APRIL

The house is quiet until my sisters get home, and I like it that way. Though I spend most of my day in other people's space cleaning up for them, cleaning our own house in our own silence is always more peaceful. There's a serene quality to it, being in this house, that goes unmatched.

Our house isn't much of anything at all, really. There's barely enough room to hold me, my sisters, our mom, and our cat, but we make it work. Somehow. Even on the days it feels like our life will burst at the seams, we always make it through to see the next morning.

The silence is soon interrupted by the sound of my two younger sisters coming in the front door, though, banging it open and laughing as they go.

"April, we're home!" they chorus, and I lift up from my hands and knees, where I'd been scrubbing the bathroom floor.

"In here," I call, and hear their footsteps hurrying my way.

Kimmie and Alice, my younger siblings, are eight and five, respectively. There's a big jump between the two of them and myself, being as I'm 21, and the only one older than me is Libby at 26. Libby and Mom work two jobs, which doesn't put them at home very often. Because of this, I've taken on a sort of mother role to the two little ones.

"Hi, sissy!" they say, stopping before the doorway, knowing not to get their dirty shoes on my clean floor.

"I wanna hug you," Alice says, stretching out her arms. "Come out, sissy."

"Oh, alright," I say, standing slowly and walking over to them with wide arms. "Come here, babes."

I lift both of my sisters into my arms and they giggle and squeal as I swing them around. I kiss each of their heads before setting them back down, and they look up at me with shining, smiling eyes. I wipe a smudge of dirt from the tip of Kimmie's nose, and she scrunches it after.

"Your skirt is torn," I say to Alice, kneeling to take the fabric between my fingers. "I'll sew it for you tonight."

"It was the leastest ripped one in my drawer," she says, dropping her chin to her chest. "Everything else was ripped worser."

I move my lips over to one side and let out a long sigh. Mom has been saying she'll bring home new fabric as soon as she gets paid, so we can make new clothes for the little ones. The hand-me-downs from me and Libby are simply too old. But that money hasn't come, and neither has the fabric. So, we've had to make do with what we have.

"You give me what needs fixing, and I'll fix it," I say to her, holding her shoulders.

"Can I, too?" Kimmie asks. "I have clothes with rips, too."

"Of course," I say, then touch each of their noses with my pointer finger. "Why don't you two practice writing while I finish up the bathroom, then I'll come out and make us some dinner."

"Is the TV back on?" Kimmie asks, bouncing from foot-to-foot.

My stomach sinks, knowing the answer. Our cable got turned off a month ago because we weren't able to pay the bill, and we haven't had TV since. I've been looking around for a cheap antenna so we can at least get the news, but I haven't had luck.

"Not yet," I say.

"When's 'yet?'" Alice asks, sticking her thumb in her mouth.

I gently pull it out. "No thumb, Ali-cat."

"No thumb," she mutters back, very softly, lower lip pouting out.

"I'm not sure when 'yet' is," I admit. "I'll talk to Mama about it tonight. But for right now, go write some sentences and surprise me with how smart you are. I'll be out in just a few minutes."

They scamper off, and I watch them go. After I hear the kitchen chairs pull out and assume they're settled with paper and pencils from school, I lower onto my hands and knees again and saturate the sponge with mop water once again. I only have a bit left of the floor to do before I can tend to them and hear all about their days.

They're used to seeing me like this when they get home. I'm usually always doing something; whether that be cleaning, fixing something, or cooking. My hands are always busy. Because Mom and Libby are gone a lot, I'm depended on to run the house, and I'd like to think I do a pretty good job.

When something is broken - whether that be a button that's fallen off or the toilet overflowing - I fix it. There's rarely something that's out of my skill set. Since our dad passed away right before Alice was born and we don't have money for repairmen, I've acquired the skills of a plumber, electrician, mechanic, and craftsmen. There's not a lot I can't do.

"Sissy!" I hear, just as I'm emptying the mop bucket into the tub. "Sissy, I got a owie-owie!"

"What?" I call out.

"Got a owie!"

I set the bucket down in the tub as it drains slowly and wipe my hands on my ratty jeans as I come out of the bathroom. "What's going on?" I ask.

"Ali got a splinter," Kimmie says, looking over with worried eyes. "The table poked her."

I sigh, but I don't let them see my shoulders deflate. The table is falling apart, just like everything else in the house. There are sections they know to stay away from because of the unsanded wood, but a new part must have started getting rough.

"Show me," I say.

Alice is blubbering, holding one finger up with a very red tip. "It hurts!" she cries.

"I know," I say. "Just hold tight. I'll be right back."

"Don't get the needle!" Alice shrieks.

"Quiet now," I say, coming back with the item in question. "Hold still for me, honey."

She squirms away, so I set the needle on the table and hold her face gently with one hand cupped under her chin. "Sissy, no," she murmurs.

"Listen, baby," I say. "Do you trust me?" She nods. "Do you know I'm gonna get this splinter out of you?" She nods again. "It'll hurt for just one second. Just a little, tiny bite. Like a buggy bite."

"Make it go quick," she sniffles.

"Always," I say, and hold her small hand in mine with the hurt finger pointed out. I scoop the needle in and push the splinter out, and she yelps for a millisecond - but it's over before she can exhale. "See?" I say, and hold the splinter on the pad of my own finger.

She takes a shaky breath as she looks between the extracted splinter and her throbbing finger. Then, she holds it up with tears still leaking from her crystal blue eyes. "Kiss it?" she mutters.

"Of course," I say, then press a firm kiss to the affected spot. "You know my kisses have healing powers, right?"

She giggles, a wet-sounding, teary giggle. But at least I got a smile out of her. "'Cause you have magic in you," she says.

"That I do," I say, looking between my two little sisters. "But you can't tell anyone. You haven't told anyone about my magic lately, have you?"

They shake their heads solemnly.

"Good," I say. "Now, who can show me the sentences they wrote?"

…

Alice, Kimmie and I eat dinner together - a measly meal I scraped together of boxed mashed potatoes and boiled hot dogs without buns - and pretend our stomachs aren't still growling after we're done.

I clean up the kitchen while the girls fill up the tub for their bath - we don't have enough hot water for them to take separate ones - and they call for me when it's ready. Luckily, I've just scrubbed the last dish and I'm ready to accompany them as they wash up.

I sit on the floor while they're in the water, giggling and playing with the one toy each they're allowed to have in the bath. Alice has a plastic cat and Kimmie has a Polly Pocket with one arm, both of which they treasure.

"Heads back," I say, leaning with one elbow on the lip of the tub. I take a heavily-used cup and dump water over their ginger hair, turning it dark auburn from the fiery tone it usually holds. "Who had a good day today?" I ask, watching their dark eyelashes flutter.

"I did," Alice says, pink lips pulling up in a smirk. "I had a bestest day."

"I'm so glad to hear that," I say, dumping another cupful of water on each of their heads.

"I had a good day, too," Kimmie chimes in. "I got a gold star on my homework. And I got to be line leader."

"That's so amazing, Kim," I say.

"I got a extra milk at lunch," Alice says, opening her eyes with excitement.

"Lucky!" Kimmie says.

"I dranked it all up," Alice says. "Just like you telled me to, sissy."

"Very good," I say. "What's milk gonna help you guys do?"

"Get strong!" they cheer.

"Exactly," I say, then squirt shampoo onto both my palms to rub them together. "Who's ready for shampoo?"

I scrub it into each of their heads, lathering it up nice and fluffy so they get clean. We might not have the best clothes, enough food, or the sturdiest house, but I never let them go to school looking dirty.

I condition their hair and help them scrub their bodies, then wrap them both in towels once they're done. I lead them to our room and bang on the furnace in hopes to heat the space up a little, and we all change into pajamas in preparation to crawl into the bed we share.

Our house only has two bedrooms. I share this one with the two little ones, Mom has her own, and Libby sleeps on the couch in the living room. We do what we can.

I lie in the middle with a sleepy sister to either side of me. I wrap my arms around their shoulders and feel comforted by the damp weight of their heads resting on me, and their arms resting over my rumbling belly.

"Tell a story, sissy?" Kimmie asks.

I look between them. Alice's eyes are already closed and she's sucking her thumb, but I let it stay. I look to Kimmie's eyes, a sleepy blue, and nod my head.

"Once upon a time," I say. "There lived a princess. And she didn't have much, but she had enough. She had a roof over her head, a family who loved her, and a warm place to sleep at night. And that was perfectly fine by her, until…"

…

It's still dark outside when I'm shaken awake by my mother, her face just inches away from mine.

"April," she whispers, voice cutting through the darkness. "April, honey, wake up."

I rub my eyes and sit up halfway, wondering if I accidentally slept through my alarm. I check the clock and see it's not even 6am, though.

"What's going on?" I murmur softly, so not to wake my sisters.

"Come with me," she says. "I have something important to tell you."

"Okay…" I say, and carefully climb over Kimmie, who sleeps on the side nearest the nightstand. I wrap my arms around myself to keep warm; the house always gets cold at night, and my pajamas are thin.

Mom leads me past the living room, where Libby is asleep on the sagging couch. She takes me to the kitchen, where one small, yellow bulb is burning. It creates an isolating feeling; it seems we're the only people awake in the whole world.

"What's happening?" I ask, still very confused.

"Sit down," she says, and her face and voice are both serious.

"Mom, you're scaring me," I say, pretty awake now.

Adrenaline courses through my veins as I'm ready for whatever she might throw at me. Every member of our family is inside these four walls, so at the very least I'm comforted they're all safe. But I still have no idea what's going on or why she woke me up like she did.

"This is going to sound crazy," she says, shaking her head. "Crazy. I know. But I just need you to listen to me, and take me seriously. Can you do that, April?"

I nod slowly, though I don't know what I'm getting myself into.

She takes a deep breath. "You know the family I work for, the Averys?"

The Averys. Yes, of course I know them. They're one of the main families who run Chicago, their name is on everything. They couldn't care less about our side, the west side, but everybody with eyes knows who they are. I'm not the fondest of them, given how much more they could pay my mother and don't. Catherine Avery is a heavy-hitting politician, following in the footsteps of Harper Avery. I've also heard there's a son, only from word of mouth from the woman sitting next to me, though.

I nod. I don't say anything aloud.

"Well, Harper has just passed away," she says.

I wasn't aware of this because we don't have access to the news, but I can't find it within myself to care that much. His existence didn't impact me in any way.

"Okay…" I say.

"I need you to listen," she says, leaning forward with round eyes. "He had money to pass down, of course. A whole lot of it, and a good portion is supposed to go to his grandson, Jackson. The one I told you about, Catherine's son."

I nod again.

"Well, it's in Harper's will that Jackson can't see that money unless…" She sighs. "He can only see it on one condition: that he's married. And I've been around Jackson for a good seven years now, and he's not the marrying type. He's a bachelor if I ever saw one. A dapper, classy, sophisticated one, but all the same. He doesn't have a wife." She looks at me soberly. "And he needs one to get that money. If I know anything about the Averys, it's that they take their money very, very seriously. They will do anything to access it."

I have no idea where she's going with this, and I'm not sure if I should. It seems like she wants me to catch on, but I haven't the faintest clue what she's getting at.

"He needs a wife," she says, nudging her glasses up on the bridge of her nose. "I was in the room while this was being discussed, and Catherine knows I have daughters. She knows I have… you."

I furrow my eyebrows and pinch my lips. I was confused before and I still am, but I don't like the direction this is headed.

"Mom," I say, astounded. "No."

"Listen to me," she says, reaching out to grasp both of my hands. "They're willing to pay. Enough money to get us out of this house, out of this neighborhood. Enough money for Libby and I to only work one job each. Enough to get the kids into a better school, and get them good clothes that fit." Her eyes are teary, and I realize how dire this situation is. How serious she is about it. "It would be enough to live a life so much better than the one we're living," she says.

"Mom…" I say, eyes wide, shocked. "What... I still don't understand. What…?" I shake my head, at a loss for words.

"I know," she says. "I know it sounds crazy. But your life would be better, too. You'd live in a mansion, baby. You'd have enough food for once in your life, and you'd be warm. You'd have enough money, too. You'd have everything you ever wanted. We'd finally be able to crawl out of this hole, be out of the poorhouse." Her voice catches in her throat. "I know… I know it's so much to ask of you, and I shouldn't be doing this. I know. I know." She shakes her head and looks to the floor before lifting her eyes again to mine. "But I don't know what else to do. We're sinking, babe. And there's not much of another choice."

I feel like I might throw up whatever's lasting inside my empty stomach. In short, she's asking me to become Jackson Avery's wife so our family can finally have a life that's livable.

My throat clogs as I open my mouth to give her a vehement 'no.' But then, I remember the way Kimmie and Alice looked at me earlier, asking me to fix their tattered clothes. How their bathwater was tepid at best, and what little we had to scrape together for dinner. I think of everything we endure with smiles on our faces, and children as young as they are shouldn't have to know the hunger they've already experienced. They deserve more. We all do.

It doesn't seem I have much of a choice. If I said no, what kind of person would I be? Everything I do is for them, for my family. This should be no different. I want everything for them; they deserve a good life. And if I have the power to give them just that, then I'll do it. I'll do anything.

"I'm… supposed to marry him?" I ask, voice trembling.

Hope crosses my mother's face. "You'll be married soon," she says. "It'll happen fast. But you won't move far. We'll still see you. Of course, when we look better." Tears drip down her cheeks. "You don't know how much you're doing for us, sweet girl. I owe you my life."

"Mama, no you don't," I say, framing her face with both hands. "I want to do it. If it will help us, then I want to do it."

…

I don't sleep the rest of that night. I pack my things in a small suitcase that doesn't come close to filling up, and looking at what meager amount I have to my name is disheartening. But, after I'm done packing and the suitcase is zipped up, I let my eyes roam to the bed I'd been sleeping in just hours ago.

There lie my two sisters, sleeping soundly and curled into each other. Alice's ringlets are tumbling onto Kimmie's cheek, and the little one's thumb is still in her mouth. Their legs are tangled up and they're breathing in tandem; my heart swells just looking at them.

But it simultaneously breaks knowing I have to leave them.

So, I don't look for long. I roll the suitcase out of our room and silently pass by Libby, and sit on the front porch steps to watch the world wake up.

I don't know how long I spend outside before the front door finally creaks open. I swivel my shoulders to see who it is, and I find Alice in the doorway rubbing her teary eyes.

"Mama says you're goin' away," she says, her voice very small. "Where you goin', sissy?" She pads over in just her socks and plasters herself to my side. Of course, I wrap an arm around her right away. "Don't go."

"I have to," I say, rubbing her shoulder. "I'm gonna go somewhere, and then life is gonna be a lot better for you guys."

"No, it won't," she says. "'Cause you won't be here. Then, it's bad."

I chuckle softly, humorlessly. "I promise, it won't be forever," I say, though I'm not sure how much truth that statement holds. I don't know any details per this situation. I've only been told as much as my mother knew, and that wasn't much.

"Take me with."

"I wish I could," I say, turning to the side to tip her chin up with one finger. "That would be the best ever, wouldn't it?"

She nods, and when she blinks, more tears roll down her face to disappear beneath her chin. "Who will take care of us when you're gone?" she asks.

"Oh, baby," I say, holding her face with both hands now. "Mama will."

"Mama works too much."

"She doesn't have to anymore, because of what I'm gonna go do," I say. "I'm gonna help us out a ton. It's gonna be great, I promise."

As I sit there talking to my littlest sister, a shiny, black car pulls up in our short driveway. We both watch it, stunned, as a woman with dark hair slicked into a ponytail climbs out. She's already tall, and her high heels only perpetuate that fact as she walks with purpose towards the house. I've never seen someone look more out-of-place here.

"I'm looking for an 'April Kepner,'" she says, without lifting her sunglasses.

"I'm…" I say, looking up without standing. I'm too shocked. "That's me."

She juts a hand out. "My name is Calliope Torres. I'm a representative of the Avery family, and it seems as though you'll be coming with me."

I finally stumble to my feet, but I feel just as small as I did sitting. I only reach her shoulders with the tip of my head.

"I… can I say goodbye?" I ask.

She gives me a curt nod and says, "Don't be long."

She waits on the porch while I grab Alice's hand and take us both inside to where my mother and other sisters are waiting.

"They're here," I say, and Mom rushes over from the wooden rocking chair to take me in her arms.

"My baby," she says, holding me tight. I return the hug with just as much gusto. "You don't know how much I appreciate what you're doing for us. We'd never be able to…" She cuts herself off and pulls away to look at my face. "You are a gift sent straight from God."

I smile and wipe away my tears, leaning into her as she kisses my cheek. Libby gives me a hug that's just as big, and then I drop to my knees to take my little sisters in my arms as they both sob their hearts out.

"It'll be okay, I promise," I tell them, holding them close and secure. "I'll call you every night."

"You're gonna forget us!" Kimmie wails.

"No, no," I say, shaking my head and closing my eyes. "That would be impossible. I love you too much to forget you, don't say such a silly thing."

I kiss each of them over and over, lingering on the sides of their clean-smelling heads.

"You be good," I tell them. "And make me proud."

They sniffle and Alice says, "We will."

"I love you like crazy," I say. "Remember that."

They nod, and I stand to wrap my hand around the handle of my suitcase. I take one last glance at the four of them, then turn around in my shabby outfit and worn-down shoes to take a step towards my new life.

When I return to the porch, Calliope is standing in the exact spot I left her in. She takes one look at me, raises her eyebrows, and puts her phone away.

"You won't be needing that," she says, eyeing my bag. "I'm headed to Zac Posen for you."

"Who's he?" I ask, gripping the suitcase tighter.

She gives me a look I can't comprehend, mostly because I can't see her eyes behind the dark shades. "You just won't need it," she says. "We have everything you'll need at the Avery home."

I pull the bag closer, protective of it. It holds everything I've ever held dear. I don't plan on letting her chuck it to the side like it's garbage.

"I want to keep it," I say.

We stand in stagnant silence for a moment, challenging each other before she breaks and tells me to get in the back seat. I don't let the suitcase out of my sight, even there.

The car is cool and dark, unlike any other vehicle I've been in. I take the bus mostly, but Mom's car is a beat up Toyota without working AC. Needless to say, this is much different.

"We're going to get you spruced up," Calliope says through the rearview mirror. "I'm taking you to Sine Qua Non downtown for an entire body and hair makeover. They'll get you made up for the ceremony, and while that's happening, I'll pick up your dress."

"From Zac?" I ask, remembering the name she dropped earlier.

She makes a sound in her throat that I might mistake for a stifled laugh if she weren't such a stuffed shirt.

"Yes," she says. "From Zac."

…

At the salon, personal space doesn't exist. I'm stripped down to a robe and nothing else, and I've never felt more exposed. I get a haircut without being asked what style I'd like, a manicure, a pedicure, and an all-inclusive skin treatment. They wax my legs and insist on giving me a 'Brazilian,' but after I learn what that is, I don't let them anywhere near me. I take care of that area on my own, and I don't need strangers in it. I already feel violated as it is.

Once everything is over - my hair curly and voluminous, more makeup than I've ever worn painstakingly applied, and all my nails painted a blush pink - Calliope walks into the salon with a garment bag in hand that she's handling very carefully.

"Your dress is here," she says. "From Zac. And we need to get to the venue soon, so I need you to change here." I give her an unsure look. "I know, not glamorous. But time is money, and we absolutely cannot be late."

I get up and walk over to retrieve the bag and shoes. The bag says ZAC POSEN in fancy script, and I get the idea that she was pulling my leg by telling me it came directly from Zac himself. I can't help smiling to myself; at least she's capable of joking.

"Put this on," she says. "We need to leave in five minutes."

"Okay," I say.

I tuck my hair behind my ears, reach for the bag, and she hands it over gently - like it's precious. I decide to treat it as such, if she is. "They did a nice job on you," she says, giving me a once-over. "He'll like you very much."

I can't help but blush. The thought that I'll have a husband later today is almost one that slipped my mind, there's been so many other things going on. It's a strange thing to wrap my head around. I've only ever had one serious boyfriend, so this is uncharted territory for me. Who would've thought...a husband. Jackson Avery as my husband, no less. One of the richest men in Chicago, at least once that ring is on his finger. I guess I can take credit for that.

I retreat into the posh powder room and hang the garment bag on a hook, taking one step back to unzip it. I shed the robe and hang it up nicely, standing there completely naked and feeling every inch of it. I'm a modest person in general and I don't spend much time naked. When I do, it's definitely not in glitzy bathrooms like this.

I look at the dress and take it in, noticing the off-the-shoulder straps, icy white color, and sweetheart neckline. I've never worn anything like this in my life, and I can't help but wonder how much it costs. Of course, being such a high-end item, there's no price tag on it like there would be if it were from Target or TJ Maxx, where I'm used to shopping.

There's a pair of underwear inside the bag that are obviously meant for me, but I've never seen anything smaller. As I hold them in my hands, I can easily see it's a thong, but it's a tiny one. It's like floss. I don't wear thongs in the first place, and I'm not sure how I'm supposed to walk with this wedged between my buttcheeks. I frown at the garment, tiny yet well made, and step into it knowing I don't have another choice.

I look down to see it barely covers the front, and I feel self-conscious about the back. Everything is out in the open, and when I look in the mirror I'm shocked. There's even a tiny bow at the top of the back waistline, and I'm so embarrassed.

I can't help but notice there's no bra included, which puzzles me. I think it must be a mistake, so I pick my robe up and use it to cover the front half of my body as I walk to the door and peek my head out.

"Calliope?" I peep.

"Are you ready?" she asks, without looking up from her phone.

"Uh, no," I say. "Could you, uh, come here? Possibly?"

She looks up and sees what sort of state I'm in and sighs, coming closer with a purposeful click-clack of her heels. "What?" she snaps.

"You forgot to give me a bra," I say, quietly, so no one else will hear. "I got the…" I clear my throat. "Underwear. But there's no…"

"The dress isn't worn with a bra," she states simply. "It's an off-the-shoulder dress. Honey, did you think your straps were just going to be out there, loud and proud? It doesn't work like that."

"But…" I say, eyes wide. "I won't have anything to…"

"Right now, you're covering them with your hands and I see nothing," she says. "No offense, sweetie, but you don't have enough to work with to be worried. Now, please god, get back in there and put that dress on. We're running out of time."

I do as she says, shutting the door again to stand in silence with only the dress to keep me company. I carefully take it off the hanger and unzip it, then step into the skirt and pull it up my body. I situate the straps on my arms where I think they should go, then hold it in place while I look in the mirror.

I've never seen myself look like this before. I don't know if I recognize my reflection, and I don't know if I should.

"Calliope?" I say again, not bothering with going to the door because I know she's standing right there.

"What is it now?" she barks.

"Can you come in?" I ask. "I need to be zipped."

"Oh," she says, then pushes the door open. She looks at me and her eyes catch, but I can't look back. Though the dress is beautiful and I've never been this glamorous, it feels like I'm wearing a mask, and for some reason that's making me shy. "It does fit you perfectly," she says, pulling the zipper up to where it stops. "How do you feel?"

I look in the mirror, but I only last for a moment or so. "I don't know," I admit.

She places a hand at the small of my back, and it's the first halfway-warm action I've received from her. I decide to take it and run with it, relishing the feeling of someone else supporting me. I think I'm going to need it.

…

The car ride is silent on the way to the Avery mansion, where Jackson and I will be married by an officiant in their backyard. The only audience will be Catherine and Calliope, and the lawyers of course. It won't be a warm gathering, but a legal one. I've never been more nervous in my life, and I pray my hands won't sweat too badly when it comes time to touch him.

When we get out of the car, I do my best not to gawk. I'm sure it wouldn't be appreciated, and it does my stomach good not to stare. Because if I stare, I'll start thinking about how much money all of this is worth, and I can't handle that right now. Not in the frame of mind I'm in.

Calliope takes my arm and helps me walk in the shoes she says are Jimmy Choo. If I were in a joking mood, I might ask her if that means they're anything like Charleston Chew, but I don't do that. I'm not that dumb.

"They know we're here," she says. "Try not to be so nervous."

"Yeah," I say, and by my tone I hope she can tell how unlikely that is.

When I catch sight of Jackson, I forget how to breathe. My mom always talked about how handsome he is, but those were just words. This, who I'm looking at right now, is the real thing. His skin is glowing in the late afternoon light, and his eyes pierce through mine like two diamonds. His suit, probably designer as well, fits him perfectly. I've never seen an article of clothing so tailored. His hands are clasped at his waist and he's standing with perfect posture, barely blinking. He looks like some sort of Greek god statue - unwavering, untouchable. But somehow, he'll be mine.

As we get closer, all I want to do is turn tail and run in the opposite direction. But Calliope keeps us moving, even when my feet fail and I do a stutter step, caused by making eye contact with my husband-to-be for the first time. Looking at him takes my breath away, though I know I'm being shallow. He's marrying me for money; his own, no less. This shouldn't mean anything to me, because it means nothing to him. I promise myself that it doesn't, it won't; I'm just caught up in his otherworldly looks.

I'm sure he's seen plenty of girls who look like me. I'm probably nothing special, just a name on a piece of paper that will get him his fortune, so I have to be good enough.

"Jackson," Calliope says. "This is April, your wife."

He extends an arm fluidly, gracefully, with an open hand. I stare at it, knowing I'm supposed to reciprocate the gesture, but I can't seem to move. It takes a moment for the synapses in my brain to fire before my arm surges out in an unnatural fashion, my hand practically colliding with his. I smile nervously, but he doesn't return the sentiment. He just shakes my hand in a businesslike manner, and returns to the stance he'd begun in.

"Have a little heart," the woman next to him says. I assume she must be Catherine, his mother. "Show some decency. You owe her as much."

"It's lovely to meet you," he says, and those words alone are a song. His voice is low, gravelly, and impossibly smooth. Like a hot drink on a cold day, it sits with me perfectly.

"You, too," I say.

"The dress seems to work," he says eyeing me. "I'm glad to see as much. I picked it out myself, so I hoped for the best. Your body proves to be a good model."

Catherine looks at me, and I notice her eyes are warmer than his. "That's his way of saying that you look stunning, dear," she says. "And I promise, you do. Get used to wearing the finer things. They suit you well."

I flash her a weak, trembling smile, and feel I must be dreaming. None of this can possibly be real. It's like I'm living someone else's life, in another dimension. Things like this don't happen to girls like me.

But it does happen. I stand across from Jackson Avery and, after a few words exchanged and the trading of rings, become April Avery, his lawfully wedded wife. We sign the papers, forgo the kiss, and make it official.

…

The ring is incredibly heavy on my finger as we sit in the back of a limousine, on the way to a brand new mansion built in his name. It will be our married home, Catherine told me, but I have no idea how to take that in. Me? Living in a mansion? The house I just left was less than 1,000 square feet.

So, when we pull past the gates and into the turnaround driveway, I can't help but gape at the massive house that lies before us. Jackson doesn't falter, though. He just exits the car and comes around to open the door for me, which I hadn't expected. I get out slowly, taking in the sight, and trip a bit in my shoes as I try to digest what's happening.

"This is…" I begin, but my words fall off.

"Mine," he says, but catches himself and amends his statement. "Excuse me. Ours."

A small man dressed in a sharp suit comes up beside me and says, "Mrs. Avery. Your bag, madam."

I look at him strangely, having no earthly idea what he's doing. "Excuse me?" I say.

"Your bag, my lady," he says, and I remember that my suitcase is next to me, the bag from my old life that now seems a million miles away.

"Oh!" I say. "Oh, don't worry about that. I can get it."

He stands there awkwardly, giving me an expectant, unusual look. He doesn't leave.

"My arms aren't broken," I say, laughing cordially. "And truth be told, there's not much inside it."

"You won't be needing it," Jackson pipes up, and I look over to where he's standing, smoking a cigar. I screw up my eyebrows at the sight, and he notices my reaction. "It's celebratory," he says, exuding a puff of smoke. "We've just been married. Would you have rather popped a bottle of champagne, Mrs. Avery?"

I don't know how to take him. I have no idea if he's joking or not, and I'm not sure which I'd prefer.

"I do need my bag," I say, a bit indignantly. "There are important things in there. My things."

"We have plenty of things for you here. More than enough things."

"But these are mine," I say, persistent. "And they won't be going anywhere but with me. So, if you'll excuse me…" I pick up the bag and push my way somewhat rudely past the man next to me. "I'll find my way to my room."

"Our room," Jackson says, without raising his voice, but somehow it still carries the distance. "Take it to our room, darling, if you're so determined."

I nod my head in a forced manner and make my way inside the ostentatious front doors. What lies before me takes my breath away - it's the most ornate, immaculate house I've ever seen. The floors are marble, there's a staircase that fans out to either side, with a sparkling, detailed chandelier above my head. I don't belong here, that much is blatantly clear.

I don't have a clue where any of the rooms are, so I just make my way upstairs. There are bedrooms upon bedrooms, bathrooms upon bathrooms, and I am absolutely sure I'll get lost in this place more than once.

I make it to one that looks cozy and small, also one that I'm sure is not the master bedroom. I set up in it anyway, changing very carefully out of the Zac Posen dress and taking the painful shoes off. Once I'm out of the floss-like underwear, I put my own back on and dig out a pair of old sweatpants and a t-shirt of Libby's that's always been my favorite. It has our high school logo on it, and it's signed by a bunch of her friends. Once I'm in clothes I recognize, I feel more like myself. Just in a very strange environment. I don't think anyone has ever embodied the phrase 'fish out of water' more than I do right this second.

I begin to unpack, taking my humble items from my suitcase to either lie them flat in drawers or set them atop the dresser. I don't have many trinkets and I have even less clothes, but it's nice to see things from my old room in this one.

There's a framed picture of me and all my sisters, and individual ones of their school portraits from this year. In hers, Kimmie is missing one of her front teeth. Alice's freckles are shining like the sun, and all I want to do is be able to reach out and touch them. I already miss my family so much it hurts, and I know the pain will only get worse. I can only hope looking at these photos will help in the smallest way.

I'm turned in the opposite direction when Jackson walks up the stairs, so I don't hear him come in. I only notice his presence when he speaks, saying, "What's this?"

I flip around, heart racing, feeling guilty though I can't be sure why. In his hands, he holds a folded, blue square, and he's running his thumbs over the material. It had been resting at the foot of my bed.

"Don't touch that," I say, and it comes as an order. I snatch it from him and tuck it under a pillow, and he gives me a look. "Sorry," I say, feeling quite subdued. "But just… please, don't touch that."

"Noted," he says, and doesn't stay for any further conversation. Instead, he turns around and leaves much in the way he came, completely silently.

I sit on the end of my bed for a while, and tune in when I hear conversation from down the hall. This house is so big and cavernous, any sound is easy to pick up.

"... your wife. And you're her husband. A bit strange to be acting so cold around each other, no? Is there something wrong, something I should know about?"

I think it's the voice of the butler who tried to take my bag, and he sounds suspicious. Right then, it dawns on me that even the people closest to the Averys don't know of our arrangement.

"Of course nothing is wrong, Antonio, don't be silly," Jackson says, using a tone that sounds superior even from here. "She's tired. You saw her, she's a tiny little thing. A wisp of a woman, she needs her rest. Don't bother her."

"I didn't plan on it, sir," he says. "Just sparked my curiosity is all. I'll be downstairs, in the parlor, if there's anything you need."

Silence follows, and my gut twists with nerves. How is this supposed to work if Antonio lives in this house, too? I have no idea, but I remind myself it's not my job to figure that out. It's my job to be his wife, and I signed the papers. I'm not sure what else is entailed.

A few moments later, I hear my name being called.

"April," Jackson says. "If you could meet me in the parlor, please."

I get up from the bed instantly as I see him pass the door, not dressed in his wedding suit anymore, but his lounge clothes are much nicer than mine. I feel grossly underdressed, but at the same time there's not much to be done about it. I want to be in my own clothes so I can feel closer to home, and I don't plan on changing.

I do make my way down to the parlor, though, but not without nerves. When I arrive, I see Antonio in the corner, polishing glasses with a cloth, and Jackson is by the picture window. He beckons me with a nod of his head, and I walk towards him with caution.

"There you are," he says, once I get closer enough. He stretches out his arms, captures my waist, and pulls me in. "My beautiful little wife. Just look at you."

My hair has fallen out, I'm sure my makeup is smudged, and I'm exhausted. I have no idea what he's looking at, but he must be wearing rose-colored glasses at the very least.

All I do is smile. I'm not sure how to reciprocate.

He holds my face with the side of his hand. "I've been dying to kiss you," he says, and as he closes his eyes I get the hint that that's exactly what he's going to do. So, I quickly match his movements and close mine, too, then let myself get lost in the way his lips feel.

It's a chaste kiss, but that doesn't mean the feelings inside me stay that way. My heart beats wildly and my blood heats up, and I find myself breathing him in. When we pull apart, I'm breathless and he looks nothing short of satisfied.

"You're perfect," he says, stroking my cheek. "And, imagine. I was lucky enough to marry you."

I give him another smile, this one less confident. He continues to hold me around the waist, admiring me, until Antonio leaves the room. The butler's eyes had been on us the whole time.

Then, once we're alone, he releases me. Not forcefully or harshly, but enough to let me know I'm dismissed. We did all we needed to do; the suspicious voice was silenced.

So tonight, we'll sleep in different wings of the largest house I've ever seen. And on the first night of my marriage, I'll feel more alone than I've ever felt in my life.