marriages were no more significant than land transfers. He scribbled something on the marriage slip and showed us where we were each s

s Father have over him to make his hands tied? He's the Maverick Shelby, it's almost

him. I took hold of the slip too and my hand hovered over where my signature should have been. It w

ng this for

s was a necessary evil. I had

ered the pen to the pa

ign

o

didn't love, didn't know, did

wanted to rip it away, scream,

didn't lo

ne here.

d on my chest. I blurted, "Wher

e answere

od

ver will tak

rt stu

ng, and then-you take me b

wanted this marriage, didn't you? Your family begg

cked the air

whispered, voice crackin

was colder than stone. Eyes flicked back to the phone, dismi

ce de

burning skin. Outside, vendors shouted, motorcycles weaved close to cars, a dog barked. Vib

y. Maverick didn't move, not even to bi

ing around the purse. Lips p

eric

l send someone for you and your

me, cold and unblinking. Beneath

Shelby. You won't like th

ing the words hanging in the burning air. And somew

an as

urtesy to take me to my ne

floated from the porch, eag

wed at the ai

dress clung to my ankles with sweat, the fabric suffocating against my ribs. I lifted my chin because that

small, as though it belonged to someone else. My father appeared behind he

shing past me into the house as t

The truth pressed against my chest: no

even

fingers as I dragged a brush across canvas, trying to capture the colors of a fading sunset. My strokes w

my desk. Outside, palm leaves rustled, a fountain murmured down the street. For a fleeting mom

he day Maverick said he'd

ping onto the edge of the canvas. My pu

him. A driver in a sharp uniform stepped out of a black car, polished like obsidian

ther's voice thu

mach t

xes. Packed days ago. My life, folded neatly agains

tached. "Miss Santos. Mr. Shelby

no

of leather and cedar filled the car, edged with something familiar-Maverick's cologne. My p

nning, houses spreading farther apart. Each one larger, colder, fenc

ed and gleaming under the evening sun. Wide steps, black double doors, fountains whispering

ase of the steps. He didn't carry them i

his eyes. "There are no servants in the house. From now on, as lady of t

f the

or what I really was: an unpaid maid with

over the marble and shouldered the

silence wa

d clean of anything resembling life. Marble stretched beneath my feet, glossy and pale. Floor-to-cei

ce and..

ast staircases that twisted upward like something out

sheets were crisp and blue, the window overlooking swaying palms. It felt l

o," I whispe