Airella Pov
My brother looked at me with a mix of sadness and anger, "You know, sometimes I really wonder what her problem is."
I sighed, "At this point, I really hate Dad and Mum."
My brother's words hung in the air, and after a while, he spoke up, "you know , once you get married, we won't be able to see each other anymore."
I looked at him, and a small smile played on my lips, "Don't worry, we won't be able to see each other once in a while if not every day or physically, but we can still talk on the phone. Even if we don't see each other like that, I'll always love you the most."
My brother's face softened, "I'm always going to love you too."
The two of us had always been close, a bond forged in the fire of our father's ruthless home. We had only each other to rely on, and we had learned to protect and love each other fiercely.
Growing up, we had faced countless challenges, but our love for each other had remained unbroken. And now, as I prepared to leave and start a new life, I knew that our bond would only grow stronger.
My brother and I had been each other's rock, our sanctuary in the storm. And no matter where life took us, I knew that our love would endure.
It's been two days now, and I've been stuck in my room. The help brings food, but I barely touch it. I've been eating more cookies than actual meals, trying to fill the void inside. My brother's words keep echoing in my mind, and I can't shake off the feeling of sadness.
I'm holding a book, but the words blur together on the page. I can't focus on anything. My eyes wander around the room, landing on the gold medals I won, proudly displayed on the wall. Memories flood back - Dad taking the trophy cups, leaving this medal for me, saying gold medals aren't that important. I never really understood why he would say so.
The sound of my door opening interrupts my thoughts. I wish it wasn't Dad, but it's just Mom. I sit up, greet her politely, and she asks how I'm doing. I feel like I'm talking to a stranger, not my mother. I answer her, trying to be respectful, just like I've been trained to be.
She tells me the help says I haven't been eating, and I need to rest well for the wedding. "You can't appear weak," she says. I reply with a simple "Yes, Mother." What was I expecting from her, anyway?
She mentions I'll be going to pick out my wedding dress with Aunt Isabella. I'm relieved she's not coming. Maybe I can pick a dress that'll make me feel a little better, a little more in control.
I respond with a nod, and she leaves. The silence in the room is deafening. I go back to staring at the medal, lost in my thoughts.
When my Aunt and I arrived at the bridal boutique, she asked me how I was doing, her eyes filled with concern. I forced a small smile and told her I'd be fine. She tried to reassure me, telling me that Luca wasn't a bad person, that she'd met him before and he seemed okay.
My Aunt was one of the lucky few who'd married a good man, one who respected her opinions and let her run her own restaurant business. She'd always been a mother figure to me and my brother, but she'd never really gotten too involved in our family dynamics, probably because of Dad.
I listened to her words, but my mind was elsewhere. I simply told her, "Aunt, being a good person won't change the fact that he's eighteen years older than me."
Just then, the wedding designer approached us, a bright smile on her face. "Your dress is ready, miss," she said, clearly expecting me to follow her.
I looked at her in surprise. "I haven't even picked a dress yet," I said, confused. "What are you talking about?"
The designer's smile faltered, and she glanced at my Aunt before speaking again. Her words were about to unleash a storm of emotions, and I could feel my anger rising...