Chapter 2
"It's not right," I said, "And you know it."
Denise was brushing my hair and murmuring words of comfort. She knew that when I was upset there was no reasoning with me; you could just listen and wait for me to cool off.
"I know, Betty," Denise said, "But, you know, somebody told me that he was really cute."
By he, Denise meant the bastard that I was supposed to be marrying. I didn't even know the guy, but I already hated him; Anybody who had the nerve to marry me after his parents killed mine - Well, let's just say if I wasn't marrying him for the good of the pack, I would've killed him on the honeymoon.
The honeymoon, I thought, shuddering, God, I'm screwed. Denise, sensing my distress, braided my hair and started painting my toe nails. Nothing like a spa night to cool a girl's nerves.
"And they already had it all planned! I'm officially meeting him tomorrow," I told her, "They couldn't have fixed that up so soon." Denise frowned at this news.
"Well, you know, you never really had a choice in the first place, so I guess they just assumed that you'd want to meet him," she said reasonably, though her brows were still creased in a frown.
"They assumed! That's the problem, Denise," I said, moving my left foot closer to her, "They assumed. I don't even want to be in the same room as that guy, much less have a huge formal dinner with him."
The dinner, in fact, wasn't going to be formal at all. We would just be eating out at a run-down Italian restraunt; Yet, compared to what we ususally ate, I suppose that was formal for us.
"I know, Betty," Denise sighed, "And I'm sorry. I wish that my mom-" she broke off midsentence as Nick walked in looking grave.
"You knew," I said dully as he sat down beside me, "That's why you acted so... strange when Uncle Andrew came to get me. You knew... and you didn't tell me."
Nick averted his eyes but kissed my cheek.
"What?" Denise asked, "How did you know?" The way Denise worded her sentence, I was surprised when Nick didn't act offended.
"I asked her Uncle..." he looked at me, "...for his permission to marry her..."
I stiffened and glanced at Nick, looking at him in wonder. He had... he had been planning to propose?
It wasn't our age that surprised me; I was fifteen and he was sixteen, but those are the ages when most people got married in werewolf packs. No, I was just surprised. I mean, how could he have been planning and I not have known?
"And he told me I couldn't, and I asked why..." Nick trailed off, letting us finish the story in our minds. He grabbed my hand and squeezed it tightly.
He looked so vulnerable, so sad with his probing sea-green eyes. I kissed him quickly, just a peck really, and Denise looked away, embarassed.
"I'm sorry," I said to her, "I guess we're grossing you out, right?"
"Not at all," Denise said, wiping at her eyes, "You're making me tear up. You guys are just... so perfect for eachother. Damn it, mom! Why couldn't you have made me marry the bad-boy hottie from the Alpha Pack?"
I couldn't help it: I laughed. Pretty soon, we were all cracking up, enjoying the short distraction from the looming problem ahead.
"Denise," I said, "I love you. I'm really going to miss you when-" But then I stopped talking, because I was suddenly choked by tears.
A day later, Denise was back in my room, primping me up for my "date" with Dylan, his parents, and Denise's parents.
Denise's parents were, by the way, the Alphas of the Delta Pack, in case you hadn't guessed.
"Denise, I think this is perfectly fine," I lied. I was wearing my extra-holey jeans, the The Magnets shirt Uncle Andrew had gotten me for my fourteenth birthday, and old-school converse.
"No it's not, and you know it," Denise argued. She was trying to convince me to wear something similar to the dress Zero had worn to the Starry Awards this year (I had seen it from a TV in Wallmart).
"I'm not going to wear that thing," I complained, eyeing the dress suspiciously, "I don't want to look like a slutty celebraty who sings songs from the 2020's." Denise ignored me, rolling her eyes. She handed me the dress, a determined look on her face, and I sighed.
"Fine," I said, "But only because I love you to death."
It was silver and gold, skin-tight, long sleeved, had low cleavage and reached mid-thigh.
"That's better," Denise said, "Now you don't look like a 20's emo chick."
"Excuse me," I said, "But The Magnets are very alive and very popular."
Before Denise could argue her point further, Mia stuck her head in my tent.
"Betty," she said, falsely cheerful, "You look great. Ready to go?"
"No!" I wanted to scream, "I'm not ready to go! I'm not ready to get married! I'm not ready for any of this!" Instead I swallowed my pride and nodded.
"Good," Mia said, "Follow me."
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