Chapter 4 - Chiara

My father wastes no time at all arranging the wedding. I feel as though most of the details and arrangements were already done before he even called me and told me to come home for the family emergency. I am still so angry about it all.

This morning, the day of my marriage, I woke up with a tight knot in my stomach, feeling nauseous and angry. I”ve done my best to keep the bitterness off my face, but I feel it creeping up on me every now and then, and I have to focus hard to hide it from everyone around.

My father hid the truth from me, then dumped it all on me in front of everyone without giving me the chance to react in even the slightest way. Then, when I went to get some air, that snake of a man I”m marrying purposefully hid his identity from me to get me talk. I feel as though he betrayed me. He did. He could have walked right up to me and introduced himself straight away. That’s what a normal person would have done.

The wedding makeup artist touches a brush lightly across my cheek, and my eyes flutter closed in annoyance. “There you go, I think that is the last touch. You look absolutely stunning, you must be so excited,” she gushes, with a massive smile on her face.

I don’t even bother replying to her—what”s the point? I”ve spent all morning getting my hair done in this ridiculous, elaborate style, pinned with diamonds and glittering silver flowers that were apparently custom made for me. The makeup artist took over an hour to paint my face, and I almost wish she could have painted a smile on it for me.

I stand up, stretching my legs, tired of sitting down and having people rushing around me.

“Alright, you can take off your robe. Let’s get you into this beautiful dress.”

I stare at the dress hanging on the window frame, the afternoon light shining around it like a halo. I hate the fact that I really like it. The princess neckline is hand-stitched with pearls and diamonds, and the corset waist flows out into a wide, soft skirt that looks as though it will float around me like water when I walk.

I stare at it for a second, trying to force myself to enjoy at least one tiny piece of today.

But I can’t.

Behind me, someone pulls my robe off, and I am pushed into the center of the room in nothing but my lacy white underwear as three women pick the dress up and carry it carefully towards me.

“Step into it, sweetheart,” one of them says, holding out her hand so that I can steady myself.

I do so, acting on autopilot at this point. Just handing myself over to the chaos.

They pull the dress up over my body and begin the process of wrapping the ribbons behind me. At the waist they pull tightly, and I huff a breath out.

It takes three people to get me into this princess-style wedding dress. My body is tugged and pulled and maneuvered until I am tucked in and laced up.

They all step away, and one of the ladies grins proudly, pointing me towards the full-length mirror against the wall of the hotel room. “You look like a goddess.”

I stare at my own reflection. I can’t even bring myself to accept that it”s me standing there in the mirror. That girl is me.

Shelooks drop-dead gorgeous, as though she came straight out of a fairytale book, perfectly painted and primmed. I touch the dress and run my hands gently over the lace and detailing. A tight lump forms in my throat, and I swallow it down hard, refusing to let my emotions get the better of me. I will not cry. No one will have the satisfaction of seeing me cry today.

They will all think they are tears of happiness, when actually, inside, I am being torn apart.

“Please clear the room, I”d like a moment alone with my daughter.” My father’s loud voice booms around the bedroom as he pushes the door open and steps inside. Then he pauses, and I hear his breath catch in his throat. “Good heavens, sweetheart. I have never seen an angel so beautiful in my life.”

The women rush out of the room, leaving us alone. I don’t turn away from the mirror. I can’t seem to drag my eyes off my own reflection as I try to force my brain to process the reality of all of this.

My father steps behind me, staring at me in the reflection as well. “You remind me of your mother, on our wedding day. She was so beautiful, and so excited. I remember how happy we were.”

Finally, I turn away from the mirror, and away from my father, to stare out of the window.

“Happy,” I mutter.

“Sweetheart, I know this is all a bit of a surprise for you, but it”s going it be wonderful,” he says in a reassuring voice.

“Okay,” I respond, politely, biting back what I really want to say.

“Also, sweetheart, I wanted to tell you that a baby from this marriage would really secure everything. It would solve all of our problems.” His voice is softer, a little tight.

I turn to face him. I am not even married yet, not even dragged away into a life I don’t want yet, and he”s already talking about me becoming pregnant.

The look on my face does not go unnoticed, and my father clenches his jaw.

He has chocolate eyes, dark, just like mine, and the same thick, dark hair. It”s immediately obvious we”re father and daughter. I look just like him, only younger, and prettier.

“You want me to have a baby with this man? I don’t even know him yet.”

“I know, but you”ll know him soon enough. You will learn to love him.”

“Dad, can I just get through today—”

“I was looking through the pre-nup. When you have a baby with this man you will be getting a very attractive amount of money. An initial upfront payment and a monthly allowance which surprised me. They seem to want an heir. A child would solve all of our financial…um, problems, because it will really secure this union.” His words catch me off guard. I blink a few times, taking them in.

“Dad, are we in debt?”

The door bursts open again and Stefano crashes in, interrupting my question.

I bite my lower lip. I am not in the mood for him.

I am never in the mood for him, actually.

“This is all such a stupid idea, Angelo. I really don’t think we should be going through with any of this. The Dubrovs are not the family we want to be tied to. What do they have that adds value to our family? We want status, something worthy.”

“Stefano, this is what our family needs,” my father replies calmly.

I glare at my stepbrother. “Dad knows what he”s doing. Why don’t you just trust his decisions and stay out of this?” I snap at him.

He shoots a death glare at me. His eyes fierce and threatening. He hates it when I talk back to him, as though I should have automatic respect for him because he”s a man and older than I am. Well, he can go to hell.

My own words surprise me, though, because I know I don’t want this. But if my father needs this of me, for our family, and if he is struggling financially as he suggests and this will solve it, then I have to do it. My father means the world to me, and I will do anything to make him happy and keep him safe.

“What? You suddenly want all of this? I thought you were angry about being forced to marry some idiot you don’t even know,” Stefano spits.

“You know nothing about me, Stefano. Don’t pretend to understand anything I want or feel.”

“Come on, you two, this should be a happy day. We can’t have our family infighting.”

“She needs to learn her place. If she speaks to her new husband like that, he will be kicking her out before the week is over. Her attitude is—”

“Stefano,” my father’s deep voice warns, and my stepbrother closes his mouth, pulling it tight and lifting his chin, not enjoying the reprimand.

“Sweetheart, we”re almost ready for you. Shall we head out—”

“Actually, Dad, can I just have a moment alone, please? I”ve been surrounded by people since the second I opened my eyes this morning, and I just want to gather my thoughts.”

“Of course, of course. Come on, Stefano, let’s give your sister a moment to herself.”

Stepsister, I correct in my mind, denying any direct relation to that asshole.

Stefano sneers in my direction. “Fine,” he snaps, bitterly.

My father ushers him out of the room and closes the door.

The silence is so sudden that it feels heavy.

I walk over to the window to look out onto the massive garden and the wide, bright green lawn where the chairs have been set up and people are gathering. A long red carpet leads toward the altar where I am about to give my life away.

I watch the people moving around, wondering what it would be like if, instead of a bunch of people I don’t know, they were friends and family, and I was feeling happy.

A soft knock at the door makes my eyes roll. I guess I don’t get a moment of peace, after all.

“Come in.”

Maxim steps inside, closing the door behind himself.

He walks toward me, so I turn to face him.

His eyes give everything away. As soon as he catches his first sight of me in the wedding dress, they shoot wide open in shock. He swallows. The corner of his mouth turns upward, then breaks out into a full smile.

He is staring. Not just looking at me, but full-on staring.

Maxim clears his throat, and I can see he is trying to pull his thoughts together. I don’t say a word, enjoying his reaction and how he seems to be struggling.

My eyes trace over his tall build, his broad shoulders, and how the custom-made suit fits snuggly over his body, showing off his physique.

His light brown, shoulder-length hair curls slightly at the ends, and his square jaw and bright blue eyes make him look like he belongs on the cover of a magazine or just stepped out of one of those old romantic movies. He looks drop-dead gorgeous.

I don’t want to be admiring him, though, so I turn my face way, feeling angry. I”m still mad at him for the way he played me. He tricked me, and I hate him for it.

After what my father said about being in debt, I have a clearer picture of how this all came about. The Dubrov family forced this on him, twisting his arm and using his financial struggles against him to arrange this union. It is just another reason for me to hate him.

“I just wanted to come and see you before it all started. I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he says, gently. He steps even closer to me, and the scent of his cologne washes over me.

Spiced, and wild. It smells amazing.

“I’m fine,” I mutter.

“Look, I know this is going to be difficult, but we can get through it all together, okay?”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, I”m here for you. Just stay close, and when things get crazy out there, squeeze my hand to let me know, and we can find a quiet place to take a break.”

“I told you, I”m fine. I”ll be fine out there. I know how to handle myself without your help.”

“I know, I was just—”

“Don’t,” I snap, not wanting his comfort or gentle reassurance. I know it’s fake. I am not interested in fake people. “Let’s just get this over with,” I say, pushing past him, walking out of the door, and heading to where my father is waiting.

Maxim walks past me, his hand touching my waist for the briefest of moments. It sends a spark through my body, which I angrily refuse to acknowledge.

“We”ll see you there,” my father smiles at Maxim, then loops his arm through mine, and I take a very deep breath as we head towards the ceremony and waiting spectators.

I hear the music begin to play as we step out into the afternoon sunshine, and the scent of the garden wafts over me. My father pauses to pull the veil over my face, and a little girl of about three or four years old, dressed in a pretty pink flower girl dress, rushes over to hand me a bunch of flowers. My bouquet. I clutch it in front of me as though I can hide behind it as we step onto the red carpet and begin the slow walk between the row of chairs.

I don’t look up at Maxim, not even once. I keep my eyes on the little girl in the cute pink dress as she scatters rose petals in front of me.

At the end of the carpet, my father lifts my veil and kisses my cheek.

I turn toward Maxim but keep my eyes off his face. The little girl grins at me, and I grin back at her and hand her my flowers. “Please look after these for me,” I whisper.

Then, the priest begins to speak.

He talks of love, and union, and respect, and companionship.

I listen, but I hardly hear the words, because they make no sense to me at all.

I look past Maxim, around him, at the garden, my face blank.

When we have to exchange rings is the only time I really take note of him at all; he gently holds my hand in his and slides a beautiful square diamond onto my finger.

The priest asks us the most important question of all, and I drag my attention back to the moment.

“I do,” I whisper quietly, my heart feeling heavy and numb.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

I freeze, my eyes wide. I forgot about this part. I didn’t—

He steps close to me, wrapping his arm around my waist, pulling me right up against his chest, and then his lips press to mine, and the kiss blocks out absolutely everything else.

Fire spreads wildly through my body. Heated, burning flames of lust rush over me.

His lips lock over my mouth, and the kiss seems to last forever. I take in every moment of it. His fingers against my lower back, the way his muscular chest feels beneath my hand where I”m touching him. Everything I felt when I first met him in the garden rushes back to me. Before I knew who he was, when I was flirting and interested in him.

Then he steps away, and I feel breathless, my cheeks heated and flushed.

He grins down at me.

I forget about the people watching us and stare at his lips, my body wanting to kiss him again. Then I hear clapping and cheering, and I”m pulled back into reality.

I gently touch my finger to my lower lip, and then quickly drop it away. He reaches his hand out and slips his fingers through mine, holding me tightly in his grip.

We turn towards the crowd, and I smile, as I am supposed to do.

It is time to celebrate. The reception is waiting for us, and a very long night of wearing this forced smile. I already feel tired, and drained, and want it all to be over.