Lina's Point of View Before the Walk
The flowers smell like a mix of jasmine and roses, and I'm thinking about how much I hate jasmine. I have always hated it. But no one asked me what flowers I wanted because this isn't my wedding; it's a show. It costs more than most people's houses and is a very beautiful, very expensive production.
My dad is standing next to me in his best suit, which he bought just for this day. He's crying a little, and it breaks my heart because I know his tears are real. He thinks his daughter is marrying for love.
He says in Tagalog, "You look beautiful, anak," which means "daughter." He shakes my hand as he fixes my veil. "I'm very proud of you." Rio is a nice guy. "He'll take care of you."
I want to let him know. I want to hold his arm and say, "Papa, this is all a lie." I'm not happy. I'm stuck. "Please help me." Instead, I squeeze his hand and say, "Thanks, Papa." I love you.
