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Youngest Holt to get married later today! (We'll have pictures for you tonight, we promise!)
Marlowe watched in the mirror as the stylist brushed makeup onto his face, keeping it light enough to be nearly invisible but somehow still turning him into someone else. Someone who was not scared out of his fucking mind to walk down an aisle to complete the public part of this marriage. He had been telling himself that Sario had not touched him yet because they needed this to look like the very picture of romance, but after today there would be no excuse left. Would he still be left alone on his side of the bed with cold sheets between them like a couple considering divorce?
The stylist pursed her lips, switched products, and continued with her transformation of Marlowe's features. She was a nice lady, and her style was on point with the current trends. She had not once made Marlowe feel dumb or insignificant, even bringing multiple options for his look today in case he bailed on the pre-decided one. It seemed she at least had a lot of experience with nervous, finicky brides. Maybe that was why Mrs. Holt had hired her.
Marlowe kept his hands folded in his lap, trying his best to ignore the sweat slicking his palms and the fact that he was finding it hard to breathe. His outfit was an off-the-shoulder white silk shirt peeking out from beneath a sleek gray corset that matched the dress pants he wore. The corset was not uncomfortable, not really, but it did what all corsets did: it limited his lung capacity. He felt exposed with his shoulders bare and his body made the focal point when he was used to hiding it at all costs. Well, if he had to let the whole world see him for what he was to hold up his side of the deal, he would not complain even once. He would never let Sario know what torture this was.
Sario was a sweet boy, and he would feel guilty the moment the first word left Marlowe's lips. He was almost too naive for his own good. And maybe too cute as well.
Marlowe closed his eyes to allow the stylist to apply eyeshadow and a sweep of black liner that made him feel like…what was it? He thought back to a long ago history class and found the word he was looking for. Pharaoh. In all the paintings of the pharaohs, their eyes had always been accented by black lines, giving them a dangerous, slightly murderous look. He did not feel particularly dangerous or murderous, but it was better to appear as a threat than to look like an easy victim.
Once the makeup was done, he got up and grabbed a towel to wipe the sweat off his hands before forcing himself to walk calmly to the place he was supposed to wait in for the ceremony to start. He stared at the closed church doors in front of him and let himself feel something for the last time. "You're a fucking idiot," he whispered to himself. "You do realize that you're just…" He could not bring himself to complete the sentence. Even if it was true that this marriage was a fancy, legal way of whoring himself out. He shuddered and clenched his fists. "You're stupid and helpless," he muttered. "Even if he's the nicest person in the world, he's still an alpha and you're his omega. You've given him the right to do whatever he fucking wants, so stop whining like a brat. You'll survive. It's not the worst thing you've ever done to yourself. It isn't, and you know it."
When the doors swung open, he walked down the aisle by himself, ignoring the way his stomach turned at the shutter clicks of the press scattered throughout the pews. He did not spare a single glance in their direction. He needed to look untouchable, above everything, in the way the husband of the youngest Holt should look. When his eyes found Sario's face as he got closer to the front, his heart almost stopped.
Sario had this blown-away expression on his face that Marlowe realized, a bit belatedly, that his appearance was causing. He looked at Marlowe like he was an indescribably beautiful mythical creature that had crossed the line of reality into the modern world.
Marlowe had heard the expression "star-struck" before, but had never really understood it until that moment.
Sario did indeed look at him like Marlowe was a star that had sucker punched him in the heart. "Your hands are cold," he whispered when Marlowe reached the front and they held hands in front of the priest.
"Yours are shaking," Marlowe retorted, his sharp words only causing a smile to bloom on Sario's face.
The priest gave them a look, and they both shut up to let her read out the vows.
Marlowe repeated back the words when he was supposed to with enough inflection to hide his wilting heart or whatever was left of his heart at this point. He wanted to go hide in a hole at the bright happiness in Sario's voice when the boy said his part, but he just let Sario slide another silver band onto his ring finger, a wedding ring that fit perfectly on top of the engagement ring. Taking the ring he had picked for Sario, he pushed it onto Sario's bare finger. That ring was the only thing in the whole ceremony he had insisted on handling himself. He wanted it to at least look like he was putting some effort and thought into this relationship.
Sario beamed at him and wiggled his fingers. "I like it."
"Good, cause there's no take-backsies."
Sario bit his lip, looking like he was about to explode from repressed laughter.
And then the priest declared them husbands and stepped back to let them—
Oh, shit. He was supposed to kiss Sario in front of all these people. Without letting himself get to a second thought, he draped his arms over Sario's shoulders and tipped his head.
Thankfully, Sario moved quickly, bracing his face between trembling hands and brushing their lips together in a barely-there kiss that somehow made Marlowe's body tingle all the way down to his toes. Before Marlowe could get overwhelmed, Sario pulled away and they stayed up at the front for a minute to let the press get some good pictures before walking back down the aisle together.
Marlowe barely heard the congratulations thrown his way in the twenty minutes or so they spent in the lobby of the church and then when they walked into the reception venue. When the guests tried to get them to kiss again, he must have looked scared or miserable enough that Sario made an announcement that they were saving the rest of their kisses for later tonight, causing many of the guests to laugh. He lost track of how long he sat straight-backed beside Sario, pretending to be happy. All he knew was that the corset seemed to get tighter by the minute and he genuinely began to wonder if this was what dying felt like. Murmuring some sort of excuse in Sario's ear, he pushed back from the table and wove his way through the crowd until he found the farthest bathroom from the party behind him. Once the door had thudded shut behind him, he braced his hands on the counter and stared himself down in the mirror. His makeup was still perfect, and goosebumps prickled on his skin as the air kicked on and the vent directly above him sent a gust across his shoulders. Out of nowhere, nausea struck him in the stomach, and he barely made it to the toilet behind him before what little he had eaten made a reappearance. He tried to brace himself by pressing both hands to the stall walls, but his sweaty palms kept slipping. He whimpered without thinking before he threw up again, his stomach seeming determined to tie itself into a literal knot.
Suddenly a hand was on his back, and Rowan's voice came from behind him. "Hey, hey, you're okay."
Marlowe wanted to shove Rowan away, but he would rather tolerate his brother-in-law's presence than tumble facefirst into the toilet. Another pitiful sound he had no control over snuck out from his mouth.
"Sh, sh," Rowan hushed, like Marlowe was his baby son. "It's okay." He paired his gentle words with his hand rubbing soothing circles on Marlowe's back. After a moment, he asked, "Are you still feeling sick?"
Marlowe stared at the wall behind the toilet. He took a shuddering breath in. "I-I think I'm okay."
Rowan made a sound of acknowledgment and helped him to the sink, where he made Marlowe swish and spit several cups of water. While Marlowe was doing that, he went back to the toilet, cleaning it off and flushing it.
Marlowe spit and then asked, "Why do you just happen to have a plastic cup in your bag?"
Rowan smiled and pointed to his swollen belly. "This little fella really likes to test every nerve I have. I don't just have morning sickness. I throw up at the weirdest times, so I always have to be prepared to make myself at least somewhat presentable afterwards." He rested a hand lightly on Marlowe's back. "Are you okay?"
Marlowe took a paper towel and dabbed his lips dry. "I'm fine. It just hit me out of nowhere."
Rowan's eyebrows scrunched together cutely. He always looked like such a little angel, but Sario had warned Marlowe that Rowan had a conceal carry license and frequently carried a pistol in his bag that he knew how to use. Rowan seemed to think for a moment, and then his eyebrows shot up. "Have you and Sario actually been sleeping together?"
Marlowe wanted to throw up again at that thought. "No. Tonight will be the first time." If Sario actually wanted to. Marlowe would not insist on it. He was not a wronged bride, and he did not want to look needy.
"Oh." Rowan's expression collapsed. Had he been hoping that Marlowe was…pregnant or something? Rowan was one of the people who had not yet been let in on the secret of Marlowe's true nature, so he still thought Marlowe was a beta.
It was not impossible for an alpha's constant attention to cause a beta to morph into an omega, but it was rare and often took years. Why would Rowan assume that right out of the gate?
Rowan flushed when he saw Marlowe's face. "Sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."
Marlowe shrugged. "We've been sleeping in the same room for three weeks. It was a genuine question. I don't care."
Rowan dried out the small plastic cup and tossed it back into the bag slung over his shoulder. "Great. Glad we cleared up that misunderstanding. Now are you coming back?"
Marlowe nodded and held the bathroom door open for Rowan. "Yeah. I'll walk back with you."