Thorne Princess(83)

We shared a moment. A smile. An understanding.

Yesterday was the first time I’d climaxed with a man.

The first time I’d had sex. Real sex.

It planted a seed of hope inside of me. That maybe I could be happy.

I slipped between my parents. Hera stood next to Dad. She flung her phone into one of the bridesmaid’s hands. “Let’s get this shit over with.”

We were standing on the stairway leading up to the Spanish colonial revival-style museum.

Hera swung her gaze toward me. “Covering those tattoos with makeup would be too much to ask, huh?”

“Hera, enough,” my mother chided, wrapping her fingers around my shoulder protectively.

“I don’t understand what got Hera’s panties in such a twist.” I flipped my hair, grinning seductively to the camera as the photographer began to click away. “If aesthetics meant so much to her, she wouldn’t marry a man who looks like a pug.”

“You jealous bitch!”

With a savage mewl, Hera flung her bouquet, launching herself on me. Her fingers were about to encircle my neck when Ransom stepped between us, serving as a human wall. He didn’t touch her, but didn’t let her near me, either.

“Get out of my way!” Hera raked his chest with her French manicured nails.

“Hera, please!” Mom tugged her elder daughter’s arm, trying to pull her away. Dad grabbed her other arm. They exchanged exasperated looks, dragging her down the stairs kicking and screaming.

It was nice not to be the designated troubled child for a change.

“I’ll give you five.” The photographer winced, stumbling back. “I know what it’s like.”

Did he have a narcissistic sister, too?

“You need to calm down,” Mom said to Hera. “You haven’t been yourself in a while. I understand the pressure, but you mustn’t lash out at all of us, least of all Hallie.”

“Your mother is right. We cannot afford a scene, sweetheart. These people signed an NDA, but if something leaked…” Dad added.

I continued hiding behind Ransom’s back, my gaze scraping the back of his neck. Half-mooned red marks of fingernails—my fingernails—adorned his skin, and every fiber of my body itched to touch him again.

“Groom’s here!” A douchehead in suspenders and Adrien Oxford shoes weaved through the white, round dining tables arranged around the garden, knocking over garlands and centerpieces.

Saved by the sexual abuser.

Craig trailed behind him, in a suit and over-moussed hair. Even through his thick layer of makeup, I could tell he was pale. I stiffened at the sight of him. Ransom took a step back, so we were shoulder-to-shoulder.

“Think he’s mad?” I whispered.

“I think I’ll grind every bone in his body into flour if he acts on it,” Ransom replied.

“That’s a vision.”

“Just say the word, Princess.” He bumped his shoulder to mine.

Sensing our presence, Craig’s eyes landed on Ransom and me. His face clouded. His friend pulled him toward his awaiting bride.

“There we go, bud. One step at a time.” Golden Douche grinned.

Hera tramped toward them, crashing her bouquet against the groom’s chest.

“You’re an hour late, moron!”

Dad grunted, rubbing his eyes. “Get me Graham on the phone. I’m going to have to make sure this doesn’t get leaked to the press.”

“I wasn’t feeling well,” Craig said cagily.

“Yeah, well, maybe you should lay off the beer every once in a while,” my sister bit out.

“Get off my case, would you?” Craig flung his arms, weaving his fingers through his combed hair. “You’ve been on my ass for a year now. Lose weight, whiten your teeth, smile for the cameras, clap, monkey, clap. I can’t take this anymore. I can’t take you anymore!” He rubbed at his cheek, as if he’d been slapped. “If I’m not good enough for you, just say the word and—”

“I can’t believe you have the audacity to clap back!” Hera cupped her mouth, clearly devastated.

“I can’t believe it took me this long,” Craig retorted.

His friend slinked toward the bar, which wasn’t open yet, desperately searching for someone to serve him. I’d have almost felt sorry for Craig if I didn’t hate him so fiercely.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news.” A woman in a green suit appeared from under one of the arches, clutching her iPad to her chest. “But we’re on a time crunch here, and we need to wrap up the shoot in less than an hour.”

“Looks like your meltdown’s gonna have to wait.” I pouted to Hera from the safety of being next to Ransom.

“You.” Hera pointed her finger at me, while dragging her future husband toward where my parents were standing. “I’m going to make sure you pay for this. Someone call the photographer. Now.”





The rest of the wedding was surprisingly bearable, everything considered. Even though I didn’t know anyone, people were nice to me. My parents introduced me to their friends and colleagues, proudly presenting me as their philanthropic daughter. But that could’ve been just to save face. Unemployed didn’t sound quite as charming.

Whenever I felt out of place, I retreated to one of the rooms of the museum with a napkin and a pen and doodled. Doodling slowed down my heart rate. Helped my hands stop shaking. More than anything—it organized the mess in my head.