Destroyed by Bridget E. Baker

Author:Bridget E. Baker [Baker, Bridget E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Purple Puppy Publishing

17

“I did not expect to be wearing this for my wedding.” Judica scowls at the mirror.

Even her sour expression doesn’t change the fact that she looks stunning. “You don’t have to wear that,” I say. “I’m sure they can find you some black pants to go with those combat boots.”

“They wear white to funerals here,” Judica says. “Right?”

I nod.

“Then I guess it’s fine.” Judica smooths down the already flat skirt on her pristine, snowy dress.

“If you’re not careful, you’ll pull the lace overlay, and then you’ll have no choice but to wear black pants.” In spite of my teasing, I absolutely love that my dark, macabre sister chose a traditional wedding gown. The dress itself is a beautiful sleeveless sheath that hugs her bust and runs straight to the floor. The delicate lace overlay looks like it was made by a bevy of focused nuns. It covers the better part of her upper arms, and then flares slightly from the figure hugging underdress, but it’s not flared. And underneath it all, with signature Judica flare, she’s wearing Gianvitto Rossi, knee-high, lace-up black combat boots. If the dress were any tighter, it might not work, but as it is, you can’t see them until she walks.

It’s so perfectly Judica. Perfectly lovely and exactly what you expect, until there’s a knife pressed to your throat.

“You look like the perfect Chinese bride.” Judica turns toward me. “And I was the one who wanted to conquer China.”

“Actually.” I smile. “China has conquered me.” I tell her about the deal Kali and I struck.

“I would have taken her head off.” Judica’s eyes flash. “You’re the Eldest. You’re the one who united the families and gathered the stones. How dare she imply you bring nothing to this bargain.”

I hold my hands toward her, palms out. “And I lost them.”

“That’s not the point.”

“I don’t care,” I say. “I’ve never cared. And Noah won’t care either.”

“You shouldn’t have to give up a thing,” she says. “Not a single thing. You’ve given up enough already.”

My eyes well with tears, but not prompted by sorrow or sadness. Caused by joy. “This is what I want—to stand beside you, to walk down the aisle together, and to know we’re walking toward men who love us and will take care of us. And we’ll take care of them in turn.” I shake my head. “Mom would be so happy. She wouldn’t care whether my dress was the pure crimson silk worn by royalty and wives, or a hugely puffy white cupcake like yours.” I bump her hip. “And I don’t care either. I was fine with the idea of flopping down the aisle in my beachwear. Our appearances don’t matter to me.” I think about wearing flip-flops down the aisle and cringe a little. “Not much, anyway.”

“You’ve always cared so much less about the things that don’t matter.” Judica wipes a tear off my cheek. “Which is good. I need you to keep me on the right path.”

“I might not always be here for that—”

She presses her finger to my mouth.

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