Chapter 2 The Thrill of Betrayal at the Amusement Park

# Chapter 2: The Thrill of Betrayal at the Amusement Park

One week after the funeral, the Mitchell house had fallen into a strange rhythm of quiet grief. Robert's parents moved through the rooms like ghosts, his mother obsessively rearranging his childhood trophies, his father retreating to his study with a bottle of scotch. I existed in the periphery, uncertain of my status but unable to leave—not yet. The guest room had become my sanctuary and my prison.

I was sitting by the window, watching rain streak down the glass when my phone buzzed with a text.

_Be ready in an hour. Casual clothes._

It was from Jake. No explanation, no pleasantries. I considered ignoring it, but the prospect of escaping these walls, even briefly, was too tempting.

An hour later, I was waiting in the foyer when Jake's car pulled into the circular driveway. He didn't come inside—a small mercy that spared us both from his parents' scrutiny.

"Where are we going?" I asked as I slid into the passenger seat.

Jake glanced at me, his eyes lingering on my outfit—jeans and a simple sweater, the most casual clothes I owned. Robert had preferred me in dresses.

"Somewhere my brother would hate." He smiled, a flash of mischief that made him look younger.

We drove in silence for nearly an hour, the landscape changing from the manicured estates of his parents' neighborhood to highways and finally, to my surprise, toward the unmistakable signs for Disneyland.

"You can't be serious," I said as we pulled into the parking lot.

"Dead serious," Jake replied, then winced at his own poor choice of words.

"Robert said theme parks were—"

"Tacky, commercial cesspools designed to separate fools from their money," Jake finished, mimicking his brother's precise diction perfectly. "I know. He gave me that lecture when I suggested taking you here for your birthday last year."

I stared at him. "You wanted to take me here?"

"Robert shut that down pretty quickly," Jake said, turning off the engine. "Said you weren't interested in such childish entertainment."

The truth was, I'd never been to Disneyland. Growing up with a single mother who worked three jobs, such luxuries were beyond our reach. By the time I could afford it as an adult, it seemed silly to go alone. And then I'd met Robert, who had very clear ideas about appropriate activities for a future Mitchell spouse.

"We don't have to do this," I said, though something inside me was already lighting up with anticipation.

"Yes, we do." Jake's expression softened. "Consider it grief therapy."

Inside the park, Jake moved with surprising familiarity, navigating the crowds and leading me toward the castle that dominated the skyline. Everything was so bright, so loud, so alive that it felt almost obscene after the somber week I'd endured.

"Wait here," Jake said, disappearing into a nearby shop.

When he returned, he was holding a Mickey Mouse headband—not just any headband, but one with ears that lit up with shifting rainbow colors.

"Absolutely not," I protested, but I was already laughing.

"Absolutely yes." Before I could stop him, Jake had placed it on my head, his fingers brushing against my hair in a way that felt both casual and deliberate.

I caught my reflection in a nearby window—my somber face topped with ridiculous flashing ears. The contrast was so absurd that I couldn't help but laugh harder. Jake watched me with an intensity that should have made me uncomfortable but instead made me feel truly seen for the first time in years.

"Perfect," he said. "Now, what do you want to do first?"

The question startled me. With Robert, our outings had always been planned to the minute. My preferences were rarely considered unless they aligned with his.

"I don't know," I admitted.

Jake's expression darkened momentarily. "Then we do everything."

And we did. We rode roller coasters and spinning teacups. We posed with characters and watched parades. Jake bought me cotton candy, a pink cloud of sugar that I hadn't tasted since childhood.

As the afternoon sun warmed the park, we found ourselves on a bench near the carousel. I was eating my cotton candy, conscious of how sticky my fingers were becoming but unable to stop. It was too sweet, too good, too forbidden.

"You have..." Jake gestured to my face, and before I could react, he leaned in, his thumb brushing the corner of my mouth. When he pulled back, there was sugar on his thumb. He held my gaze as he licked it off.

Tears sprang to my eyes suddenly, unbidden and unwelcome.

"What's wrong?" Jake asked, immediately concerned.

"Nothing. I'm just..." I took another bite of cotton candy, the sweetness dissolving on my tongue as tears streamed down my face. "I'm happy. And then I feel guilty for being happy. And then I feel angry for feeling guilty."

Jake didn't offer platitudes or awkward comfort. Instead, he reached out again, this time wiping an actual tear from my cheek.

"Did you know," he said softly, "that my brother never told you something important about yourself?"

I shook my head, confused.

"He never told you that when you eat, especially something you enjoy, your cheeks puff out just a little." Jake's voice was gentle, his eyes fixed on my face. "You look exactly like a squirrel storing nuts for winter. It's adorable."

The observation was so unexpected, so personal, that I froze mid-bite. Robert had never commented on my eating habits except to remind me to watch my portions.

"He wouldn't have found that charming," I said finally.

"No," Jake agreed. "He wouldn't have. But I do."

The moment stretched between us, charged with something I wasn't ready to name. I looked away first, focusing on the carousel's endless rotation.

"Why are you doing this, Jake?" I asked. "Taking me here, buying me things, saying these things..."

"Because someone should." His answer was simple but carried weight. "Because you've spent years shrinking yourself to fit into the box my brother built for you. I want to see who you are when you're allowed to expand."

As twilight fell, the park lit up with thousands of lights, transforming it into something magical. We watched the fireworks display, colors bursting over the castle in perfect synchronization with the music. I felt Jake's eyes on me more than on the show itself.

"We should head back," he said when it was over, sounding reluctant.

The drive home was quiet, but not uncomfortable. I dozed off, exhausted from the day's emotional and physical exertion. I woke to Jake's gentle hand on my shoulder.

"We're home," he said.

The Mitchell house loomed dark and imposing, a stark contrast to the colorful world we'd just left. As we approached the front door, I realized I was still wearing the light-up Mickey ears. I quickly removed them, shoving them into my purse before we entered.

The house was silent, most of the lights off except for a dim glow from the kitchen. We moved quietly, not wanting to disturb the stillness. As we passed the study, however, I noticed a strange orange flicker from beneath the door.

"Jake," I whispered, pointing.

He frowned and pushed the door open slowly. Inside, Mrs. Mitchell stood by the fireplace, feeding pages into the flames. She turned at our entrance, her face a mask of grief and determination.

"Mother," Jake said carefully. "What are you doing?"

She straightened, smoothing her silk robe with trembling hands. "Just clearing out some of Robert's things. Items that are no longer... relevant."

I stepped closer, drawn by a terrible curiosity. In the firelight, I could make out what looked like a notebook or binder, its pages curling and blackening in the flames. As one page caught fire, I glimpsed a title: "The Perfect Fiancée: A Comprehensive Guide."

My stomach dropped. Mrs. Mitchell's eyes met mine, and I saw in them a mixture of shame and defiance.

"You weren't supposed to see this," she said softly.

"What is it?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

"Robert was... meticulous in his planning." She looked away, back into the flames. "After your engagement, he created this... guide. Standards, expectations, recommendations for molding you into the ideal Mitchell wife."

The room seemed to tilt around me. I felt Jake's hand at the small of my back, steadying me.

"I found it when I was organizing his things," Mrs. Mitchell continued. "I thought it best if it disappeared. For everyone's sake."

I couldn't speak. Memories flooded back—Robert gently correcting my table manners, selecting my wardrobe, scheduling my haircuts, suggesting I lose five pounds before our engagement photos. All part of a program. A training manual.

"Emma," Jake's voice broke through my thoughts. "Let's get you upstairs."

I nodded numbly, allowing him to guide me from the room. As we reached the stairs, I heard Mrs. Mitchell call after us.

"Jacob," she said, her voice suddenly sharp. "Remember your place in all this."

Jake's hand tightened momentarily on my arm, but he didn't respond.

At my bedroom door, he finally spoke. "Are you going to be okay?"

I looked up at him, this man who was so like his brother in appearance yet so fundamentally different. "I don't know," I answered honestly.

He nodded, understanding. "For what it's worth, I think you were perfect before he ever met you."

After he left, I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at nothing. Then, slowly, I reached into my purse and pulled out the Mickey Mouse ears. I switched them on, letting the colorful lights dance across the walls of the dark room.

In my other hand, I held Robert's engagement ring. The diamond caught the changing colors from the ears—red, blue, green, purple—transforming from elegant to almost garish with each shift.

Two artifacts from two different worlds. Two different versions of myself.

I placed the headband on my nightstand, its lights still blinking cheerfully. The ring, I dropped into the drawer, out of sight.