“I am,” she says.
“Excellent.” Bruce comes closer and places his palm on my shoulder, his eyes drifting back and forth between us. “You young ladies are the future of our faith. It’s up to you to set good examples for your younger sisters, to follow out on the path that has been lain before you by your mothers and grandmothers. It’s up to you to remain true to your Heavenly Father and the doctrines by which we are governed.”
I’m not sure what he’s getting at. Sure, we may not go to church regularly since the nearest AUB temple is a two hour drive from here, but my father has always raised us with the teachings of the Holy Bible, Book of Mormon, United Order, and the Articles of Faith.
“Someday soon, you will be married,” Bruce says, releasing my shoulder from his grasp. “These are trying times we live in. Temptation is everywhere.”
I glance up at my dad, hoping for at least a sign of what this might be all about, but I get nothing. My fingers twitch against my sides. Deep down, I know what this is about. I just don’t want to believe it.
Bruce clears his throat. “The priesthood typically does not promote marital arrangements, however, the option to choose your partner is one that must be earned by staying pure and true.”
He smiles as if to soften his message, though his eyes penetrate mine, like he’s trying to invade my soul. The room shrinks around us. I may as well be in a prison from which I can’t escape.
I’m being threatened with an arranged marriage.
Jensen rises from the sofa, plodding across the room and pushing past my father and Bruce without so much as an, “Excuse me.”
Must be nice to be able to walk away.
I turn to my father, who for the first time in my life is a stranger to me. I don’t know this passive aggressive coward. “I’m not feeling well. I think I need to go lie down.”
The expectation to continue on in the tradition of plural marriage has been embedded into my psyche for as far back as I remember. In this moment, here and now, I’m finally realizing that those opinions in my head were never really mine to begin with. They were planted there, sowed and reaped and fertilized over the years.
I’m too young to get married, and I certainly deserve the right to choose whom I marry.
And I don’t want to have a plural marriage. I’ve never told anyone that before, but I know with every fiber of my being it’s not what I want. Not anymore, not since I realized I have a choice.
“Waverly.” My father peers down his nose at me, like he’s disappointed, like I should tough it out. “I think you’ll be fine.”
I blink away hot tears that fill my eyes. The one man who was supposed to love me and take care of me is perfectly fine placing my future in the hands of a church elder, like his job here is done.
My mother stares ahead, blank-faced and refusing to meet my pleading gaze. There’s a powerless kind of sadness in her eyes.
“Excuse me,” I mutter, ambling out of the family room. My legs wobble, barely supporting me, and I’m quite certain I’ll barely make it upstairs before I collapse. I grip the railing and then the walls, desperate for something to hold onto because in this moment, I have nothing.
No one.
I am alone.
Powerless.
The choice of whom and when to marry has been swept out from under me without warning.
I have no control, and right now, it’s the one thing I need more than anything else in the entire world.
No one chases after me. They wouldn’t dare. They all know better than to make a scene in front of a church elder. I’m sure I’ll get a stern talking to tomorrow, but for now, I’m thankful to be away from that creep.
I need to breathe.
I need to think.
I need to wait out the storm until I can find dry ground again.
Standing outside my bedroom door, I catch a glimpse of Jensen’s door. It’s half open. The light is on. I pull in a long, cleansing breath, wipe my tears on the back of my sleeves, and show myself in. I really don’t want to be alone right now.
He’s seated on the floor, his back against his bed and his knees bent. He’s sketching, zoned out.
“Hey,” I say. I tuck my curled hair behind my ears and shut the door behind me.
He sets his sketchpad down and shakes his head. “Fuck, Waverly. What the hell just happened downstairs?”
I bite my lip and blink away foggy tears. I can’t say it. If I say it, it becomes real, and if it becomes real, there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. I battle my wars in complete silence, the way I’ve been taught to do.
Jensen reaches for my hand, pulling me down to the floor with him. “You know you don’t have to worry about a damn thing, right? He can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do.”
I want to believe his words hold weight, but he doesn’t understand. He has no idea how things work with the AUB and my father’s expectations. It’s not that simple.
“You’re going to tell me I have a choice,” I say.
His lips inch up at the sides, soft and strangely inviting. I realize just how close we’re sitting now. I breathe him in, closing my eyes and getting lost in his world for just a split second. I’d give anything to be anywhere but in my own reality.
“You know me well,” he says, his voice pulling me nearer. Or maybe it’s him. His hand slips around my shoulders and he brings me into a side embrace. I laugh to myself because he’s not a touchy-feely person. He’s tough and unreadable at times, rarely showing an ounce of emotion that isn’t provocative or inciting. If a side hug is all he can offer me, I’ll take it.
We’re friends now, and that’s kind of important because I haven’t been allowed to have close friends for a long time—not since Claire Fahnlander almost outed us back in middle school.
I sit up and open my eyes, immediately losing them in his dark, brooding gaze. My desire to taste his lips and sense his touch never subsided despite my best efforts. His fingertips graze my arm, igniting a wave of impulsivity. My lips part, our faces only a dangerous few inches apart. My heart quickens, and I’m struggling to breathe. I could kiss him if I wanted to, but I won’t. I need his friendship, and I don’t want to make things complicated.
The moment passes and my reckless, wild notion goes right along with it. I’m sure it would’ve been amazing. I’m sure it would’ve set my world on fire. It probably would’ve felt all kinds of wrong and delicious, but now I’ll never know.
Jensen cups my cheek, his thumb pressing against my bottom lip, mocking the pressure of a soft kiss. I sigh. He could own me with one kiss, and I wouldn’t even fight it.
I need to rebel.
I need to feel.
I need to know that my life still belongs to me.
I close my eyes while I focus on the sensation of his thumb against my mouth until it disappears, fading away only to be replaced with the real thing.
Jensen Mackey is kissing me.
I’m not imagining it.
It’s not a fantasy or a late-night reverie.
His lips are warm and he grasps the back of my neck, digging his fingers into my flesh as he guides me closer to him. Our lips dance, soft and slow, until our tongues meet. Jensen’s tongue swirls around mine, all velvet and sin.
My body responds to his kiss with an intensity too overwhelming to ignore. I’m powerless in his presence, only it’s a powerlessness I fully embrace.
His kisses still my mind, willing my body to do all the work. My thoughts are at rest, and each passing second is an exhilarating trip into the unknown. I know where this is headed; my body tells me so.
Jensen pulls his lips from mine, we’re both breathless. My lips are swollen and heated. I want more. I crave more. Hard deep kisses that make me forget my name. One taste and I’m left with unsatisfied urges and petulant disappointment.
“Waverly.” He runs his fingers through his dark hair. “We shouldn’t do th—”
I silence his objection with a kiss of my own, one that says I’m perfectly okay with whatever it is we’re doing right now. He kisses me back, hungry and accepting, pulling me into his lap.