6|Doesn't Really Change A Thing

Marybeth never really thought about her wedding day. No, that was an absolute lie. She had, as a little girl. Back then, she had all kinds of dreams, and many had centred around her prince charming, a fairytale wedding, and a happily ever after, in that order. And thanks to the countless hours she'd spent in front of the TV watching fairytale princesses sail off into the sunset with their golden-haired princes. 

She had slowly let go of the idea of a fairytale wedding and a happily ever after at eight when her parents' marriage collapsed, and her mom walked out on them. Phoebe Tyson was too pretty and too damn good for this humid town. She didn't sign up for all that 'in sickness and in poverty' bullshit. Her words—not Marybeth's—when she walked out of the front door with her trusty suitcase in one hand and a tattered coat in the other, and never looked back. 

When her father married Danica, a twenty-four-year-old waitress he met while pulling a con at Royal Lights eight years after her mom left, Marybeth's faith in all things love had been somewhat restored, and she'd held on to the idea of a golden-haired prince all through high school. Until said golden-haired prince, Elijah Boshoff, the only boy she was convinced God had created just for her, broke her heart and stomped it to pieces at nineteen when he fucked her roommate.

Now at twenty-eight, all of Marybeth's fairytale dreams had turned into a pile of ashes she had no interest in cleaning up. 

The only thing she wanted now was to get through this sham of a wedding as quickly as possible, and with very little drama. 

She slammed the jewellery box shut and snapped on Danica's diamanté earrings, wondering how life could change so quickly. Yesterday, this time, she was in her classroom, finger-painting with her first-graders. Today, she was about to marry a man she'd never met, because her father had gotten himself into a horrible deal not even her meagre savings could get him out of.

For days, weeks, months and maybe years after her mom left, Marybeth hated her for quitting on them. But now, faced with this monumental task, the ultimate sacrifice, she finally understood why Phoebe left. She had to save herself or risk her husband pulling her down in one of his endless schemes. The same way he was dragging Marybeth down now.

She checked her reflection in the mirror one more time. The sales-rack dress Danica had borrowed from a friend was a far cry from the soft lace and tulle ball gown her seven-year-old self would have wanted to wear today. Her fiery hair hanging limply at her sides was missing a sparkly tiara and a veil, and the hazel eyes staring back at her in the mirror held misery no bride should feel on her wedding day.

The door creaked to life, and Danica sashayed in, looking astonishingly presentable—almost like the mother of a bride—in her pale blue pantsuit and matching heels, her bottle-blonde hair pulled away from her face in a low bun. 

"You look stunning, Sweet Pea," she gushed as she perched herself on the edge of her matrimonial bed.

"From which angle?" Marybeth glared at her in the mirror, unable to hide her annoyance and discomfort. The white cotton dress with a lace overlay was a size too small, and she was so afraid if she so much as sneezed, it would rip in two right in the middle of her back. But this was the best her stepmom could pull off at the last minute. 

"No, seriously, you look beautiful."

"Flattery is wasted on me. Now tell me everything about this Austin Hawthorne. I tried googling him, but nothing came up. It's like he doesn't exist."

"He's an extremely private man. And honestly, other than him being my boss, I don't know much about him."

"What do you mean he's your boss?" Marybeth screeched. "And you only think to tell me this now?"

Danica frowned at her. "It doesn't change a thing. I don't see what difference telling you earlier would have made."

She was right. Finding out Austin Hawthorne was Danica's boss didn't change anything. In fact, it only made her father's—and now her predicament—a lot worse. 

But she wanted to feel a little outraged. She was entitled to feel outraged. More so, since they'd decided to trick her into this last-minute wedding and play matchmaker with her life.

"So he manages Royal Lights?" she asked as she applied a garishly pink lipstick, hoping it would create an illusion of plump, luscious lips. It didn't. She looked tacky as hell. But since her dress had transformed her into a stuffed sausage, she might as well go all in. She was even tempted to apply blue eyeshadow and the reddest blush to her cheeks to complete her clown look. But she mentally shuddered at the image and set Danica's fake Too Faced palette back on the dressing table. 

"He owns Royal Lights and a bunch of other casinos and nightclubs around the country."

"So he's a pimp? You both expect me to marry a pimp?"

"Austin Hawthorne is many things, but a pimp isn't one of them."

"How exactly did Daddy end up owing him so much money?" Marybeth asked as she stepped into Danica's white heels. Thank heavens, they wore the same shoe size. It was bad enough that the dress was small; she'd hate to walk down the aisle in tight shoes, too. "And is there a chance I can get a screwdriver to go? Or even a mimosa? Because seriously, I don't see myself going through with this sober."

Danica was a little taken aback by her request. She shook her head, but a sharp look from her made her reconsider. 

She crossed the room, looked through her dresser, and returned with a small silver flask.

"It's for emergencies," she explained, and something only Marybeth could describe as shame flickered across her face. 

"Thanks!" She took the flask, uncapped it, and took a swig. "So? How did Daddy get involved?"

"Honestly, Marybeth, your father didn't think things would turn out this way. But he owed loan sharks a bunch of money and needed cash fast. So he had this grand plan to hit the jackpot at Royal Lights. At first he was winning, and he'd almost made enough to pay off the sharks, but then his luck ran out, and he lost everything. The more money he lost, the more he borrowed from the house, and before long, he'd racked up half a mil. He was supposed to pay it all back within six months, and well, the longer he took, Austin added interest and other fees—"

"Don't say anymore." Marybeth held up her hand, feeling woozy suddenly. She wasn't sure if it was from the vodka she just drank neat on an empty stomach, or if it was from her stepmom's announcement. But whatever it was, it made everything far worse than she'd imagined. 

Why her father would think he could pay off half a million rands in six months was baffling, to say the least.

A hesitant knock on the door snapped Marybeth out of her confusion, and a moment later, her father poked his head inside.

"You look gorgeous, Sweet Pea!" he effused.

For a second, Marybeth couldn't recognise him as he pulled at the lapels of his unflattering suit jacket and swayed on the balls of his feet. He looked old and haggard. He'd grown painfully thin too. Not exactly newsflash now in the face of his cirrhosis diagnosis.

He really needed to see a doctor. She'd take him to Dr Khan, their family doctor, to understand just how bad his condition was. Her future husband seemed to know so much more about her father's health than she did.

"I think we should head out. We don't want to get caught in traffic," her father said as he held out his hands to both her and Danica. 

Marybeth ignored him and pushed past him. 

She loved him to death, in that sad way most abandoned children love the parent left behind with them. She loved him, even when he didn't deserve her love and loyalty ninety percent of the time.

But what he'd done…Pawning her off to pay off his debt was unforgivable. It would take her a long time to understand his actions, let alone get over his betrayal.

They crammed themselves in her Picanto, with Danica insisting on taking the wheel, since Marybeth already had a wee bit of vodka rushing through her veins. 

"Do you have your smart ID card?" her father asked as soon as he was strapped in the back seat.

In the rear-view mirror, Marybeth watched him pull and tug at his collar and tie. Despite pretending to be a businessman all his life, he never got used to wearing suits. He was a button-down shirt and casual slacks kind of guy.

"Got it!" she replied as she opened her window. The humid air hit her on the side of her face with the same intensity the sun scorched her skin. Maybe she'd get a half tan by the time they reached Home Affairs. Then she'd look like a clown for sure. And maybe Austin Hawthorne would change his mind about marrying her at first sight. 

She laughed at the mental image, startling her father and stepmom. 

"What's so funny?" Danica asked as she gripped the steering wheel tightly and stared straight ahead, at the long line of cars moving at a snail's pace. She was an anxious driver.

"Nothing," Marybeth replied. They wouldn't get it. So she turned on the stereo, and an East Coast Radio DJ kept them company for the duration of their drive to Strand Street.