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He blots the sides of his lass (neat) on the tablecloth I’ why ht now? Out of nowhere, Marco boldly turns to aze on the side of my face The heat of his stare traces the scar that bisects it from my mouth to my eyelid

Usually, I couldn’t care less about , I hate it I shift forward a little, lettingbroaves slide into place Like a curtain, it obscures not onlyin o by

“By the way, you look lovely tonight,” Marco co to stare at me

I barely keep froaze He spoke louder than necessary, tellingto show my parents how nice he will be to me once we marry Once he has my trust fund My life

I’ll be like a dog, collared and cared for but never free It’s hilarious that he even attee his mind Maybe he cares, or maybe it’s just a ruse?

“Thank you,” I choke out, keeping my eyes trained in front of me

“Celeste,” my mother hisses from across the table

She’s the only person in the world who calls me by my full name

My father simply calls me Girl, as he did my sister No doubt, even twenty-odd years later, he’s still disappointed we aren’t boys

Boys get naet… well… married off to cement alliances

I knohat she expects from me, and I hate that in the next instant I turn in hter left, I need to be good, to be here Even when I want to be anywhere else I have a duty to fulfill, an obligation, as my mother has called it many times over I owe this to them, my parents, and family name