I stared at my reflection for a good long time, trying not to think too hard. My face was remarkably pale, nearly as white as my wedding dress. My caramel hair curled softly to my shoulders, and my gray eyes were curiously dead. No one would notice them, however, as I walked down the aisle--no one would notice the look of fear that presented itself in the very way I held my body. My fear and my uncertainty. Simply a smile, and I would look like the perfect bride to any outsider. I tried to pull up my lips, but I stopped when I realized I would burst into tears if I did.
There was a soft knock on my door. "Come in," I called, my voice hoarse.
It creaked open, and two faces peeked into the room. One gasped and one cooed, and my two best friends came to my side. Laura kneeled to me and clasped my hands; Estelle wrapped her arms around my neck, her head on my shoulder.
"Oh, Esme!" Laura breathed, her blue eyes wide. "You look so beautiful!" I tried unsuccessfully to smile.
"You do!" Essie agreed, squeezing my shoulders. She studied my reflection in the mirror then, and I purposely avoided her gaze. "What's wrong?" she asked, her voice dropping to a concerned murmur. I could feel Laura's inquisitive eyes on me as she studied me, too. "Having second thoughts?"
I nodded, and finally burst into the tears that had been hiding in the back of my throat since this morning. Laura squeezed my hands and Essie hugged my shoulders.
"We all had them, Esme," Laura assured.
"I know I did," Essie added.
"And Charles is a great man." Is he, really? I nearly asked.
"You'll be fine," they said together.
I could not tell them my whole problem--not only did I not want to marry him, but I wanted another man, one I had not seen in five years. I could not tell them that this marriage had virtually been arranged by my parents, and that they simply wanted this because Charles had a good background. I could not tell them that there was a small lump in the pit of my stomach that told me that I was doing something wrong. I could not tell them this because I could not tell myself. I could only nod, pretend to accept what they said, pretend to smile behind my tears.
Laura got up from my feet and kissed my cheek.
"You'll be fine," she reminded me softly, smiling. "We'll be out there waiting for you." Essie patted my shoulder, and stealthily they left the room. I was left to mop up my tears.
It seemed like only seconds later that I was on my father's arm, heading for Charles and for my future. I could feel everyone's eyes on me, but I paid no attention--I stared only at him, at Charles. I saw him through new eyes, critical eyes that had finally accepted the truth that I felt deep down.
I could see every imperfection in him: big eyes that held a strange cruelty in them, a crooked nose too small for his face, thin lips that were set with arrogance and victory. My father placed my hands in Charles's, and his hands were big, tough--and everything seemed to fall into place.
Suddenly, I could see everything now--I was a prize for him. He would not be the gentle, loving husband I had always dreamed of--Charles would be vicious. I could see it--his whole face held a strange mix of his cruelty and arrogance and sense of victory. Why hadn't I seen it before?
Within a matter of seconds, I became terrified. I trembled.
My eyes flickered to the exit, and for a short second I could see myself running from the church, away from him.
I would not run from him, though, when I was only working on women's intuition. That was cowardly, and it was arrogant for me to believe that I could read my fiancée so well. I had no proof of my fears, and I would not run from them.
Still, I was frightened. Charles just seemed to have an air of violence around him that I had never noticed before. I had a whisper of fear as I realized that very quickly this marriage would turn into a nightmare.
My lips were trembling, and I fought hard against myself to force my lips to form the words. "I do," I whispered, and new tears caressed their way down my face.
This is a mistake, this is a mistake, this is a mistake! I yelled at myself as the ring was placed on my finger.
There was nothing I could do.
"You may kiss the bride." In my fantasies, my new husband would cup my jaw and gently lower himself to my lips--he was always tall, slender, and blonde. My short and stocky husband did not touch my face in a loving caress, however--he simply pressed his thin, arrogant lips to mine in a greedy way.
And it was done. My fate was sealed. I was Mrs. Charles Evenson. The tears streaked down my face at a quicker speed.
He led me down the aisle, in between the cheering audience. With despair, I realized that they mistook my tears for those of joy.
We were outside then--it was an oddly overcast day, the sky dark and dismal. I wondered if it was mocking me.
Essie and Laura both hugged me and laughed and whispered things in my ear that I paid no attention to. They were so engrossed within their own happiness that they did not notice my fear.
Someone helped me into a car--the car that would take us to the train station. I was pushed against Charles, and his arms wrapped around me. I had never noticed how strong and rough he was.
As the car sped down the road, I looked out the back window. Essie and Laura were waving at me, and I performed our secret signal for Wish me luck!: I crossed my first and middle finger, kissed them, and touched my cheekbones. Could they see my tears from this distance?
They both saw the sign, and simultaneously they repeated the Luck! signal: they crossed their fingers, kissed them, and touched their heart.
Charles pulled my attention away from the window then, and off we sped.
I lay completely still until Charles's snores became regular; the tears leaked out from the corners of my eyes. I bit my lips to keep my sobs inside. Slowly, I crawled out from under the covers, placing my weight lightly and carefully on the floor. He did not move. I flitted to the balcony door and edged it open inch by inch lest it should squeak. The warm breeze hit my face, and I crept out of the room and onto the patio. With the door shut, I sank into the nearest chair and wept.
Everything I'd guessed had been correct--his cruelty, his strength, and his air of violence. All true, and he hadn't even hid it from me.
He had had a normal disposition back home--he seemed so cool, so together--but behind closed doors, it seemed like every little thing set him off. He got angry with our train conductor when we left the station ten minutes late; angry with our waiter when he brought our food to us and it was cold. Somehow, I had avoided his anger, but not his brute strength. I touched the tender bruises on my forearms where his hands had gripped me too hard. I felt sore all over: my hips, my back, my thighs. He was passionate above and beyond the point of violent.
I wailed and curled myself up into a ball. This was what I had been waiting for my whole life--marriage and children. I had never imagined that there could be bad--that someone could mess up so simple a recipe for happiness. But single-handedly, Charles had turned my marriage into a living Hell, and I feared for our future. For my future.