Wicked Snow

A Gaudy Gown

It was the day of my wedding and my dress was a garish disaster of frills and endless poofy tulle. It was as far from what I would have chosen as possible, which only emphasized the forced nature of the wedding I was about to take part in. It also clashed terribly with the locket Sarah had given me on Christmas and that I had filled with a picture of me and my mom. I was probably reading way too much into it, but it seemed like a sign, reminding me that my mom would hate what I was doing.

“I look like a giant marshmallow,” I said to Sarah, who had helped me put on the gown.

I had asked her to be one of my bridesmaids and she had gladly accepted– even if she disagreed with the marriage. She was the only person in the wedding party that I actually knew; the rest had all been chosen by Kingsley and my father. I was surprised they had even allowed Sarah to be involved, but Kingsley had immediately agreed to my request when I called him to ask. Something told me I would have gotten a far different response from my father.

“Yep. A ridiculous giant marshmallow,” she agreed bluntly, not even trying to soften the blow of her criticism.

“Well thanks, Sarah,” I said with a chuckle.

“I could lie, but we both know this dress isn’t you,” she replied, looking pointedly at the frills on the top part of the dress.

We both stared at my reflection in the floor-length mirror in the church’s dressing room, grimacing at the vulgar gown that my father’s assistant had picked out. On someone else, it could have looked magical and like something out of a fairytale, but on me it just looked absurd. A giggle started working its way up my throat when Sarah tried and failed to push some of the puffiness down. I couldn’t contain it anymore when she started patting down the fabric viciously, and I burst out laughing. She looked up in surprise at the sound, but soon she was laughing with me, the two of us clutching our stomachs in hysterics.

“It’s just so bad,” I gasped through my laughter, shocked that I could even laugh on a day like that.

“Look at your cleavage,” she chuckled, pointing at my breasts which were, as she had noted, on full display. “You look like a slutty Cinderella.”

“I really do,” I admitted, wiping the tears of laughter from my eyes, smudging some of my mascara. “s**t, that doesn’t help,” I said when I noticed the black smear under my eyes.

“That’s easy to fix,” she said pulling me toward the dressing table. “The dress on the other hand is another situation altogether,” she added with a sigh.

At least she looked good in her bridesmaid’s dress, a simple dark purple dress with a sweet-heart neck and that had no frills, or tufts, or lace of any kind. It was elegant and sleek, the exact opposite of my gaudy gown. She had had to get the dress refitted for her since she had replaced one of the other bridesmaids, but it turned out beautifully and fit her like a glove. With her blonde hair pinned up in a neat bun, she looked stunning and sophisticated.

It took her a few minutes to fix up the smeared make-up, but she did it effortlessly. While she touched it up though, I got lost in my thoughts. I couldn’t help but imagine what the next two years of my life would be like, and I hated the picture in my mind. Did I really want to spend the next two years with a man I didn’t like, putting on fake smiles every time I so much as left the house, just so that I could chase a dream that wasn’t even necessary to become an artist?

Because that was the truth– I might not have even needed art school to become an artist. Plenty of people do it without getting a degree, so why couldn’t I? It took me way too long to realize that my mom’s wish for me to go to art school wasn’t worth selling my soul for. It was an hour before my wedding, but it wasn’t too late to turn back.

“Sarah, I don’t think I can do this,” I said once she had applied the finishing touches and was putting the make-up away. “I can’t marry him.”

She stopped what she was doing and looked at me with hope in her brown eyes. “Are you serious?” she asked, sounding relieved.

“I’ve never been more serious in my life,” I told her with a smile.

“Okay, what do we do? Should we just leave?” she asked, practically jumping with excitement.

“I don’t know… I guess I should at least give Kingsley a heads up, right?” I asked with a shrug, not really knowing the protocol of running from your own wedding.

“I guess, but what about your father? Won’t he be mad?” she asked, but before I could respond the door flew open.

As if he could sense my plan to abandon the wedding, my father came into the dressing room, not even bothering to knock. Sarah jumped, startled at the sudden intrusion. I placed my hand on her shoulder, letting her know everything was alright.

“Why don’t you give us a minute?” I said to her.

“Are you sure?” she asked with a worried look, clearly not wanting to leave me with the man I had told her so many terrible stories about.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” I replied, meeting her gaze with a meaningful look, to show that she could leave me alone with him.

“Alright, I’ll be outside when you need me.” She left the room reluctantly, looking back at me one last time before closing the door.

“Everything is ready,” my father informed me when the door was shut. “We had to work around a few things so your friend could be a bridesmaid, but Kingsley’s daughter seemed happy to give up her spot in the wedding party.” He said it with a smirk, as if I should feel insulted that my future stepdaughter didn’t want to be involved in the wedding.

In all honesty though, I couldn’t really blame her– she hadn’t even met me for goodness sake. None of that mattered though, because I wasn’t going to go through with it.

“I’m calling off the wedding,” I told my father confidently, not allowing any fear or hesitancy into my tone.

His eyes darkened instantly at my words and they narrowed threateningly at me. “Excuse me?” he bit out coldly.

“I’m not going through with it,” I repeated. “Take away art school for all I care, but I am not going to marry Kingsley.”

He chuckled darkly, shaking his head at my defiance. “Oh, Grace. It’s like you’ve learned nothing,” he said with amusement.

“There’s nothing you can do that will make me change my mind,” I said, keeping my head held high.

“Not even getting that new friend of yours kicked out of Yale’s law school?” he asked with a wicked sneer.

I gaped at him, flabbergasted. I hadn’t even considered that he might involve Sarah in his dark schemes. The man had no limits.

“What? Didn’t you know that having friends is a weakness?” he asked triumphantly.

“You wouldn’t,” I said weakly, but I knew that he would. He would do it and not even feel a twinge of guilt over it.

“We both know I will do whatever it takes to get what I want,” he said like he was already bored with the conversation. “And in order to get what I want, you need to go through with this wedding,” he added.

“You’re a f*****g monster,” I shouted angrily, so fed up with his threats and blackmail.

My words angered him, and he pounced on me, pushing me against the wall and wrapping his hand around my throat. I fought against him, clawing at his hand like a trapped animal, but he didn’t let go.

“You’re right. I am a monster,” he whispered, tightening his grip around my throat and cutting off my air. “And you’d do better to remember that the next time you try to defy me.”

He continued pressing against my throat until I was sure I was going to pass out. Only then did he step back and let me fall to floor in a crumpled heap of taffeta and tulle. I drew in a deep breath but choked and coughed when the air hit my burning lungs.

“You will go through with the wedding like we agreed,” he said coldly, straightening his tie and pulling the cuffs of his suit jacket down. “I don’t care if I have to drag you down the aisle kicking and screaming, but you will leave this church a married woman.”

I didn’t understand how I could have let my father get the upper hand again. I felt so stupid and so weak, gasping on the floor while he stood over me, looking down at me with derision and scorn. In that moment, I wasn’t thinking of anything besides drawing in my next breath, but his next words showed he remembered the promise I had made about going to the cops if he ever laid hands on me again.

“Oh, and just in case you got any ideas about involving the police, I heard that Sarah’s mother is a primary school teacher,” he said, taking great joy in the way my shoulders slumped even further in defeat. “It would be a pity if stories started spreading about how she hits her students, or better yet how she touches them inappropriately. That kind of thing can ruin a person’s life, you know.”

Pure evil. The man was pure, unadulterated evil. He had found all my weaknesses and had been ready to use them against me whenever he needed them.

“Mrs. Fields has nothing to do with this,” I said desperately, my voice croaking from the abuse to my throat. “You can’t just go around ruining people’s lives when they’ve done nothing to you,” I shouted the last part, my fury building and festering.

“Oh, but I can, Grace. I can and I will, but as long as you follow through with your end of the bargain, nothing has to happen to Sarah or her mother.”

A thought struck me then. “Is this how you kept my mom around? By blackmailing her?” I asked in disgusted realization.

His eyebrows lifted in surprise at my guess. “Yes,” he admitted. “Before you turned eighteen, she couldn’t leave because I could easily get custody and take you away from her,” he said without any shame. “After that though, I had to get creative.”

“Why? She was a good person. She didn’t deserve that,” I cried out, unable to stop the tears from forming with the new information.

“You don’t get ahead by being good, Grace. You win by doing whatever it takes,” my father told me, as if that explained away all the terrible things he had ever done.

“I hate you,” I spat at him venomously, knowing the words would make no impact on the psychopath, but still needing to say them anyway.

“Hate me all you want, but it won’t change anything,” he said simply, perfectly summing up the kind of man he was– a heartless uncaring narcissist. “I’ll see you in an hour to walk, or drag, you down the aisle. It’s your choice which one.”

With that he left the room as if nothing had happened, closing the door on the daughter he had left in a crumpled heap on the floor. I stood up unsteadily, put off balance by my shaking legs and the giant balloon of a wedding dress.

“Grace, can I come in?” Sarah asked through the door, sounding concerned.

Not trusting my voice to hide my emotion state and the damage my father had done to my throat, I chose to walk across the room and open the door for her instead of responding. Her eyes widened in shock at the state I was in, tear-stained and rumpled, with mascara running down my face.

“What the hell happened?” she asked in dismay.

“I have to go through with the wedding,” I told her with a defeated shrug, feeling completely and utterly helpless.

“What? No, whatever he threatened you with, it’s not worth it, Grace.” She shook me by the shoulders, seemingly try shake some sense into me. “Don’t do this.”

“I don’t have a choice,” I sobbed, feeling myself crumble under the weight of what I was going to have to do. For just a few minutes, I thought I could be free, but the disappointment that followed was crushing me.

“What does he have on you Grace?” she asked, trying to help me.

“It doesn’t matter,” I told her, not willing to let her find out that my friendship to her had been the instrument of my father’s blackmail. “I just need you to do me a favor,” I said, hiccupping from the crying I had been doing.

“Anything,” she said with loyalty.

“My father might be able to force me down the aisle, but he can’t force me to wear this monstrosity of a dress,” I said, the idea growing in my mind. “I’m going to make a statement about this wedding for all those guests and reporters to see.” If I was going to walk down that aisle, I was going to do it wearing a dress that symbolized exactly what the wedding meant to me.

“What did you have in mind?” she asked in confusion.

“I need you to go buy me a dress,” I explained. “A black dress.”