Chapter 2

"Chloe, honey, it's okay," I said, my voice hoarse.

She looked up, hope flickering in her eyes.

"You'll marry him? Mark?"

I couldn't tell her the truth about Mark, not yet.

She was already so fragile, tied to my choices in ways I barely understood.

"We need to be smart, Chloe. Very smart."

Mark. He wanted this wedding badly.

The church-sponsored music festival was next month.

A talent scout was coming.

He needed to be "Mark Thompson, settled family man, son-in-law of Pastor Thompson."

My father's endorsement was his golden ticket.

Chloe was still watching me, her brow furrowed.

"What do you mean, Mom?"

"I mean," I said, sitting up, "I have a bit of a headache. Maybe we push the wedding license trip to the afternoon?"

Mark was supposed to pick me up in an hour to go to the county courthouse.

He wouldn't like a delay.

He was already outside, I could hear his beat-up truck rumbling.

Chloe chewed her lip. "But... you have to marry him. Before you meet David."

Her fear of David was a raw, open wound.

I knew that fear. I'd lived it.

"I won't meet David," I promised, though I had no idea how to ensure that yet.

Mark knocked, a quick, impatient rap. "Sarah? You ready, sweetheart?"

His voice, so charming, so fake. It made my skin crawl.

I took a deep breath. "Just a minute, Mark!"

I looked at Chloe. "Stay here. Stay quiet."

She nodded, her eyes wide.

I opened the door. Mark stood there, all smiles and cheap cologne.

"Hey there, beautiful bride-to-be." He leaned in for a kiss.

I turned my head slightly, so it landed on my cheek.

"Mark, I woke up with a terrible headache. Can we go for the license a little later? I just need some aspirin and a bit of quiet."

His smile tightened. Just a fraction, but I saw it.

"Oh. Uh, sure, Sarah. You okay? You look a little pale."

"Just tired. Wedding jitters, I guess."

"Right, right." He tried to look sympathetic. "Well, I got that meeting with Pastor Thompson this morning about the festival. Guess I can do that first. You rest up. I need my bride looking her best."

He needed my father's connections, more like.

"Thanks, Mark. I'll be fine."

He left. I closed the door, leaning against it.

Chloe was right. Mark was the immediate problem.

He was pushing hard.

Pastor Thompson, my own father, was unknowingly helping him.

He thought Mark was a good Christian boy, a talented musician who loved his daughter.

If only he knew.