“Well, there you go.”

She tried to explain but I didn’t care. I told her to stay the hell away from me and my wedding. I couldn’t deal with this anymore.

I stormed off toward the beach, but I didn’t make it to the party.

I found a quiet, unlit spot and took my shoes off.

Then I waded into the ocean, until the water was to my waist. It wasn’t cold. The Indian Ocean was never cold. My dress billowed out around me. Thank god I’d had the good sense to book out the whole beach so no one was around.

I took a deep breath, the deepest I’d taken in a long, long time. Then I lowered myself into the water, and screamed.

No one could hear me. Just the way I wanted it.

30

KAAVI

Day of the Poruwa Ceremony

They say a little bit of nerves is normal before you get married. We see it on TV and in movies all the time, right? Though most often it’s the groom that fears commitment and runs away, and we’ve already established that Spencer is going nowhere.

But it wasn’t commitment that I feared. No way. I don’t think anyone has the discipline to commit to something the way I could. I mean, think about it—I’ve committed to my entire perfect way of life, haven’t I? I’ve committed to flawless hair and pristine skin and an even squeakier-clean reputation. People look at me and wish they were me. If you think, even for a moment, that doesn’t take lifelong commitment, well, why don’t you give it a try and see how it works out for you?

And in the grand scheme of things, I don’t mind committing to Spencer. He’s perfect on paper, blackmailing tendencies aside. We could set off on exactly the kind of marriage I wanted—unencumbered by ridiculous expectations of eternal romance and marital bliss. Please. All you need to do is look into the hollow eyes of new parents or couples that have passed the honeymoon period to know that nothing lasted. What lasts is stability. Comfort. Potential companionship with a person you didn’t have to keep comparing to a past version of themselves. You know, when their waistlines were trimmer and they acted like the sun shone out of your behind.

I’ve never believed in soul mates. I’ve never needed a man to make me feel complete. I’m plenty perfect on my own. Marriage was just window dressing. A decorative element in a society that places far more value on how things look rather than how they make you feel. No one cares if you’re married happily, after all, just that you have a husband.

My nerves weren’t a mess because of the commitment. Or my strategically prescribed new life.

My nerves were a mess because my groom was a liar, and someone hated me enough to actually burn my wedding dress. It was probably Amaya, getting back at me for what I said yesterday. Well, fuck her. I don’t care what the fuck she pulled. I could deal with her bullshit later.