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21
Monroe
Like every woman, I’ve envisioned my wedding since I was a little girl. Prince Charming sweeps me off my feet and asks me to marry him in a romantic proposal. We get married on a beach or maybe in an old barn with a flower arch. In none of my fantasies did it happen like this.
Alaric is no Prince Charming. I didn't even get a proposal, and this wedding is not the happiest day of my life like it’s supposed to be.
The house we’re getting married in is beautiful, and even the dress is gorgeous, but everything else is wrong.
“You look very pretty,” Ciara tells me. She is about my age but apparently has been working here at the Lombardi residence since she was fifteen. It’s a piece of information she dropped earlier, and I’m not sure if it was an accident or not.
“Thank you for helping me get ready.” I don’t really know her, but I’m so glad I didn’t have to do this on my own. I don’t know any more people here except the men who made Alaric fuck me in front of them. To say I’m uncomfortable around them is an understatement.
“No problem, it’s been nice to get away from my normal duties.” She smiles, but it quickly falters. She’s been like this all morning. Every time she says something, she seems nervous about it as though she worries she says something wrong.
“How did you end up working here?” I ask as Ciara pins up my hair. Her hands freeze for a second before she continues taming my locks without a word. I don’t ask again because I don’t want to pry, but I make a mental note to ask Alaric about it later. Something is off about this whole situation, and I’m going to figure out what it is.
The room settles in an uncomfortable silence, which is only broken when someone knocks on the door, making both of us flinch.
One of the guards opens the door and sticks his head into the room. “They are ready for you.”
“Can we have another minute?” I ask, hopeful for a little more time.
“No, you are expected now,” he snaps, crushing my plan to stall. I guess it doesn't matter if I do this now or in an hour. It’s inevitable either way.
“Good luck,” Ciara murmurs as I get up from the chair.
“I really wish you could come with me,” I tell her.
She immediately shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I’m allowed to.”
Allowed to?
“Enough small talk. Hurry up,” the guard urges impatiently. “I don’t have all day.”
Despite his growing irritation, I give Ciara a quick hug. My arms wrap around her body, and for a moment, she simply stiffens as if she wasn’t expecting this kind of affection. Just when I think she won't hug me back, her arms come around my torso briefly, and she squeezes slightly.
I release her, and we share a sad smile before I spin around and follow the guard out into the hallway. I wonder if I’ll see her again. I hope I do.
The guard leads me through the house, past multiple armed men standing guard at every exit until we make it out to the backyard. Alaric is standing at the edge of the terrace with a priest beside him. Savio and a few other men are also here. I count five total.
There is no music playing, and all the other people are randomly standing around or sitting on the outside furniture. There are no decorations, no family and friends, no happy memories to be made.
I walk up to where Alaric is standing. Stopping right in front of him, I tilt up my head and gaze at his face. He doesn't like that he is in awe of me or even that he finds me beautiful. His eyes are cold, empty, harsh. It’s like he doesn't want to be here, and I don’t understand what is happening.
He wasn’t like this last night or even this morning. The things he said, the way he made me feel, was it all fake? Or did he simply change his mind? I’m about to ask him if he still wants to do this when he suddenly turns away from me to face the priest.
“Begin,” he orders. “Just do the basics. No need to draw this out.”
I wince, feeling like I’ve just been slapped.
“Yes, hurry up, Father, so we can celebrate this union with a party.” Alessandro laughs, and my stomach churns. I do not want to be here for another one of hisparties.
The priest rushes through the whole wedding, cutting it so short, it doesn't take more than five minutes until we are officially married. There is not even a kiss at the end. This must be the least romantic wedding of the century.
“You can go now,” Alessandro dismisses the priest, who can’t get away fast enough. “Let’s eat and drink some champagne.” He claps his hands together in excitement and heads inside.
Alaric holds out his arm, and I loop mine around. We follow Alessandro even though all I want to do is run in the opposite direction. The other men follow as well, and I recognize two of them from the other night.
