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Javier hurries out the door, and music begins to play in the small church on the edge of my estate. It’s an old building, dating from the 1800s. My parents were married here, though their ceremony was a bit more … agreeable.
But Cassandra’s refusals won’t matter once my ring is on her finger. She will agree to marry me before God and the priest, and then she will be mine. Her fury? Mine. Her soul? Mine. But what she doesn’t understand—and certainly doesn’t want—is all of me. That’s what she will get the moment I claim her mouth and seal our iron bond.
Like the cat, she doesn’t feel my love. Like the cat, she wants to shred my fucking face. But also like the cat, she will come to love me. And eventually, Cassandra will sit in my lap as I stroke her, take her treats from my hand, and curl up beside me at night, satisfied and warm in the inevitability of my embrace.
2
CASSANDRA
“Iwill not put up with this for one more second!” I shout to no one because I’m locked in a room alone. I pop another grape into my mouth. It goes perfectly with whatever this cheese is. I need to find out because I’ll be wanting more. I’m always a sucker for a fruit and cheese board. If there’s one on the menu, it’s a guarantee that I’ll order it. I’m trying to stay angry but the food isn’t helping.
“I know you’re out there!” This time my shouting isn't so loud with my mouth full of food.
I pick up the sharp charcuterie knife and eye the wedding dress hanging on the rack, waiting there for me to put it on. It’s beautiful. I grip the knife tight in my hold. I should shred it, then I’ll have nothing to get married in. If I don’t have a dress, then I can’t get married. Problem solved. I raise the knife, resolved to destroy the gown, and even do a few practice swipes. But the crystals on the bodice sparkle, each little shimmer begging for its life.
“It’s too pretty to ruin.” I drop down into the comfy chair, but keep the knife in my hand. I might need it later.
The fact is, I love this dress. I’d pinned it on my Pinterest board and gushed about it in the post. I mean, I never wanted to get married, of course. Men are, at their core, terrifying and cruel creatures as far as I can tell, and unfortunately, I’m not into women. Despite no wedding bells in my future, I thought this gown was gorgeous. It’s creepy that it’s here, waiting for me to put it on.
I glare at the gorgeous fabric. But I bet if I cut it up, Mr. Knight would just have another delivered. The bastard. Wait. No. I call him Luke. Everyone else calls him Mr. Knight. It makes it so much worse that his last name is Knight. Because believe me, he’s not one in shining armor. I’d think his last name was cool if I didn't want to punch him. Luke doesn’t seem to be the type that appreciates being defied. He’s in for a real treat, then. I smile for the first time since his goons locked me in here. I plan to give Luke a run for his money.
He won’t get any respect from me by calling him by his last name. I don’t care how many times my father corrected me on it. Why would I give a damn about what he wants to be called? He bought me from my father like a piece of property. My father sold me, just up and handed me off in exchange for the cliché briefcase full of cash. Those jerks agreed upon a price and exchanged money for me. As easy as if they were at the grocery store, buying a gallon of milk. I was a transaction, which pisses me off more than the pretty dress or the tasty cheese. It’s ridiculous and outrageous and I will be finding a way out of here once I finish my food.
I should’ve known this would happen. Luke always gets what he wants. My own father warned me of that. I laughed and tossed out all of the flowers he sent me. I want nothing to do with a man that associates with my father. Birds of a feather and all that jazz. I saw how my father treated my mother. She put up with it, too. I didn't want that life or a marriage like theirs. I’ve been doing my best to fight back the only way I know how, but that doesn’t seem to be getting me anywhere.
My fingers stroke the knife hilt. They’ll have to hold me down to get that dress on me. If they think I’m going to get all dolled up and walk down the aisle, they have another thing coming. My father might have handed me over like property, but I’m not going anywhere. I couldn’t even if I wanted to because the door is locked. They can’t keep me locked in here forever, though. Not if they need anI do. They’ll have to pry those words past my lips with pliers.
The door swings open a moment later. I have to control myself from popping up from my chair and making a run for it. I’m not going to get anywhere right now. I look back toward the cheese board and pretend Clayton hasn’t entered the room. He’s Luke’s right hand man.
He says nothing. I can see out of the corner of my eye that he’s just standing there. Keeping up the ruse, I eat another piece of cheese and moan around it about how good it is and too bad Luke’s goons aren’t entitled to any.
He stays silent, his hands clasped in front of him. Unruffled. I didn’t think I could be any more pissed off. I was wrong. I break. My self-control is the worst. “You could've knocked. What if I had been naked?” I pick up another grape, popping it into my mouth and trying to play it cool. I’m also trying to hide the knife. I don’t want to take Clayton down, but I will if I have to. I think I will, anyway. I could do it. I swallow the grape and choke a little before it goes down.
“If I’d seen you naked, Mr. Knight would likely have my eyes removed from my head.”
I turn to look at him with my face scrunched in disgust. Gross. “I’m eating grapes and you’re over here talking about eyeballs? Yick.” That’s a front. It bothers me because I don’t think Clayton is joking. I’ve heard things about Luke. Who knows what’s rumor or half-truths and whole-truth? Most of the tales came from my own father, and isn’t he the biggest liar of them all? I’d laugh if it didn’t hurt. See, I thought I was off to some fancy college where I’d be getting my own room and board. I could even take Ms. Kittles with me.
I was down with not being under my parents’ roof anymore. Sign me up. I’d still be under their thumb because I don’t have a penny to my name, but I thought college would be a start to my freedom. I was getting the hell out of Dodge and nothing had given me more joy. I’d be going into the world of normal people. I’m pretty sure I’m one of them. Yet, the way my fingers wrap so easily around the knife makes me wonder if I’m wrong. Things seem to be changing very quickly for me. I’d been dropped off here with my bag and my hopes of getting away utterly dashed. I was shoved into this room with my bags and all.
It’s clear there will be no college.
Hi, I’m Cassandra, and I am a dummy.
I’d never even asked the name of the school. I wasthatexcited to get out of my house. I thought maybe my father had done that college admissions cheating scandal thing. In no time, I’d be rubbing elbows with Aunt Becky’s daughter. But no. He couldn’t even cheat me into somewhere right. I probably should’ve asked for a course schedule—or, you know, a college name—but I was so used to going along with what I was told that I assumed everything was being taken care of. You know what they say about assuming? Yeah, I won’t make that mistake again.
Clayton’s glower has only deepened as I’ve been going over my foolishness in my mind. “I think we both know you’re not getting into that dress without a little help.”
That would scare the crap out of me if I thought he was going to forcefully put me into it. After the comment about his eyes being carved out of his head if he saw me naked, I don’t think that’s the case.
My heart starts to race as Clayton reaches into his jacket. Have I gone too far? Sassed him too much? Does he know about the knife? I swallow, still trying to keep my composure. If I’ve learned anything from Ms. Kittles, it’s to always play it cool. Never let the enemy know you fear them. You strike when they least expect it. Not that I’ve ever had to strike but I’ve seen Ms. Kittles do it on a few spiders. She’s so brave, out there dueling with arachnids and trying to save my life.
Clayton pulls out his phone, not a gun. I release the breath I’m holding as he takes a few steps toward me, and I see what’s on the screen.
My stomach drops as I see the familiar whiskers and beguiling green eyes. I want to rip Clayton apart. “You give me my little precious furry baby!”
“Of course,” Clayton agrees.
Oh. That tone actually worked. I should try it more often. “Good, then, in that case”—I clear my throat—“bring her to me right n—”
