The lot had been decorated with white lilies, scattered across the foyer of the manor by the request of her grandmother. To liven it up, Milo also took liberties to sprinkle the bouquet with purple orchids. Since the wedding was to take place in the manor, it was a bit cramped, but enough to impress a small audience. She wasn’t sure if it was her Grandmother or Milo, but they had hired some musician named Mikii, who touted the violin. Delia didn’t know much about music, but she’s heard the name circulate in the media. Hiring a professional violinist is one thing, but for a wedding?! They were promised that this wouldn’t be a full-blown affair!

Delia was in one of the guestrooms, preparing herself for the big moment. It was something both her and Theo had to agree to, as it would have been unusual to outright refuse. They couldn’t tell the family about their captors—and why it would be problematic for the two to be split apart. But, their exclusivity was easy enough to excuse; Delia was pissed at her family. Even if the outburst was meant to be a diversion, it turned out that her feelings were very, very real.  She had harboured, unknowingly, a deep grudge towards her family, especially Delius. She didn’t rat out his secret rendezvous with Oli to anyone, not even she was that cruel. Delia hears a knock on the door; she expects it to be her grandmother—but her large, curly-haired brother enters the room. He gawks at his sister, his brown eyes sparkling with awe.

“Dee, you’re stunning!” He says with glee, rushing to scoop her into a hug. “I’m glad I’m going to be at your wedding! I didn’t like that I wasn’t invited, especially since I taste tested all your sandwiches before they went to market.”

“Thorne, let go—you’re going to crease my dress!” Delia grunts.

“Oh, sorry! You know, I kinda always imagined you wearing an egg-shaped dress for your wedding day, but that would be a bit over the top—” He quickly changes his words after Delia’s accusatory stare, “Anyways you look real pretty!”  

A gentle smile touched Thorne’s lips. He genuinely cared about her happiness. Thorne had never been a bother to Delia in the past—his naiveté made him the most tolerable to be around. There was never a need for a battle of wits when Thorne was around. Delia only realizes now how much she appreciates that.

“Thank you.” She says, her voice soft from appreciation. “I hope your stay here hasn’t been too boring.”

“Oh no no no, I loved it! Although between you and me I think Thea is ready for me to go home.”

“Why do you say that?” Delia feigns ignorance.

“Because she kept telling me to go home.”

“Well—I think she might not be used to seeing you so much. You have to give her space, you know?”

“Hmm.” Thorne contorts his face as if the thought pained him. “You and Theo spent so much time alone that I didn’t know what else to do. The courtyard’s nice, but the bodyguards here are really scary—they looked at me all threatening-like.”

Delia gulps, “Yeah, they’re pretty intense…don’t do anything to make them mad, alright?”

“Roger.” Thorne sticks his hands in his pockets. “Oreo and Pesto are gonna miss you.”

Delia shudders—she didn’t need any reminders of Thorne’s tarantulas. They gave her the shivers when she imagined their furry, spindly legs. “I think they're going to be just fine without me—they have you as their doting father.”

“May I cut in?” Cordelia hears her grandmother’s voice. she's slightly agitated at the interruption, Thorne is the only genuine person that carried the Firthe name; she wasn’t ready for him to leave just yet.

“Sure, ‘ma, I’ll get out of your hair. Bye Dee!” Thorne makes himself scarce quite quickly.

“You…look magnificent,” Cordelia says, holding her hand to her lips. “A stunning bride.”

“Easy for you to say—you’re not the one getting married.” Shit, she was supposed to feign love! Guess the cat was out of the bag now. It registers on her face, but she says nothing. It’s better that she didn’t press, for the safety of her family, and, the Avangards. This situation couldn’t be more messed up.

“Did I ever tell you how your Grandfather and I got married?”

“He did when we were kids.” She omits the part where she hung onto every word, hoping to find someone who loved her as much as her grandfather Radjerd loved Cordelia. What a shabby dream that turned out to be.

“I doubt that he mentioned that our wedding was fake.” Her grandmother smiles sheepishly.

That’s—that’s not what she was expecting to hear. “…He didn’t.”

“I met him in a…compromising situation, but he was daring enough to make a deal with me. He would marry me for riches, and I would have my freedom. I told my parents I was in love with Radjerd, and I would marry him instead. Along the way, we found love—real love. It was the best decision I ever made.” Cordelia looks off to the side. “I know Theodore wasn’t your intended choice, but maybe, you could allow him to be. I know that he’ll care for you deeply if you’ll let him.”

Except she didn’t choose Theo. Her grandmother did. There was no choice. The story makes Delia angry.   

“Is the money enough to save our family?” She attempts to bury her irritation.

“Yes.” Cordelia rests a hand on her granddaughter’s bare shoulder. “Delius said he’d give you space, but he wished for me to tell you good luck.” Delia doesn’t answer. “Don’t be mad at him—I’m the one to blame for his shortcomings.” Delia frowns deeply. “I’m sorry…for putting Delius first. He was so troubled after your mother left, and I tried my best to fill that role for him. . You were always stronger than your brother; I never had to worry about you.”

“Yeah.” Is all Delia can say, her throat constricts with the urge to scream. She’s never felt so betrayed.  

Cordelia lowers her head in shame, “I hope you can forgive me one day.”

Delia remains quiet, turning away from Cordelia as assurance; she didn’t want to cry in front of the woman. Cordelia’s steel-blue eyes narrow with confliction, but she sighs in resignation. “Alright. I will leave you be.”

Delia lets the tears fall as she hears her grandmother’s footsteps in the hall. She clutches her chest, gritting her teeth as she sobs silently, feeling her warm teardrops splash onto the roof of her foot. Great—in five minutes she’s supposed to feign a plastic smile in front of a bunch of strangers. It’s humiliating. But, it was her fault for agreeing to it. She has no choice but to get through with the wedding and get that deed. Maybe she could convince Theo to leave this city and go somewhere remote—the money would still be hers, and she could open her eatery out in the countryside. She hears a knock from one of the attendants; She was expected in five minutes. She lets out a weary sigh and fixes her makeup. Thank god no one was walking her down the aisle.

Delia leaves the guest room; her heels create a soft clicking sound on the tile. She keeps her back straight taking deep breaths as she walks. She passes the large spanning foyer, proceeding to the hall of the ballroom. On cue, she heard the violin started playing, soft tones filled her ears. She appreciates that the music is low and causal. That was for her own nerves, more than it was for anyone else. She prays that she’s not making the biggest mistake of her life.

Delia takes a deep breath, hearing the music deck the halls in all its splendour, her dress swishing across her knees as she takes gentle steps. Delia hears the guests chattering away below as she approaches the stairs. With her hand, she takes to the stairwell; all eyes upon her. The room grows silent, as the violin plays a soft melody—she walks down the stairs in careful consideration—she refuses to trip. Theo waits at the bottom step. His black suit flatters him well, slimming him in all the right areas. His tie matches the colour of her dress—a pale, eggshell white. He looks at her in dazzling awe as she takes his arm. He’s never smiled at her this sweetly.

Slow gasps and hushed whispers indicate that the guests think positively about her dress. Instinctively, she clings onto him. His arm gave her comfort; she was able to calm down. Taking another deep breath, she moves forward. The minister Milo has chosen wears a sparkly pink sequined gown—standing out from the audience.  

The music stops.

The room falls silent.

The minister speaks her practiced lines. Delia does her best to stay focused. Despite the lighting being minimal, she feels as if a spotlight has been dropped onto them. The minister turns to the couple, waiting to begin. Theo says nothing. Fear flashes in his eyes as he looks at the guests before him; he’s got stage fright. He stutters, unable to keep three words together. Delia calmly brushes his hand, attempting to comfort him. She vastly underestimated his confidence. The minister begins the vows; Delia’s heart hammers against her chest. She feels constricted in her dress; perspiration lines her brow. When it's her turn to speak, she almost squeaks. All eyes were on her. Letting out a soft sigh, she turns to Theo.

“I, Cordelia Merise Calista Firthe…” She begins her on the spot vows. She didn’t need to write them, sharing that in the short time they got to know each other, she discovered Theo to be a suitable choice. She didn’t love him, but, If she were to marry anyone at this moment, it’d be Theo. Her nerves calm down when she finishes, his eyes never leave hers. Did he register what she was saying? It was clear he didn’t because a long pause enters between them before he speaks.

“I think you’re pretty.” Theo’s horrified eyes indicate that isn’t what he meant to say, but his tone is so sweet, so endearing, that she can hear soft audible aww’s from the crowd. Did he realize what he was saying? A stark blush crosses his cheeks—her heart beats nervously.

The minister while confused, hands them their rings, as the two follow her directions. Delia’s is a brilliant gold etched band, with purple and yellow stones laced all around the edge. Theo’s matches hers by design. She hadn’t seen the rings before now—they must have cost the Avangards a fortune—which wasn’t necessarily a shocker. Theo’s hands are shaking—which makes it hard to put his ring on securely. 

Delia’s eyes widen when the minister announces the two as husband and wife. He stares at her in confusion. Cordelia leans in, whispering to Theo that they were officially married. He clues in scooping her up into a staged kiss—it’s anything but forced. She feels weightless in his arms as he holds her close—the guests applauding in approval. She was officially Cordelia Merise Calista…Avangard. Well, not until she signed the papers, but that part was coming soon.

Too soon for her to stomach.

The papers were signed swiftly, the violinist started her piece; it’s sombre for a wedding, but she captured how Delia felt. The greatest thing about this ordeal was that the kidnappers would finally leave her and Theo alone.

“You two should dance,” Milo nudges Theo towards Delia. “No woman likes a man with two left feet.”

“Lay off,” Theo grumbles, but he takes Delia’s hand—leading her into a slow methodical dance. Delis leans on his chest, hearing his heartbeat pulse through her ear. It’s methodical, soothing.

“Sorry if I step on your toes.”

“It’s fine.” She closes her eyes to prevent any tears from escaping. What was supposed to be the happiest day of her life…made her feel empty. After three minutes of endless pacing, Theo taps her shoulder.

“Hey, hey.” Theo nudges, “We can leave if you need some air.”

“They’re all watching us.” Delia sniffs.

“When the song ends, we can escape.”

There he was, comforting her. He was locked in the same deal she was, and he was taking it gracefully. Meanwhile, she was acting like a baby. She should be thrilled—she’s a free woman now—but all she can think about is her stupid family, selling her off to the Avangards. She doesn’t care how her grandmother addressed it. Whatever, she’s not a Firthe anymore.

Good fucking riddance.