Chapter 5

As I lay there, I drifted in and out of sleep.

In my dream, I was five again. Charles had just beaten up those bullies, and he turned to look at me.

Sunlight fell across his face. His eyes were bright as he said, "If anyone messes with Tanya again, they'll answer to me."

Then the scene shifted.

He was standing in the wedding reception hall, his face blank as he slapped me.

I jolted awake, drenched in cold sweat.

The rain had stopped. A faint strip of pale light was showing along the horizon.

I grabbed my phone, plugged it in, and turned it on.

Messages flooded in. The phone vibrated for several minutes before it finally stopped.

Most were from my mom. They started with "Tanya, where are you?" then turned into "At least text me back!" and finally, "What exactly are you trying to do? You've humiliated both families!"

There were a few messages from Charles, too.

[Where are you?]

[Tanya, are you done with this tantrum?]

[Answer your phone.]

The last one had come in at two in the morning. It contained just one sentence:

[What's the point of this?]

I stared at it, suddenly finding the whole thing absurd.

He'd slapped me, then asked me what the point of this was.

As if everything were my fault. As if I were the one being unreasonable, the one who'd ruined the wedding.

I didn't reply to anyone. I opened a delivery app and ordered a bowl of oatmeal.

When the delivery arrived, the doorbell rang.

I assumed it was the driver. Instead, when I opened the door, Charles was standing there.

He was still wearing the gray suit from the wedding. His tie hung loose, and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone.

Dark circles shadowed his eyes. He looked as if he hadn't slept all night.

He froze when he saw how pale I was.

I knew I looked awful.

My hair was a mess, my eyes were swollen, and I was wearing an old T-shirt that must have belonged to my friend. The red mark from yesterday's slap was still visible on my cheek.

He stared at me for a few seconds, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"You stayed here last night?"

I didn't answer. I turned and walked back inside.

He followed me in and looked around the nearly empty room, frowning.

"You live here? There's not even a proper bed."

"That's none of your business."

I sat on the mattress and took a sip of water.

He stood over me, looking down.

After a long silence, he said, "Come back and finish the wedding. We'll pretend yesterday never happened."

I looked up at him.

His expression was perfectly calm, as if he were discussing something ordinary.

"Charles, do you really think I can't live without you?"

He frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"I said," I replied, enunciating every word, "I'm not marrying you."

His frown deepened.

"Tanya, do you understand what you're saying?"

"I do. I've never been more sure of anything."

"Over one slap?" Disbelief crept into his voice. "I didn't mean to do it. Things were happening so fast—"

"What was happening so fast?" I cut him off. "You saw me push Lydia down, so you hit me. You didn't ask why. You didn't ask what she'd done. You didn't even give me a chance to explain. You just slapped me."

He opened his mouth, then fell silent.

"Do you even know what she did?" I continued. She put on my wedding dress. My wedding dress, on my wedding day, without asking me. I told her to take it off, and she refused."

"We were arguing when you walked in. And you hit me without even finding out what happened."

"Charles, tell me. What did I do wrong?"

He was silent for a long time. His expression shifted from shock to something complicated, then darkened into something I couldn't read.

"She'd never worn a wedding dress before," he said quietly. "She just wanted to try it on. Was that really such a big deal?"

"Then was it really necessary to hit me?"