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beckoning.
     
    “I have a surprise for you,” he says.
     
    He tells me what it is. My jaw drops. I didn’t thought my life could get any worse.

Chapter 3
    One Week Later
     
     
     
    Who would have thought that ringing church bells could make someone so miserable?
     
    It’s been a hellacious week, easily the worst of my life. Just seven days ago, I was in my studio kissing a man who caused the strangest butterflies to take flight in my stomach. Now, I am standing on an altar with a man who makes them all die.
     
    Grady is wearing a suit and staring straight at me as the priest reads whatever it is he’s reading. I’m not listening. In fact, I haven’t heard a word he’s said since the ceremony started. The only thing I’m capable of doing is breathing: in, out, in, out. It’s taking my full concentration, like I’ve never done it before and I have to focus or else I’ll fuck it all up and that’ll be the end of me.
     
    Which, to be honest, doesn’t sound so bad. It’s preferable to the life that lies ahead. A life of silent dinners and make-up caked around my eye to hide bruises. A life of awful, grunting sex. A horrible life.
     
    I think back to the moment he told me.
     
    We’d pulled in the garage and that awful smile came over his face. Then, “I have a surprise for you.”
     
    He flicked on the headlights of the car. There, illuminated on the back wall of the garage: a wedding dress.
     
    Those awful, beady eyes turned to gauge my reaction. Bile rose in my gut, my throat, my mouth. Nausea. Headache. Dizziness.
     
    “We’re getting married. Next week.”
     
    For five years, I’d pretended that we could keep staving off the day that Grady finally made good on the deal—or the threat, promise, or whatever you wanted to call the sick arrangement I’d been forced into. Sure, I went through the motions in that time. We picked a venue and flowers, crafted invitations, done all the various bullshit involved with a real marriage. But the thought that kept me going throughout that time was that the whole ordeal was never actually going to happen. Grady didn’t care about marrying me; he just cared about keeping me hostage. The loan for the studio was leverage enough, but the engagement was just an extra link in the chain—more icing on the wedding cake, so to speak.
     
    But now it is real. It isn’t a threat anymore. It’s happening. In front of me. Around me. To me.
     
    When will I ever not be a victim?
     
    The priest is droning on. “…together discovering the joys of holy matrimony…” I tune him out. Every word only adds another layer to the sickness in my stomach. The thought of everything that comes after this—all the congratulations and alcohol and people I have to talk to—nearly makes me vomit then and there. The world is conspiring against me.
     
    I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing nerves and settle the churning storm in my gut. It helps, if only a little bit. For the first time, I dare to take a look around the church. The pews are filled with people. They’re all Grady’s friends. I haven’t had a true friend since I moved in with him. He just wouldn’t allow it. I hardly ever left the house if it wasn’t by his side or to go to the studio. Living with him was the closest thing to being a prisoner.
     
    The cops all look the same, too. They all share the same squinty glare and the same wobbly jowls. Even the skinny ones have that shaky fat in their cheeks, like it’s as much a part of the uniform as the badge and gun. Nearly half the precinct is here. I’m not sure whether it’s because they actually like Grady or if they just want to lick the boots of the man in charge. It doesn’t matter to me either way, but it’s a slight comfort to pretend that I’m not the only one in the world who doesn’t recognize that he’s a monster.
     
    I look to the back of the church, behind the pews filled with people I don’t know and who won’t ever be able to