Page 107 of Possessive Ink

“Princess, are you okay?” he asks, immediately starting to run his fingers through my hair.

Opening my mouth, I try to speak, but the only sound that comes out is a half sob, followed by a torrent of emotion. Before I even realize what’s happening, I’m blubbering and crying so hard my shoulders are shaking.

“Come here, Princess. What’s going on?” he asks, gathering me into his arms and lifting me off the floor and into his lap.

“I…” I try to speak. “Can’t. Won’t. Can’t. I…”

“Settle, Princess, settle,” he purrs into my neck, rubbing my back and trying to get me to calm down.

As I shake my head, another bout of sobs racks through me so hard that I bury my face into his shoulder and cling to him, feeling completely out of control. I don’t know why I’m so upset. I’m frustrated about the dress and the realization that I’m simply not experienced or talented enough to be able to make such a complex design. But this doesn’t feel like it’s just frustration coming out of me as emotion. This feels bigger, like a dam has opened up inside of me and now that it’s burst, there’s no way of slowing down the flow.

“Princess, talk to me. Are you hurt?” Atticus asks, still stroking my hair.

I shake my head, but I’m still crying too hard to speak. Instead of pushing me, he simply holds me tightly while I cry it out, blubbering all of my emotion onto his shoulder until my sobs finally subside into shuddering silent tears.

Atticus must sense when I’ve calmed enough to speak, because he gently pries me off his shoulder and holds me just far enough away that we can look at each other and have a conversation.

“Princess, tell me what’s happening?” he says softly, like he’s worried he’ll trigger another bout of sobs if he speaks too harshly.

I shrug, and it feels so inadequate, but I don’t know how to articulate what’s wrong with me.

“You don’t know why you’re upset?” he questions.

Sucking in several slow breaths, I shrug again. “I can’t make my dress.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I’m not good enough,” I admit honestly.

“Don’t say that, Princess. You’re incredible. You just have to believe in yourself,” he assures me, like the absolute best cheerleader in the world.

“No,” I tell him, shaking my head. “The stitchwork is so complex, and I either mess it up and have to throw it away, or if I actually get it right, it doesn’t fit, and I don’t know why. I’ve measured the bodice a hundred times, and I know that the measurements are right, but when I try it on, it’s too small, and I don’t know if it’s the fabric, or the pattern, or if it’s something else that I’m just too inexperienced enough to recognize. But I can’t do it. The wedding is in two weeks, and even if I were to work on it every moment between now and then, it still wouldn’t be finished, because I can’t do it.”

Like my words have shocked him, he blinks down at me. “Princess.”

“Please don’t try to give me a pep talk right now, Atticus. It won’t help. I have wasted hundreds of dollars’ worth of lace and organza because I stupidly picked the most impossible fabric. If I were making my whole dress out of calico, I might be able to finish a very rough version, but I’m not, and I can’t do it.”

“Lemon—” he starts again, but I keep talking.

“I can’t do it, Atticus. People go to school for years to learn how to make clothes, and as much as I wish I could, I can’t make my wedding dress just from watching YouTube videos. We need to postpone the wedding.”

His expression goes from soft to hard in an instant. “That’s not happening, Lemon. We’re getting married in two weeks, and that’s final.”

“Well then, I’m going to be wearing my sweats.”

“You don’t own sweats,” Atticus says, a hint of warning in his tone.

“Well, maybe in two weeks I might be able to sew myself some,” I hiss, feeling my tears suddenly heating into anger.

“Princess,” he warns.

“Don’t Princess me, Atticus. I can’t do it. I can’t. I cannot make my own dress. It’s too hard, and I know you want me to do this, and you’ve spent so much money on my studio and all the equipment and all the fabric. And I want to do it. I want to be capable, but I’m not, and all this pressure to be as good as you think I am is making me feel like I’m losing my mind.” My ire spikes hot, then fades into fresh tears in an instant.

Sighing, Atticus pulls me back into his chest and holds me tightly while I cry. When I finally feel the tears dry up, I pull back and wipe at my face with my hands. “I think we should cancel the wedding.”

“No,” he growls so hard I swear I hear his jaw crack.

“I’m not who you think I am. I’m not a seamstress or a designer. I serve cakes in your sister’s store. And I know you want me to be ambitious and talented, but I’m not. I’m just a girl who likes pretty dresses, and I can’t be who you need me to be. I’m not a sexy submissive or some talented artist. I’m not special or someone who’s going to become a household name. You’re a star, and I’m just a member of the audience, and even though I wish I could pretend to be who you want me to be, I can’t, and…I think we should cancel the wedding.”