Page 116 of Beautiful Scars

“Don’t be getting all emotional on me now.” He’s watching me like it’s Christmas morning and he’s just handed his kid a shiny new bike.

I turn in all directions, every time finding something new and interesting to look at.

If little girls had dreams of castle weddings, this is where they would come to live out their fantasies.

Just like you went to the nightclub to fulfill your fantasy?

Fuck off, Trish.

But it’s too late.

I’m forced to rememberwhyI wanted to know about the castle in the first place.

I don’t care about the castle. I’m not some kind of Bridezilla. I wanted to scout the layout so I could plan an escape during the ceremony.

“Ready?” Cillian shouts over, his hand outstretched for me to take.

I skip up to him and take it. Me and Trish can talk later. “Where to now, Boss?”

“The dungeon.”

He just laughs when I stare up at him in horror. I assume it’s a joke, else this man is truly beyond help.

We enter the main stairwell that spirals up and down. It’s much darker inside here. Of course we go down.

The thick stone steps are all rounded off—from what I can only imagine is hundreds of years of feet—and I make a note to wear flats on the big day because I will absolutely break my neck on these things.

The air gets colder the further down we go. Staler and damper too, but not overpowering.

We take a left before the stairs come to an end—Satan knows how far below ground they actually go—and it takes a little while for my eyes to adjust to the dim light.

“Ceremony,” he says.

The man wasn’t joking.

I repeat, the man wasnotjoking.

We’re standing in a massive, dark, gloomy dungeon. Did I mention the wordmassive?Not that I’m shitting on his arguably black parade. I’m just casually stating facts. One of which is that Kill possibly, maybe, should be committed.

If the castle above is every little girl’s dream, the dungeon below is every dungeon keeper’s.

“It’s a dungeon,” I say, once again just stating facts.

Cillian scoffs and lets go of my hand as he moves deeper into the room. “It’ll be done up all fancy, just wait and see.”

I can barely see him in the shadows, even with a white shirt on. A few dull fluorescent light strips high in the ceiling provide the only illumination.

“Chairs down this side, and over there. This will be the aisle right here. Sarah got a fucker of a florist, and she wasn’t shy about spending money.”

Well. I’m certainlytryingto see it in my mind’s eye.

“Mood lighting pointing up at the walls,” he continues as he walks back over to stand next to me. “I’m thinking blue. Wait—scratch that. The theme is green, isn’t it? Green lights. Maybe red at night, like our dungeon at home.” He winks at me, and I can’t help giggling like I’m just as fucked up as he is. Fuck...maybe I am.

“For the reception there’s a dance floor, you know the ones with the twinkly lights? And the vaults behind you will be the bars. Vodka bars. Cocktail bars. Cole wanted a cocaine bar but I told him to catch himself on. Then we’ve got a buffet room with—”

“It’s perfect,” I blurt.

I have to stop him.