The Bride Is Not Me

Zachary Lawson's back stiffened like a board, his eyes trying to burn the torn check to ashes. The smile on his lips curled downward, while his friend, Sam Gray, chuckled from the other couch.

"That's a cheap trick, Natalie. Zachary's kind enough to give you a gracious retreat, but you just have to hold up your pride when you have none."

Zachary stood up, his expression glacial, and the torn check crumpled under his leather shoes. He stood before me like a looming shadow. "You're pushing your luck, Natalie. I paid for every brick in this store. You don't get to be proud when it's my money you're living off of!"

I stared into his stormy, furious eyes with stone-cold indifference, the one thing he hated the most. He swiveled around and swung his arm at the custom-made gowns in my shop. "Smash everything!"

The four bodyguards charged into the lobby and swung their metal bats into the gigantic crystal showcase standing in the center of the shop. Shards of gleaming crystal and glass flew in every direction. The gowns I'd spent three years working on were torn off their hangers.

The bodyguards trampled all over the pure-white fabric as they tore the gowns apart. Sickening rips of fabric filled the air, and thousands of crystals and pearls, sewn onto the gowns by hand, thudded on the floor like particularly expensive rain.

Zachary was standing before me, staring into my face. "Wendy thinks the old ones smell like dust, and you're being difficult. I'd say putting on a show for the baby is a good use for these things."

A bodyguard aimed another swing at the glass showcase in the corner, where a pair of cheap silver rings sat. Zachary bought them at a bazaar when we first started our business. They cost 30 dollars.

Zachary moved before the bat could land. He strode over and shielded the display case with his back. A shard of glass hurtled through the air and cut through his suit before opening a wound on the back of his hand.

The bodyguard stopped moving immediately. Zachary turned around, worried that the rings were broken. They were not. He was relieved, but his breathing quickened. Then, he swiveled around and jabbed a finger at the bodyguard.

"Watch where you're swinging! Don't kill anyone here!"

The shop looked like nothing less than a ruined field razed by a hurricane, and now Zachary was acting every part the protective father over something precious. It was bizarre, to say the least.

The old me would've thought his gesture meant that I mattered to him, at least in some way. Now, I wouldn't even hire him to be the opening act for a cheap circus with abused animals.

Zachary strode back to me and clamped a hand around my chin.

He held up his phone with his other hand and pointed its camera at my face. "Look into the camera and repeat after me. Tell her you welcome the baby and will step away as my wife. Tell her you wish us happiness."

I wanted to look away, but Zachary's hand forced me to look into the camera. His shoes were trampling all over the crown jewel of a gown that had been torn off its hanger.

He spent hours and a mountain of effort bidding on that in an auction. "You're the best fit for a gown, no one else," he once said.

Now, he was stepping on that very diamond while forcing me to give my place to his mistress. I didn't bother moving.

Instead, I looked into the pale, ghostly figure on the screen as I said, "I, Natalie Simpson, will give my place to Wendy Wood. I welcome her baby, and I wish you two happiness."

I spoke every single word clearly and calmly. Once it was over, Zachary stopped recording, but frustration flickered in his eyes.

Sam and his friends whistled and cheered.

"Awesome, Zachary! I bet Wendy's going to be real happy with that video!"

Zachary flung off the beads of blood from his hand and pulled out a cigarette from his pack. "I'm going for a smoke. Keep an eye on her and make sure she cleans up this mess."

He and his circle of trust fund babies swaggered outside. I turned around and stepped through the ruined shop, every step crunching beneath my feet, as I approached the personnel lounge at the end of the corridor.

I wanted to grab my passport and the design sketchbook that had my top-secret works for a competition. A moment later, I pushed the door open, and my eyes went straight to the sofa.