That’s the end.
I turn my head to look out the window and see Dickerson standing in a group of tuxedoed men. Laughing, and joking, and oblivious.
Except, I finally face the fact that none of these people are oblivious. That their silence about what’s happening here is just like my silence.
And then the world goes quiet again and I give in to it and start to cry.
But there’s no sobbing. There’s no sound at all. Just… tears of resignation.
I know we’re supposed to save ourselves.
We’re told that in many ways when we’re little girls. But we’re also told, that every once in a while, a prince appears on a white horse and makes all the bad things go away. But… that almost never happens. If she can’t muster up the will to save herself, then the princess must be left to rot in her tower.
So I know it’s wrong to wish for a prince.
I watch the silent argument going on behind the French doors of the office and internalize that wrongness.
It’s wrong. It’s wrong. It’s wrong.
But… I really need a fucking prince.
The doors of the office burst open and Mason walks out, straightening his jacket. He walks straight towards me, hand extended. He takes mine in his as I stare into those brilliant green eyes, and he says…
I don’t know.
Because I can’t hear him.
And I think… it’s too late. I’m gone and I’m never coming back this time.
There is no Wild Thing in my future.
But Mason either doesn’t care or understands. Because he leads me out of that house and walks me right up to the Mercedes. Opens my door, helps me in, buckles my seatbelt, and then…
We drive away.
And still… my world is silent.
He talks and talks and I hear nothing.
We drive for a while. Maybe even a long while. And then he pulls over, reaches into the back seat, and drops a t-shirt and a pair of sweats into my lap.
I just look at them as he pushes me forward and unzips my wedding dress. Drags it down my upper body, then unbuckles my seatbelt and helps me get it past my hips and legs.
He pulls the t-shirt over my head and the only thing I think about is how it smells like him. A smile creeps up my face as he helps me pull on the sweats, then buckles my seatbelt again, and drives off.
I watch his mouth move. Every once in a while he takes his eyes off the road to glance at me. But still… my world is silent.
And I think… I’m broken now. It’s too late.
But once we’re back on the highway he presses the button to make the convertible top fold back and the wind rushes past my face and blows my perfectly coiffed hair. The sun beats down on my body and makes it hot.
And then he reaches for my wedding dress, all bunched up in the middle between us, and hands it to me.
I look at him as he speaks. And even though I can’t hear him, I know what he’s asking me to do.
I unbuckle my seat belt, turn around in the seat, and throw the wedding dress out behind us.
It flutters for a few seconds and then crashes to the ground, and… I hear birds. And the rush of wind.
And Mason, still talking.
I settle in my seat and turn to him.
Because even though I didn’t hear what he said to me back at the mansion, I did hear what he said to me back at the mansion.
He said, “I choose you.”
So I stare up into those eyes of his, remembering the first time I saw them. Remember who and what I was that night.
Wild Thing.
And say, “You didn’t come in on a white horse. But I guess a Mercedes will do.”
EPILOGUE – MASON
My mother… God, I’m almost afraid to say this. But… she’s responding to the treatment. Lyssa and I joined her in Sweden a few weeks after I rode in on my white fucking Mercedes and saved the princess.
Or drove her Mercedes and became the villain in her stepfather’s tragic fairytale.
I’ll take it.
We couldn’t leave earlier because Baylor stole her passport right out of her apartment that day he was waiting for us. So we had to put in for a replacement.
Lyssa was livid. She raged, and ranted, and kicked, and screamed, and cursed, and…
And I loved every fucking minute of that tantrum.
I hope she never stops being wild. I hope it’s genetic and tied to the X chromosome so she passes it on to all our future princesses and they will grow up mouthy, and strong-willed, and brave.
“You’re brave,” I say, tugging her up close to me.
She hums out her agreement and snuggles deeper into the covers.
I tell her this all the time now. Every night before bed. Every morning when she wakes up. Because I said it to her in the car as we were driving away from the estate that day and she told me later that she didn’t hear it. And it broke my heart.