I held myself upright by sheer force of will, enduring the humiliation as it carved into me piece by piece.
A flicker of shock crossed Rhys's eyes, but it dissolved almost instantly into something colder. Derision.
I dug my nails so deep into my palms that the pain was the only thing keeping me from breaking apart.
Stella's eyes went wide. "Irene? This… old man is your fiancé?"
My mother feigned a scowl. "Stella, don't talk about your future brother-in-law like that. He's not even fifty yet."
Joel let out an awkward laugh. "That's right—forty-nine. Still got a month to go. Anyway, you all chat. I'll get started on the food."
"See?" My mother swept a hand toward his retreating back. "That's the kind of man you want—hardworking, no games, no nonsense."
She gave me a shove. "Go on. Help Joel in the kitchen."
Through the haze clouding my vision, I caught it—the faintest curl of satisfaction at the corner of my mother's lips.
The color drained from my face. My feet might as well have been nailed to the floor. I couldn't move. I wanted nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow me whole.
Grace couldn't sit still any longer. She shot to her feet.
"Vivian, a child's marriage isn't something to treat lightly. As parents, we have a responsibility to make sure it's right."
"Irene graduated from a top university. She could have her pick of anyone. Why on earth would you set her up with—"
My mother cut her off without a shred of hesitation. "This is our family's business. Besides, Irene agreed to it herself."
My mother's hand found the small of my back where no one could see, and she twisted the skin—hard.
"Sweetheart, go on and tell your aunt yourself. Otherwise she'll think I'm forcing you."
The pain shot up my spine. I bit down on my lower lip until I tasted copper, forcing the words through clenched teeth. "Yes. I'm willing."
As if unwillingness would have changed anything.
The first time I went out to collect recyclables, I came home filthy from head to toe. Aunt Grace looked at me with heartbreak in her eyes and turned on my mother. "Vivian, how could you send a child that young out to pick through garbage?"
"What? She wanted to toughen herself up. I'm her mother—you think I'd force her?"