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“Today is the big day, and according to your husband-to-be, we have our work cut out for us.” Lila cringes at her own words and her gaze meets mine. Within her eyes, I recognize the same twin flames of hatred I’m sure burn in my own sockets. “Sit here and lean your head back. I’ll wash your hair first.”
Rather than risk slipping up and saying something I shouldn’t, I nod and do as she says—letting her wash my hair and fasten it on top of my head before I undress and get into the bath. I can feel Lila’s eyes on my brand, but I’m too much of a coward to look at her again. The woman has literally endured hell, and here I am, falling apart because of one wound.
Leaning back in the bath, I make sure the water doesn’t reach my chest. Now knowing what kind of aftercare I need for burns like this, I’m not about to risk making anything worse. I tilt my head back and rest it against the wall, and as I close my eyes, I finally feel tired—exhausted, as if I’m carrying the world on my shoulders.
My eyes have closed, and I’m almost asleep when Lila softly says, “It’s time to get out of the bath, Mia.” Then she hands me a towel, “This one is for your hair.”
Looking at her, she must be able to see the confusion on my face. “Why does it matter what I use the towel for?”
Shaking her head, Lila reprimands me. “We don’t ask questions, we follow orders.” Wow… Where the hell did that submissive mindset come from?
I’m not going to pretend I know what Lila has been through. However, I suspect she wouldn’t be as injured as she is if she really believes what she’s saying. Guilt immediately swallows me, I shouldn’t be thinking like that.
Luis mentioned that Lila had been insubordinate, difficult even, which is probably at least part of why she looks like she does. Though I’m sure she wasn’t fighting for me, it was still in my best interest. Regardless of her motives, Lila deserves my respect and gratitude. She doesn’t deserve my attitude, even if it’s only in my thoughts.
“Okay,” I agree, taking the towel from her outstretched hand. Before I can shake out the folded towel and wrap it around my hair, I notice a piece of paper hidden inside.
Your guys are free, they’re coming for you!
Even though that’s all it says, it’s everything I need, and my heart skips a beat as the knots in my stomach are replaced with hope. For the first time in days, my lips stretch into a genuine smile. Afraid I’ll give it away, I remain bent until I can wipe the smile off my face.
“I need to use the toilet,” I say after I’ve towel-dried my hair as much as possible. The note is hidden in my hand beneath the towel.
Although I didn’t expect anything different, Lila’s words still annoy me. “I’m sorry, Mia, but I have strict orders not to leave you alone.” She moves as far away as possible, keeping her eyes on the floor as I sit down on the white porcelain.
While I don’t need to use the facilities, I do need to get rid of this note. It feels like it’s burning in my hand, and I can’t risk hiding it since I know anything hidden can be found. The only thing I can come up with is flushing it. So I pretend to do my business, doing my best to hide the note in the toilet paper as I pretend to wipe. Afterward, I watch the toilet bowl as the water swirls around and disappears, sighing with relief as the small maelstrom takes my note with it.
Your guys are free, they’re coming for you!
That’s all I needed to hear to feel my strength returning to me. Yes, the note has left me with more questions than I had before, but I can wait.
Did I say I could wait? That was a lie. Each hour that passes with nothing happening is excruciating. Every time I hear a sound, I hope it’s them—each time it’s not, despair settles deeper within me. Then I feel bad for being so impatient. I keep telling myself that all that matters is that they’re free.
I know that if they’re really free, there’s no way they’re not coming for me—even if part of me recognizes they shouldn’t. They should run and get as far away as possible. My life isn’t in danger, but despite Luis’ reassurance and promises, I don’t for one second believe he won’t harm them.
“Close your eyes, Mia.” The woman that’s doing my makeup keeps fussing. “Why does every bride give me a horrible canvas to work with? The least you could do is get your eight hours of sleep.” She’s sighing so dramatically that I want to punch her. She might not know that I’m being forced into this marriage, but that’s no reason to complain about something as inconsequential as the dark circles under my eyes.
My hair is already done, resting on top of my head in a fancy updo, and there are pearls randomly placed for maximum effect. Once upon a time, I would have loved this, swooned from the pure lavishness of it all. Now, that couldn’t be further from how I’m feeling. I don’t feel beautiful, I feel cheap and angry.
“There we go, my work is complete.” The makeup artist looks at me as though I’m her masterpiece, her Sistine Chapel—covered in layer upon layer of makeup.
I know it’s not the woman’s fault, but I still don’t have it in me to fake my reaction. I barely glance at the mirror, instead I get out of the chair and walk over to the hideous wedding dress that’s now altered to fit me like a glove.
Lila rushes to my side. “Here, let us help you.” I’m fueled by even more anger when the makeup bitch looks at Lila like she isn’t worthy of touching the dress.
“Honey, you can’t help her zip it up when you only have one hand,” she says as though she’s explaining to a child that the grass is green and not red.
Despite the action making my burn throb, I cross my arms across my chest and give the woman a haughty look. “Don’t you dare speak to her like that. She can do whatever the hell she wants. If she wants to help me into the dress, then that’s what she’ll be doing. You, however,” I raise an eyebrow and cock my hip to the side. “I don’t need you anymore. I don’t even want you around.”
I know it’s stupid to make a big deal out of this. In my head, though, this isn’t about the damn dress. It’s about Lila deserving respect, and I need her to know I have her back.
“Mia, she’s right. I can’t help you with the dress.” Lila’s voice is so soft I barely hear her. “Just let Christine help you.”
Christine? Oh, that must be the name of the makeup bitch.
“No!” I say, not looking away from Christine. “You’re excused. Leave.” I have no idea if I hold enough authority to dismiss someone Luis has sent here, but fuck if I care right now.
“But I—”
