The room around me was a buzz of energy as people darted from one side of the room to the other, each looking for different things. The make up artist was rummaging through her unnecessarily large make up case, looking for a lipstick colour that would compliment my skin tone. The hair stylist was too busy concentrating on straightening my hair to notice that my bridesmaids were using her hair products as they pleased.
The excitement in the air was infectious... Yet, here I was, wishing to be anywhere but here. I clenched my jaw when I felt the burn of the straightening iron, but I didn't make a sound. I was aware that my Mother was staring intently at my reflection, undoubtedly criticising every strand of hair and every lash on my eye.
"You understand why you're doing this, right?"
My Mothers voice was so cold and monotone that it stood out from the excited hubbub like a sore thumb. Despite the fact that I was in no mood to talk, I knew my Mother would become annoyed if I didn't give her some kind of answer and nodding was not an option with the hair stylist looming over me.
"Yes, Mother."
I replied with a voice that was even more monotone than hers had been. I didn't miss the way the makeup artist looked up at me with a frown on her face, clearly not expecting a bride to sound so unhappy on her wedding day.
I felt my shoulders slump in relief when the hairstylist stepped back to survey his work. I didn't understand what was so fantastic about my hair that had my Mother nodding her head in approval. My unruly dark curls had been straightened to perfection and now cascaded to below my lower back. She had put some sort of hair pin in the top to create a bubble for the place where my veil was supposed to go.
"You're welcome to leave, thank you."
Even though my mother was the perfect example of kindness, the tone of her voice had clearly warned the stylist that it wasn't an option and that she was required to leave immediately. The careless way that she had waved her hand had been enough for me to be upset. I didn't even want to begin considering the way that the stylist felt. I was well aware of the fact that there were still three hours and thirty-five minutes before I was expected to walk down the isle. It would take approximately an hour for us to finish up here, and another hour to finish up with the pictures—which was exactly what the groomsmen would be doing too.
I resisted all of my urges, doing my best not to flinch or move away when my mother laid her hands on the tops of my shoulders. I could feel how cold her hands were through the thin satin gown that I was wearing, and it took a lot of effort to keep my expression impassive. She started to rub my shoulders, giving me the impression that she was trying to massage me.
"You need to loosen up, Rebecca. You look too tense for someone who's about to get married to the man of her dreams."
Hmph. Man of my dreams my ass.
Of course, I didn't voice my thoughts, and instead ignored the way that my mother had turned to look at me after the noise that I had just made. I couldn't have been more thankful when the woman who was doing my makeup asked my mother to move out of the way so that she could do some final touch ups.
I was painfully aware of the way that my mother was instructing the girls who. She had chosen to be my bridesmaids on how they were expected to behave themselves throughout the day, and that it was important for them not to embarrass themselves, or me. The sound of her voice was beginning to give me a headache, the dull thudding pain that I had been dealing with this whole morning gradually getting worse.
"And we're all done!"
The makeup artist sounded quite happy to make this announcement, but I did nothing more than to smile at her politely. I didn't waste any more time with sitting around. When I stood up, she started to make herself scarce, her movements seeming so rushed that it looked like she was scrambling. It was agitating me and making it incredibly difficult for me to ignore the urge to run my hand through my hair. I went to the closet that currently held everyone's dresses, and when I finally pulled it out, there was nothing but curious glances coming my way.
When I walked into the bathroom, I hung the dress on the shower rail, turning around to look at my reflection in the mirror. Despite the amount of effort and time that had been put into my makeup, it wasn't even remotely able to cover the dark circles underneath my eyes, or hide the downward pull to my mouth. I couldn't help myself from pinching the bridge of my nose as I leaned over the basin, a defeated sigh leaving my mouth. It was then that I told myself that it was pointless for me to behave in this manner. I needed to get dressed. And that was what I did.
The ache that I had been feeling in my chest the whole morning, that I had successfully been able to ignore until now, was making itself known once again and I could do no more than to bite the inside of my check to stop my lips from trembling. I blinked rapidly, hoping that it would make it easier to fight off the tears that were threatening to escape.
If someone had told me a year ago that this was where I would find myself, that I would be getting married to a total stranger due to the fact that my parents were selfish and greedy, I would have laughed in their face. Literally. My parents loved me. At least, that would have been what I had told them, at the time. But here I was, putting on a freakishly expensive wedding gown and getting married to a man who I had only ever seen in pictures and tabloids. I hadn't even had the chance to speak to him over the phone.
The dress that I was to wear, was a tight fitting mermaid dress—and it definitely wasn't the one that I had chosen. I could do no more than to clench my jaw on irritation, feeling my anger begin to flare up. My mother had deliberately bought a similar dress to this one. I was sure if that fact. It had a lace overlay with some kind of floral pattern on it that went all the way up into a halter neckline. I sighed, realising that I would need to go out and ask someone to zip it up for me, but that was something that I couldn't complain about. The sleeves, which were made of the same lace as the rest of the dress, reached all the way down to my wrists, and I couldn't help but feel like it was going to make me seem kind of prudish. Perhaps that had been my mothers intention when she purchased it. All that I could do, was be thankful that the weather was the best today, because it meant that I wouldn't be affected by the long sleeves.
I walked out of the bathroom, clutching the front of the dress tightly against my body, and I wasn't oblivious to the way that everyone had turned to me. I was thankful that I wasn't a blusher. I didn't like the fact that I wasn't entirely dressed in front of all of them, but it was something that I hadn't been able to avoid. I made my way to my mother and wasted no time in turning around in front of her so that she could zip up the back of my dress. I did my best not to shiver when her icy fingers brushed against my spine. It had nearly been enough of a shock to make me gasp, but luckily I didn't.
Her hands felt nearly as cold as her heart did.
Once she finally finished, I didn't give her the opportunity to list everything that she disliked, or believed was wrong with the dress, and instead started to make my way to the chair that I had previously occupied. I did so with the intention of putting on my shoes—silver, scrappy, stiletto heels. I was aware of the fact that everyone was waiting for me, but I wasn't bothered with it. The bride was allowed to be fashionably late. I didn't think that there was much of an issue with the amount of time that I was taking.
"Would you like to put your veil on now? Or would you like to wait until later?"
I wasn't nearly surprised when her voice lacked any emotion—once again. It had become quite the frequent occurrence in our household during the last few months. An unemotional mother who wanted to pretend that everything that was happening, was something that I wanted, and a workaholic father who wanted to hide his guilt. And when the two of them were together, it was like adding gasoline to a lit flame. An absolute disaster.
"It'll be more comfortable if I put it on later, when we start taking the pictures. And I'll put it on when we get to the chapel, but not before then."
I kept my voice matter-of-factual, since I did not want to give my mother the opportunity to try and change my mind. Once I had tied the strap of my shoe, I stood up and was immediately aware of the protest in my calves. Of course, it was something that I had no choice but to ignore, and took my bouquet out of the vase that it had been standing in—a beautiful combination of baby's breath, lavender and lilies. Before I knew it, I found myself within arms reach of the vehicle that would be transporting us. I couldn't help but think to myself that there were much better option than a limousine, but of course, I had not been the one in charge of making such decisions. I had barely been able to choose my dress.
I resented the fact that she was putting me in this position, that she somehow found herself to be accurately qualified to give me a speech on what my responsibilities to Zeke Knight would be as his wife—did she think that I was stupid? That I couldn't figure all of this out for myself? I had already assumed half of what she had told me.
Once I found myself seated soundly on the leather seat in the back of the vehicle, the door was closed and the driver wasted no time in getting us to our destination. I was doing my best to remain as calm as I could be, and to not allow my nerves to get the better of me. My mother, on the other hand, didn't seem like she was making such an effort at all. She was fiddling with the bodice of her dress, doing that for quite some time before she turned her attention to me and started to speak again.
"Zeke is an incredibly busy man, Rebecca. Now that you'll be stepping into the role of being his wife, you'll be responsible for numerous amounts of dinner parties, accompanying him to gathering, and of course, the responsibility of providing him with an heir."
I was starting to clench my jaw tighter and tighter, to the point where it started to ache and feel like my teeth were going to shatter at any moment. Did she not realise what she was doing? How she was affecting me? Had it not been enough when I had agreed to give up my freedom for them? That I handed any and all chances of ever falling in love with someone of my choice to them on a silver platter? Had it not been enough that I had given up everything for the sake of their approval?
"It sounds like you're going to have the time of your life on your honeymoon. He's taking you to the Caribbean Islands. It was an excellent choice, if you ask me. Luckily we've already packed your suitcase for you, so you don't need to worry about that. And don't worry about any of your other stuff, either. We'll have everything transported to his penthouse while you're away. You can deal with the unpacking of all of it when you come back—"
"Shut up."
"Excuse me?"
The disbelief was evident in my mothers voice, and I was almost certain that it would be visible on her face too. After all, it wasn't everyday that I found myself in a position where I was disrespecting her. I hated the fact that this was what it had taken for me to finally get a reaction from her, and it only acted like fuel to the flame of my anger.
"I told you to shut up. Shut. Up. Two simple words. One request. Do you think that I'm oblivious to the kind of life that the oh-so-great Zeke Knight leads? Do you think that I haven't seen the tabloids full of the woman and the parties? The so-called business trips? I'm no fool. I would have never married him if I had been given the choice."
There had been no hopes of me cutting myself off, or stopping my outburst as it escalated. It had been a long time coming, and I was sure that everyone had been well-aware of it. I felt like I had said enough to keep my mother quite for an indefinite amount of time, but it seemed like I was wrong. She started speaking again, and this time, clenching my jaw wasn't enough to keep me from speaking.
"Rebecca, darling, I can see that you're upset—"
"Upset?"
I didn't even bother to acknowledge the fact that I had cut her off, for my anger was the only thing fueling me, the only thing allowing me to react. I knew that she could see how I felt based on my body language and my facial expression. Sometimes it was a blessing and a curse that I didn't have the ability to hide my emotions as some people did, for it became a hindrance in times like these, when it betrayed me and portrayed an emotion other than the one that I wanted to.
"You think that I'm just upset? Believe me, I'm a lot more than upset. I'm being forced to get married to a man, who I'm not in love with, and haven't even met, simply because my parents—you—thought that it would be fine to use me as some psychotic form of payment. I've been crunching the numbers and you would have been more than capable of paying off your debts. It simply would have taken quite some time, but it would have been manageable. You probably didn't even think of allowing Lucile to do this, simply because she's in love with Antonio. And of course, Damien was allowed to take grandma's ring because he intends to propose to Alice. But just because I was the one who decided to focus solely on my career, I need to do this. What made you think that it would be alright to do something like this?"
"It's because you're the obedient one."