I've dreamed of the perfect marriage ever since I was a little girl: a marriage complete with a hardworking husband while I tended to the home and our children, preferably four little rugrats to call my own. I dreamed of a life filled with laughter...
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Applying mascara, I realize my nerves have gotten the better of me because I can't decide if my lashes look tastefully fluttery or like spider legs have been gorilla-glued to my eyelids.
I blink twice. They're sticky.
Definitely gorilla-glued.
With a deep breath, I reach for my makeup remover and wipe away the mascara to start again. Once removed, I carefully re-apply lightly like a lady would.
"Proper. Always be a proper lady, Charlotte."
My mother's words slip in like a perverted stranger's DMs and I cringe. I drop the mascara into the sink and clench my hands on the cool countertop to stop them from shaking. For weeks I've slowly managed to keep my mother's words distant from my thoughts, but every once in a while she likes to slip right back in and flaunt her never-ending hold on my inner monologue.
No. Shaking my head, I try to fling her inflated ego right out of my head.
Deep breaths and focus.
Daniel should be here any minute for our "date", a date I've spent the greater part of the past three days dreading and wanting to cancel. I don't even know what to do on a date. We didn't date much before our wedding. Sure, he'd come over to my father's house and we got to know each other through menial questions, but aside from a few standard dinner dates, I wouldn't say we've dated in the traditional sense. We never laughed, never held hands, and never kissed. Didn't stop my young, dumb brain from falling for him though. He was handsome. He was rich . . .
. . . He was my escape. That thought is harsh and painful.
Looking at myself in the mirror, my eyebrows pinch at the memories.
Back then, I thought Daniel could do no wrong. He was somehow this unreachable, unbreakable powerhouse of a man who was unfortunately thrust into a marriage with me, little ole Charlotte Anne, an elegant daughter of high society, raised to be polite, proper, and always, without exception, a lady. Being a homemaker was my only ambition. At least, that's what I believed for years. These past few weeks, I've come to realize it was the only ambition I was ever allowed to have. My mother wouldn't dare let me dream of anything else, so I never did.
My heart jumps when I hear a knock on the cabin door.
Shoot. He's here.
"Come in. The door's unlocked!" I bellow, knowing this is the least lady-like way to handle this, but I need a few extra seconds alone before I see Daniel.
The door to the cabin opens with a squeal and I hear his heavy footsteps enter as I move to fix a wayward hair that fell out of my braid. Why is there always a random piece of hair floating about? I lick my finger and attempt to smooth the arrogant strand down in place.
"Lottie?" he asks.
"I'll be just a moment. Just finishing up." I take a step back to take a final look. That darn hair. I reach up and pluck it.
