Burning Bridges by Nadege Richards Page B

bothered the side of my face more than anything else.
    “ Of course it is. Do you want to look presentable or like a vagrant? ” She busied herself with pins and flowers in my hair as she spoke.
    I remained quiet, avoiding how ridiculous I looked in the mirror before me. I hated the color green and it made me look rather odd. After not finding a dress at Miss Othman ’ s shop, mother resulted in having one made. The fabric was itchy and rode up places I ’ d rather it not ride, and the décollet age was uncomfortable to no end .
    Mother accidently po ked me with a pin and I spun away from her busy arms with a start . The loose fabric of my dress bi llowed be neath my feet.
    “ I think we ’ re done. ”
    “ You look beautiful, ” my mother said. She turned me towards the mirror and pulled my hair to one shoulder.
    The girl in the mirror had my face, but everything else, from crown to sole, was not me .
    I t was, though, and this was the image of the woman my mother wanted me to become. A spitting resemblance of herself. Was this who I wanted to be? I thought solemnly. With a frown, I realized I had yet to answer. It should have been clear to me by then, but the idea of being shunned by my own people terrified me.
    “ Where ’ s your clutch? ” Mother asked. I pointed to the bed where the emerald purse sat. The thing was like a leech. No matter how many times I tried throwing it away or hiding it, it always found its way back into my wardrobe.
    “ I really don ’ t want that thing, ” I grumbled under my breath.
    Mother deadpanned me and shoved the purse into my hands. I reluctantly took it, adding yet another piece of unnecessary assortments to my outfit. I sighed and dismissed the urge I had to toss the damn thing out the window.
    “ Mother, I— ”
    Both of our heads jerked up at the sound of a knock.
    “ The Prince is here, ” a maid said from the other side of the door.
    “ Already? ” Mother smiled and adjusted the hem of the dress before shooing me out the door. With every step I took from then, I felt as if I were counting down my seconds left of freedom.
    Five, four, three… I thought ruefully.
    “ You look great, Princess, ” said the maid, who, to me, looked only twelve. My heart hurt for her.
    Two…
    “ Thank you. Please, call me Echo. ” It was my name after all, no matter how many titles were added onto it.
    The girl led me down the long spiraling staircase with Mother trailing behind us. If the kitchen hadn ’ t looked so bane and if Mother and Ever hadn ’ t been acting so normal, I would have assumed I was already being thrown off to be wedded . It was only three weeks away, so what was the difference, right?
    One.
    Father ’ s eyes met mine first, and I quickly forced a smile to my lips. Noah stood in the archway looking like he just walked out of a brochure with his b londe tresses slicked back neatly and not one out of place. He moved to the bottom of the staircase with his hand held out for me in invitation. I smiled at him, though I wasn ’ t too eager to take his offer.
    “ Beautiful, as usual, ” he whispered in my ear once I ’ d taken his hand. His voice sent goos e bumps across my neck, and I struggled to maintain my smile.
    “ You ’ re too much, Prince. Too much, ” I replied. He took it as a compliment when I ’ d really meant to crush his overrated ego. 
    “ Shall we go, then? ” He looked up at my father.
    “ Have fun, darling, ” Father said, walking towards me and planting a kiss on my forehead. Right then I wanted to scream out that I wasn ’ t happy, that this wasn ’ t who I wanted to be and this wasn ’ t the life I pictured for myself. But what did that matter now, when all I had was three weeks?
    “ I will. ” I moved in closer so that his lips lingered a few seconds longer. My father had his moments, and there was no doubt that I loved him. Even though it was easier to talk with my mother, I felt, in some peculiar way, that he understood me.