Carey

 

“Okay, let’s see it.”

 

Carey sighed and took her hand out of her pocket.

 

“Holy shit.”

 

Lily was speechless.

 

“That’s, uh, quite the goddamn ring,” said Lily, her eyes as wide as saucers.

 

“It’s hideous,” said Carey, sitting back on the sink in the bathroom where she and Lily were getting ready for the engagement party her parents were throwing for her. “I feel like my arm’s going to get pulled out of the socket walking around with this thing.”

 

“It’s like a damn boulder,” said Lily.

 

“Whenever I pictured my engagement ring, I always imagined something, you know, a little more tasteful. I don’t even really care about how expensive it is.”

 

“You might not care about how expensive it is, but someone clearly does,” she said, grabbing Carey’s hand and taking another look at the enormous rock. “Shit, you could sell this thing and go get another six-year degree at college. I don’t want to even think about how much it cost.”

 

She dropped Carey’s hand and looked away.

 

“But you are thinking about it,” said Carey.

 

“How can I not? Brady’s not even thirty and he’s dropping more on a ring than I’m probably gonna make in this decade. One thing’s for sure, though—he’s not screwing around about wifing you up.”

 

“He’s like an overeager little kid who can’t understand why he can’t get what he wants.”

 

“Looks to me like he is getting what he wants,” said Lily, cocking her eye at Carey.

 

Carey sighed, knowing that Lily was right. By agreeing to the wedding, she was justifying all of Brady’s boorish, entitled behavior. Once they were wed, she knew that he’d become even more of a nightmare to deal with. After all, he’d won the most important victory of his life.

 

“Are you really that upset about all of this?” asked Lily. “I mean, you’re about to get hitched to a guy who’s able to give you whatever you want.”

 

Not everything, thought Carey.

 

“It’s fine,” said Carey. “I mean, I was stupid to think I could do anything other than what my family expected of me. And they’ve been paying for everything over the last few years—wouldn’t it be, I don’t know, ungrateful to not get married to the man they want for me?”

 

“Very logical,” said Lily, “but you’re probably right. Maybe you should just try to focus on the positive, you know? I mean, think about the wedding. And I bet you can get a honeymoon in Paris out of this guy, easy.”

 

Carey forced a small smile.

 

“And I hate to bring it up, but have you heard anything from Owen?”

 

“I, um, kind of blocked him.”

 

“Are you serious?”

 

“Yeah. I mean, I know it’s lame, but I didn’t know what else to do. I just … I don’t even know what I want anymore.”

 

Lily shook her head in commiseration. But before either of them could say another word, a heavy knock sounded on the bathroom door.

 

“Are you two about done getting ready?” asked Joanne, her voice muffled. “Everyone’s waiting for you, Carey!”

 

“Guess there’s no putting this off any longer,” said Carey, taking one last look at herself in the mirror.

 

“At least you look hot as shit in that dress,” said Lily.

 

Carey smiled as she opened the bathroom door.

 

“About time,” said Joanne, leading the two girls through the halls of Brady’s house. “The guests are all wondering when they can finally lay eyes on the beautiful fiancée!”

 

Carey felt her stomach tighten as they drew closer to the balcony. Dozens of well-dressed men and women were there, sipping champagne and talking amongst themselves. Once Joanne opened the door, however, all eyes locked onto Carey.

 

“Here she is, everyone! The girl of honor!”

 

Light, pleased applause broke out among the crowd, followed by the nearest girls swooping in to catch a glimpse of the massive ring on Carey’s finger.

 

“Oh my God! Look at that thing!”

 

“It’s … gorgeous.”

 

“That’s like my ring times five!”

 

Carey turned to Lily, who watched the commotion with an amused expression on her face.

 

“Now, now, girls,” said Brady, cutting through the crowd and taking Carey’s hand. “Try not to eat her alive before the wedding even happens.”

 

Brady led her through the party, taking her aside and placing a glass of champagne in her hand.

 

“Wow,” he said, looking her up and down with eager eyes. “You look like a damn dream.”

 

“Thanks,” said Carey, turning towards the sweep of the lake.

 

Brady furrowed his brow. “You look … not all that happy,” he said.

 

“It’s just … all of this,” she said, waving her hand towards the party happening around her. “It’s not really my thing. I’m not really much of a party type.”

 

“Well,” said Brady. “You’ll have to get over that sooner than later. When you and I are married, we’re going to be having little soirees like this all the time. After all, the higher I move up with the bank, the more I’ll be expected to keep up appearances. After all, what good is having a beautiful wife like you at my side if I can’t show her off?”

 

He smirked.

 

“Just joking,” he said, not getting the reaction he seemed to be hoping for. “But you’re going to be making many, many friends among the wives of my business associates. You’ll have plenty of time to build up your social muscle.”

 

Carey looked down at the glass of champagne in her hand, wishing more than anything that she could drink it, then another, then another, until this party was something approaching tolerable.

 

“So get in there and make some friends!” he said, leading her towards the crowd with his hand on the small of her back. “And I’d better not see you spending the afternoon gossiping in the corner with Lily. Make some new friends!”

 

With that, Brady went off to fraternize with the other men from the bank. Carey was set upon immediately by the single women in attendance, all of them clamoring for another look at the ring in between telling Carey just how lucky she was for snagging a man like Brady.

 

“How did you do it?” asked one of the girls, a wide-eyed redhead. “I’ve been trying to get him for months, and you just walk in and within, like, two weeks, you get a ring.”

 

“We, um, have a history. We dated in high school.”

 

The girls all said “ahh” in unison.

 

“That’s so romantic,” said another. “You break up in high school, go off to live in the real world, then you realize that you’re perfect for one another. It’s like a movie or something.”

 

Yeah, a horror movie, though Carey.

 

She put up with the giggling girls for as long as she could manage before ducking out of the crowd to find Lily.

 

“How’re you holding up?” Lily asked, taking a long sip of her bubbly.

 

“About as well can be expected,” Carey said, leaning against the side of the house. “Looks like I’ve got nothing but this to look forward to for the next three decades.”

 

“It could be worse,” Lily said. “Plenty of girls our age would kill to be a ‘brunch-and-shopping’ trophy wife.”

 

“Then they’re more than welcome to switch places with me,” said Carey.

 

Just then, another group of girls approached the pair.

 

“Can you cover for me for ten minutes?” asked Carey, not at all in the mood for more chattering conversation. “I just need to clear my head.”

 

“Do it,” said Lilly. “I’ll try to find a shiny object to distract your new friends with.”

 

“Thanks,” said Carey, hurrying back into the house.

 

She made her way through the smattering of people gathered in the living room, saying her “hellos” where necessary. After a few moments, Carey was back in the guest bedroom that she’d claimed for her own over the last few weeks. Plopping down onto the bed, she let out a long sigh as she tried to fight back the urge to weep.

 

“… so she’s an art major, right?”

 

Carey’s ears perked up. She looked around, half-expecting to see someone else in the room with her, so clear and loud were the words.

 

She stood up from the bed and looked around, her eyes settling on the open window across from her. Walking carefully towards it, she saw that it was open just over a small group of suited men, Brady among them.

 

“Yes,” said Brady, “she’s just finishing up her master’s.”

 

Carey’s eyes went wide as she realized that she was in the perfect position to listen in on a conversation that she wasn’t meant to hear. Part of her wanted to shut the window and hurry back to the party, but she couldn’t help herself.

 

“Badass, man,” said one of the men. “Back when was I at Yale, the art chicks were always the ones who gave it up super easy. All of them were trying to piss off their dads or some shit.”

 

“No kidding,” said another one of the men. “Or they thought that being a skank was, like, some kind of empowerment shit or whatever. And I’m just like ‘whatever gets you sucking my cock’.”

 

The men laughed, but Carey didn’t hear Brady among them.

 

“You’re both wrong,” he said, his voice one of mild irritation. “She’s not like that. Carey told me very clearly that she hasn’t been with any other guys since her and I dated.”

 

“And you believed that?” asked one of the men.

 

“Why wouldn’t I?” asked Brady. “She’s from a good family; she knows better than to ruin her reputation.”

 

“Just sayin’, man, girls do shit like sleep around and then put on the innocent act when it’s time to get hitched.”

 

“You’re wrong!” repeated Brady, now much more irritated. “And I’m not going to just stand around while you call my fiancée a whore!”

 

Part of Carey felt a little flattered at Brady for sticking up for her like this. But she quickly realized that this was likely more about Brady protecting his own pride than it was about being chivalrous. She continued to listen in.

 

“Just fuckin’ with you, man,” the man continued. “She’s probably being legit with you.”

 

“Yeah,” said the other. “Carey’s a quiet chick. It’s those artsy girls with the purple hair that you’ve gotta look out for, you know?”

 

“Well, Carey’s not like that,” said Brady. “And I’m more than happy to be marrying an artist.”

 

Carey was surprised to hear that.

 

Does this mean he’s actually going to be supportive of my passions or something? she asked herself.

 

“No shit?” asked one of the men.

 

“Absolutely,” said Brady. “See, I’ve gotten to know some of the guys up above me at the bank, and they all made the mistake of marrying girls with actual ambition—the types that they met on the job. You know, career girls.”

 

“Uh huh,” said one of the men.

 

“And it always ends up making them miserable. The women give up their career ambitions to stay at home, and they’re very, very unhappy about it in time.”

 

“Then they end up turning into ball-busting nightmares,” said one of the men.

 

“Exactly,” said Brady. “A girl like Carey, on the other hand, doesn’t have that kind of ambition. I’ll let her have one of the bedrooms to turn into a studio or whatever it is that she wants, but I’ll make it very, very clear that there are particular things that I expect out of her a wife. And with someone like her, I’m sure it will be very, very easy to ‘train’ the proper behavior into her.”

 

“Damn, Brady,” said one of the men. “You’re like a mastermind with this shit.”

 

“Ice cold, but not a bad plan,” said the other. “Way better than fixing some girl who’s ten years into some career or something.”

 

Carey couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She dropped into a sitting position on the ground, it finally dawning on her just how trapped and helpless she was. It wasn’t enough for Brady to have her body, she realized, he also wouldn’t stop until he’d changed her into his idea of the perfect wife. However, she had no idea what else she could do.

 

“Let’s get back in there,” said one of the men. “Girls are getting good and drunk by now.”

 

“Fuck, yeah,” said the other.

 

With that, the conversation was over.

 

Standing up, Carey realized that her legs were shaking. She steadied herself as she walked back to the party, wanting nothing more than to grab the keys to whatever luxury car she could that was parked out front and drive until she was far, far away from this nightmare of an engagement.

 

Before she could make her way back to the party, however, a sound cut through the din of the party. It was a low, rumbling sound that made her ears perk up by instinct.

 

It was a motorcycle. Many of them, to be exact.

 

“What the hell is that?” asked Brady, rushing through the party towards the front door.

 

The attention of the entire place was on the growling of the motorcycles. But before anyone could say or do anything, Brady’s phone rang in his pocket.

 

“Yes?” he said. “What? ... Who is it? … Are you serious? ... Fine, fine.”

 

He hung up and slipped his phone back into his pocket.

 

“Some assholes on bikes,” he said. “Said they want to talk to you, Carey.”

 

Carey felt her heart pound in her chest. She knew that this could only mean one thing.

 

“You friends with bikers?” asked Brady.

 

“They were, um, associates of the artist in Holyoke. She did some research with one of the local MCs—I mean, motorcycle clubs. They probably just have questions about the project.”

 

Brady’s eyes narrowed, and Carey was fairly certain he didn’t entirely trust her. But she could tell that he didn’t want to create a scene.

 

“Fine,” he said. “Go talk to them and see what they want, but make sure they leave as soon as possible. And stay near the security booth.”

 

Carey nodded, doing all she could not to telegraph just how excited she was. Once out the door, she burst into a near-full sprint down the road to towards the large gate that allowed entrance into Brady’s exclusive community.

 

Sure enough, parked outside of the gate were three men on bikes.

 

One of them, of course, was Owen.

 

Carey was overcome with emotion as she approached the gate. Owen’s ice-blue eyes locked onto her, his expression firm, almost grim. Once at the gate, Carey placed her hands on the iron bars, wishing nothing more than to be on the other side of them.

 

“Owen,” she said softly, tears forming in her eyes.

 

Owen gazed at her hard for a long moment.

 

“You seem pretty happy to see me for someone who dropped off the face of the earth,” he said, his voice low.

 

“I … I didn’t know what else to do,” said Carey. “I just felt so overwhelmed by everything. I’m … sorry.”

 

“And now look at you,” said Owen, glancing over Carey’s shoulder at the sweeping view of the estates behind her. “Looks like you made the right call. Nice neighborhood.”

 

“I … don’t want it,” she said, her voice soft. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

 

Carey had trouble forming words. Part of her wanted to just climb the fence, hop on the back of Owen’s bike, and leave all of this behind. She knew that it wouldn’t be so simple, however—she didn’t even know if Owen could forgive her for what she’d done.

 

And, of course, there was the issue of the baby. Carey didn’t even know where to begin with that.

 

However, the more she looked at Owen, the more clear that it was to her that there was something going on his stoic expression. There was a softness in his blue eyes, almost … a pain. She could tell that him being there was just as painful for him as it was for her.

 

“Listen,” he said. “I’m not here to cause any trouble. I’m here just to make sure you know that in spite of everything, I’m going to be looking out for you. I don’t know what it is that made you change your mind about me, that made you run away without a word, but that doesn’t change how I feel about you. And I know that it doesn’t change how you feel about me, either.”

 

Carey didn’t know what to say. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. All she could do was hold onto the gate helplessly as Owen regarded her with his pain-stricken eyes.

 

“That’s all,” he said. “Just know you’ve got someone watching out for you, kid. See you around.”

 

With that, he gestured to the other men to start their engines and head off. The bikes roared to life, and within seconds, Owen and his men were tearing down the road, disappearing slowly into the distance. Carey watched Owen leave, the longing in her heart like nothing she’d ever felt before.