3: 3
At the back of the crowd, Fabian Gilbert stood in a crisp, tailored suit, his face dark as iron.
Layla Gilbert, her makeup flawless, pushed through the guests, impatience and anger simmering in her eyes.
One after the other, they walked straight up to us, tempers barely held in check.
"It's a joyous day. The young ones don't know better, but a man your age, joining in this nonsense?" Fabian forced his fury down.
Layla jumped in at once, wearing that lofty air of hers, her tone gentle but laced with veiled reproach:
"That's right! With so many friends, relatives, and honored elders here today, both families' reputations are on the line. Making a scene like this shames us both."
"Kayla's perfectly fine, so why keep clinging to some trivial little matter?"
My father held his back rigid, chest heaving, forcing down the rage boiling inside him, and pushed out a single low sentence:
"Then we can do without that reputation!"
Fabian's brows knit, his voice turning sharp all at once:
"Douglas Pruitt! I'm trying to reason with you, so don't be ungrateful! Over some petty little thing, you smash the tower in front of everyone and call off the wedding. Are you dead set on turning against the Gilbert family?"
"How has my son ever wronged your daughter? If it weren't for the Pruitt assets in your hands, letting her have her way and putting up with her every day, do you think a sickly girl would ever be good enough for my son?"
It clicked all at once.
Every bit of patience Patrick had shown my body and my little moods, it turned out, had a price tag on it.
My mother gripped my hand tight, her fingertips ice-cold, shaking with anger, and still she stayed planted in front of me.
My father broke into a violent fit of coughing he couldn't hold back, his stooped back trembling, and every cough tore at my heart.
My chest clenched. I patted his back gently, tried to steady my trembling mother, terror flooding my eyes.
The scene I feared most was playing out again, right in front of me.
Something flickered in Patrick's eyes, a trace of reluctance, and he leaned down close to me, his voice full of lecture:
"Kayla, don't turn some petty little thing into a full break with your elders. Just lower your head a bit, apologize, admit you were wrong, and I'll smooth it over. Don't leave both families embarrassed."
A petty little thing?
In his eyes, my life was worth so little it wasn't even worth mentioning.
I wasn't afraid of being humiliated, of being laughed at, of ruining the wedding.
I was only afraid of standing here and watching this family drive them to their deaths all over again, repeating the ruin of the last life, our whole family destroyed.
I swallowed the resentment and bitterness swelling inside me, my voice breaking:
"Dad, Mom, maybe we should just…"
Before I could finish, Layla cut me off.
She hadn't come to make peace. Instead she gave a contemptuous little laugh:
"Let me be honest. Our Patrick is a fine catch, and with a body like Kayla's, without Patrick she'd likely never find a family to marry into her whole life. You Pruitts shouldn't be so ungrateful."
More phone cameras around us swung toward us.
The two of them played off each other, certain my parents would crack under the pressure and cave for my sake.
My one act of stubbornness had turned the entire bride's side into a joke.
Rebecca Henson stood at Patrick's side, head bowed, weeping, and as she wept she nestled a little closer into his arms, a barely visible flicker of glee in her eyes.
She was watching the show.
My eyes were rimmed red. Afraid and furious both, I was so frantic the tears just kept falling.
Caught between advancing and retreating, two warm, strong hands closed firmly over mine at the same moment, holding me safely between them.
"Kaykay, nothing matters more than the lives of the three of us."
The words went off like a blast in my head, and every drop of blood in me froze at once.
I jerked my head up and stared, dazed, at my parents.
My parents had been reborn too.
