard to be “normal.” To fit the textbook definition of the average American life. And getting married is a part of that.
That’s not why you’re doing it though, Grace, I remind myself. That would be crazy.
I’m getting married because I’m in love. Because I want to start a family soon. Because I’m ready for this next step.
Right?
My hazel eyes seem a shade darker, larger than they usually are, and I shake my head at my reflection, shooting her a quelling look.
“Stop it,” I whisper at the woman in the mirror, clenching the lip gloss between my fingers. “Just stop it.”
I draw in a breath and force myself to unclench my hand, setting the tube down gently on the vanity. I just need to stop worrying. In a few hours, it’ll all be over. I’ll be happily married and on my way to a nice Canadian cabin with Brian, wrapped up in bliss.
From the outside, my life looks pretty perfect already. I went to college and came out with straight A’s and no debt—thank goodness for scholarships—have a business degree, a good job lined up, and I’m getting married to a handsome law enforcement officer who will keep me safe. In a few years, we’ll have kids. Cute kids with blue eyes like Brian and chubby cheeks…
The door behind me gently creaks open, and my gaze snaps up to the mirror, catching sight of my father. He smiles when our gazes meet, and a wave of emotion washes over me at the sight of him all dressed up in a suit. He looks handsome and dapper. I haven’t seen him in a suit in years, although he used to wear them all the time.
Back before we moved to Washington.
Back in the other life we never talk about.
Six years ago, we moved from Chicago to Washington, traveling off the grid and staying low. We were running from our past lives, running from the death of my mother, the wars of blood… the mafia.
Seeing my father looking so much like that old version of himself makes a pit form in my stomach, but I push it away.
Today isn’t a day to be focusing on the past.
Only the future.
Dad gives me a small wave and creeps into the room, closing the door behind him. I watch him through the mirror, biting my bottom lip and probably messing up the gloss I just applied.
“Grace, you look beautiful. I can’t believe my little girl is getting married.” His usually deep voice is a little gruffer than usual, and I know he’s fighting back emotion just like I am.
I turn around in my seat. “Dad, stop.” Trying to laugh, I blink away the tears welling in the corners of my eyes. “You’re going to make me cry.”
