15. Elodie
Chapter 15
Elodie
I blinked. "What?"
"Let's get married," Keaton said.
"Right now?" I asked.
"It has to be right now," he said. "There might not be any other time to do it." He stood up, extending his hand towards me. "You with me, babes?" His brow arched in question.
My heart leapt into my throat. This had to be a joke, right? But the determination in his eyes said otherwise. My mind raced, caught between fear and a strange thrill.
"I don't have a dress," I said, grasping for any reason to slow down this whirlwind.
"Schematics," he replied with a dismissive wave. "We'll get one on the way."
I stared at his hand, disbelief making my fingers tremble. Was I really about to do this? My life had been one long chain of obligations and sacrifices, but this—this was wild, unpredictable, and wholly my choice.
Finally, I placed my hand in his. His grip was warm and firm.
We locked eyes. For a moment, the chaos of everything around us faded into the background.
He smirked. "It's showtime."
Keaton led me out of the café, his hand still gripping mine. My pulse thrummed in my ears, a mix of nerves and excitement. The afternoon air felt crisp against my skin, something unexpected in June.
In the parking lot, we approached his car. Its sleek, black exterior gleamed under the streetlights, the lines sharp and predatory. It looked like it belonged more in a movie than in the Crestwood Academy parking lot, even though a lot of students drove cars like this one.
He walked me to the passenger side and opened the door. I blinked at him, caught off guard by the chivalrous gesture. Sliding inside, I placed my book bag by my feet, feeling the cool leather seat mold to my form.
Keaton got in on the driver's side and started the engine with a low growl that sent a shiver down my spine. We sped out of the parking lot, tires squealing slightly as he accelerated.
"Do you always drive this fast?" I asked, gripping the dashboard as he weaved through traffic.
"Oh, come on, babes," he replied with a smirk. "Fast is fun."
"Not when your body is in pieces on the street," I muttered under my breath.
He laughed then—a sound that was deep and genuine. It caught me off guard, a stark contrast to his usual guarded demeanor. For a moment, it felt like I was seeing a different side of him, one that wasn't all ice and control. I found myself liking that sound more than I expected.
"Relax," he said, glancing over at me with those piercing blue eyes. "I know what I'm doing."
I wanted to argue but found myself loosening my grip on the dashboard instead. Maybe it was the adrenaline or maybe it was something about that laugh that made me believe him, even just for a moment.
We pulled up to a boutique called Nancy's , its exterior a delicate blend of vintage charm and modern elegance. The window displays showcased dresses that looked like they belonged in fairy tales, each more beautiful than the last. A brass bell tinkled softly as we stepped inside, announcing our arrival.
"Pick out a dress," Keaton said, handing me his credit card—a sleek, black card that felt almost too heavy in my hand.
"But I…" My voice trailed off as I stared at the card. It felt foreign, like something from another world.
"Come on, babes," he urged, impatience creeping into his voice. "We haven't got time to stand around. We have a wedding to go to."
I blinked and nodded, swallowing hard. Taking a deep breath, I stepped further into the store. The interior was just as enchanting as the outside—rows of gowns in every conceivable shade and style lined the walls, their fabrics shimmering under the soft lighting. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting gentle glows that added to the boutique's magical ambiance.
A kindly redhead emerged from the back, her eyes crinkling with warmth as she approached me. "Can I help you, dear?"
"Uh, I'm looking for a dress," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "A wedding dress."
The woman nodded without missing a beat and directed me to a section of the store where ivory and white gowns hung like dreams waiting to be worn. "Let me know if you need any help or if you'd like to try on any," she said before disappearing back into the rear of the boutique.
I half-expected her to return with someone who would see through me and tell me to leave—that I didn't belong here. But she didn't. Instead, I found myself standing among rows of exquisite dresses, feeling more out of place than ever but also oddly hopeful.
Gingerly, I ran my fingers over the delicate lace of one gown, marveling at its intricate details. Each dress seemed more beautiful than the last, making it hard to choose where to start.
Keaton leaned against a wall nearby, arms crossed and eyes scanning the room with his usual air of control. Despite his impatience earlier, he gave me space now—space to make this decision for myself.
I picked up a dress that caught my eye—simple yet elegant with just enough sparkle to make it special.
I found three more dresses that I was intrigued by. Each one had a different charm, a different story to tell. One was an off-the-shoulder gown with delicate lace sleeves that whispered of old-world romance. Another was a sleek satin number, simple yet elegant, its smooth lines and subtle shimmer promising sophistication. The third was a whimsical tulle creation, its layers cascading like soft clouds, perfect for someone who still believed in fairy tales.
With the four dresses draped over my arm, I headed to the dressing room. The kindly redhead from earlier pointed me to an open stall and wished me luck with a knowing smile. I slipped inside, pulling the heavy curtain closed behind me. The small space felt like a sanctuary, away from the whirlwind outside.
I hung the dresses on the hooks provided and took a deep breath before starting with the first one—the off-the-shoulder lace gown. As I slid into it, I admired the way it hugged my figure, the lace delicate against my skin. It was beautiful, but something felt off. It didn't quite feel like me.
Next came the satin dress. Its sleekness was undeniable, and it made me feel elegant in a way I hadn't expected. But again, it didn't seem right. There was a formality to it that felt distant from who I was.
The tulle dress was enchanting as I pulled it over my head, its layers swishing around me like a dream. It was playful and lovely, but maybe too much so—too whimsical for what this moment needed to be.
Finally, I turned to the last dress—the one that had first caught my attention. It was simple yet elegant, with just enough sparkle to make it special without being overwhelming. As I slipped into it and adjusted the fabric around me, something clicked.
The bodice was fitted with delicate beading that caught the light in soft glimmers. The skirt flowed gracefully to the floor in gentle waves of chiffon that moved with every step I took. It felt light and airy, like wearing a piece of magic spun into fabric.
I looked at myself in the mirror and saw not just a girl trying on a dress but someone stepping into a new chapter of her life—a chapter where she made her own choices.
This was it. This was the dress.
As I stared at my reflection in the mirror, it hit me with the force of a tidal wave—I was getting married. The enormity of the situation pressed down on me, making it hard to breathe. My mother should have been here, standing by my side, offering me her gentle advice and warm smile. Her absence was a gaping wound that never fully healed, and in this moment, it felt more acute than ever.
I thought of my father, too. Despite his emotional distance and constant absence when he was alive, a part of me longed for him to be here to walk me down the aisle. I imagined his hand on my arm, his presence lending some semblance of normalcy to this impulsive decision. But that was just a fantasy—one that would never come true.
Because if they were alive, I wouldn't be forced to marry Keaton in order to escape William—and my stepfamily.
Tears filled my eyes before I could stop them, blurring my vision and making the room shimmer like a mirage. I cried for a moment, allowing myself that brief release. The weight of everything—the past, the present, the unknown future—pressed down on me until I felt like I might collapse under it all.
But then I took a deep breath and steadied myself. This was my decision—my first real decision in what felt like forever. No stepmother’s demands or stepsisters’ cruelty dictating my actions. No father’s absence making me feel small and insignificant.
Wiping away the tears with the back of my hand, I took one last look at myself in the dress. It was perfect, but more importantly, it was mine.
I carefully slipped out of the gown and hung it back on its hanger with reverence. This dress would be part of a new beginning—a chapter where I made choices for myself.
I stood at the counter, the weight of the dress heavy in my arms. The price tag made my heart race. Keaton had given me his card and told me to choose whatever I wanted, but seeing the numbers made me hesitate. My fingers trembled as I handed over the sleek, black card.
"Are you sure?" I whispered to myself, glancing back at the other dresses that hadn't made the cut. There were simpler ones, less expensive, but they hadn't felt right. This one did. It was perfect.
Nancy, the redhead who had helped me earlier, took the card with a warm smile. "He's a very lucky man," she said as she processed the payment.
Guilt gnawed at me as I watched her swipe the card. It felt wrong to spend so much money, even though Keaton had insisted. I almost asked her to stop, to pick a different dress instead—one that didn't make my stomach churn with anxiety.
But I pushed through it. This was my decision, my moment.
Nancy handed back the card and began wrapping up the dress with practiced care. "Congratulations on your nuptials," she said, her smile genuine as she passed the hook to me.
"Thanks," I murmured, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks. The word nuptials sounded so formal and distant from the whirlwind we were caught in.
I stepped out of the boutique; the dress draped carefully over my arm. The afternoon sun cast long shadows on the pavement as I walked back to Keaton's car. He leaned against it, his eyes scanning the parking lot until they landed on me.
He straightened up and opened the passenger door without a word. Together, we carefully maneuvered the dress into the back seat, ensuring it wouldn't get wrinkled or damaged.
As he closed the door and turned to face me, his intense gaze softened slightly. "Ready?"
I nodded, still feeling the weight of what we'd just done but also a strange sense of exhilaration. "Ready."
Keaton smirked and slid into the driver's seat while I got in on the passenger side. As we pulled away from Nancy's boutique, I couldn't help but steal one last glance at it in the rearview mirror. This was happening—really happening—and despite everything, a small part of me felt ready for whatever came next.
As we drove toward…. wherever, I couldn't help but fidget in my seat. My mind buzzed with questions, doubts, and a creeping sense of disbelief. This was happening too fast—far too fast.
"Doesn't it take time to, I don't know, process a marriage license?" I asked, my voice betraying my unease. "And, you know, get married?"
Keaton glanced over at me briefly before returning his focus to the road. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette. "Not if you have money," he said, lighting it with a practiced flick of his lighter.
The smell of smoke filled the car almost instantly, making me wrinkle my nose in distaste. "Do you have to do that around me?" I asked, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice.
"Is that part of your rules?" he shot back, his tone challenging.
I met his gaze head-on. "Would you respect it if it was?"
For a moment, we stared at each other in a silent standoff. Then, to my surprise, he gave me a look—something between annoyance and reluctant acknowledgment—and doused the cigarette out in the car's ashtray.
The rest of the drive passed in tense silence. My mind raced with thoughts of what lay ahead and whether I was truly ready for this monumental step. Keaton's presence beside me was both reassuring and intimidating, his confidence so different from my own swirling doubts.
When we finally pulled up to the courthouse, I wasn't sure what I felt. The building loomed before us, its stone facade imposing and unyielding. Keaton parked the car and turned off the engine, breaking the silence that had settled between us.
“We’re here,” he murmured.
I nodded, swallowing hard as I reached for the door handle. We stepped out into the afternoon sun together, our footsteps echoing on the courthouse steps.
"You get ready," Keaton said as we stepped inside the courthouse. "I'll get us a judge who will marry us."
I nodded, feeling the weight of the moment settle over me like a heavy cloak. My legs felt like lead as I made my way to the public restroom, my dress clutched tightly in my hands.
Inside, the fluorescent lights cast a harsh glow over the tiled room. The smell of antiseptic filled my nose as I hung the dress on the back of a stall door and took a deep breath. This was it. No turning back now.
I stepped into one of the stalls and began changing out of my clothes, my movements hurried but careful. As I slipped into the dress, its delicate fabric glided over my skin like a whisper. The beaded bodice fit snugly, hugging my curves and giving me an unfamiliar sense of elegance. I took a moment to smooth out the skirt, letting it fall gracefully to the floor.
My hands trembled slightly as I pulled out my small makeup bag from my purse. The mirror above the sink reflected a girl who looked far too young to be making such a life-altering decision. But this was my choice, and I needed to own it.
"Be brave," I whispered to myself, meeting my own gaze in the mirror.
I applied a light layer of foundation, evening out my complexion before adding a touch of blush to bring some color to my cheeks. My hands steadied as I worked, finding solace in the familiar routine. A swipe of mascara brought out the warmth in my green eyes, and a soft pink lipstick completed the look.
Next, I untied my hair from its usual ponytail and ran a brush through it until it fell in soft waves around my shoulders. The transformation was subtle but significant; I looked more like someone stepping into their future rather than someone clinging to their past.
I took one last look at myself in the mirror. My blonde hair framed my face with gentle curls, and my eyes held a determined glint that hadn't been there before. Despite everything—despite all the doubts and fears—I looked like someone ready to take on whatever came next.
With a final deep breath, I gathered up my belongings and stepped out of the restroom. The weight of the moment still pressed down on me, but there was also a strange sense of calm—a quiet determination that carried me forward.
I walked back toward Keaton, feeling each step solidify this new chapter in my life. The soft rustling of the dress seemed to echo in the otherwise silent hallway. When I reached him, he stopped and stared, his jaw going slack. His eyes darkened, a mix of emotions flickering across his face.
"Wow," he breathed, momentarily dropping his guarded demeanor.
I managed a small smile, my heart pounding in my chest. "Let's get this over with," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
He nodded and led me to a room where a judge waited. The judge was an older man with kind eyes and a solemn expression, standing behind a wooden desk that seemed too large for the small space. The process felt clinical, devoid of any romantic notions I might have once harbored about marriage.
We signed the certificate, our names etched into the official document that would bind us together legally. It all felt surreal—like I was watching someone else’s life unfold from a distance.
When the judge asked for the rings, Keaton reached into his pocket and pulled out five different bands. "I didn't know your size," he explained, "so I bought them all."
He slipped one onto my left finger—a delicate silver band with a single diamond set in the center. It fit perfectly, snug but not tight. The diamond caught the light just right, sending tiny prisms dancing across the room.
"I... I didn't get you one," I stammered, feeling a rush of guilt. "I didn't even think..."
"It's okay," he said curtly. "I won't wear one."
My jaw ticked in irritation at his dismissive tone. "Fine," I said, pulling the ring off my finger. "Then, I won't wear this."
His eyes flashed with frustration as he clenched his jaw. "It's a rule," I added firmly. "You have to wear a ring."
"Fine," he muttered again, this time pulling out a simple black band and dropping it into my hand.
"You bought one?" I asked, genuinely surprised.
"I had a feeling you'd nag me about it," he muttered.
Despite everything, I couldn't help but smile as I slid his ring onto his finger. The moment was far from perfect—no fairytale ending—but it was real, and for now, that was enough.
The judge cleared his throat, pulling me back into the moment. "By the power vested in me by the state, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."
I barely had time to register his words before Keaton stepped closer, his hand reaching up to cup my face. His touch was surprisingly gentle, his fingers warm against my skin. My heart pounded in my chest as he leaned in, his intense blue eyes never leaving mine.
Our lips met, and the world seemed to fall away. The kiss was slow and soft, a tender exploration that sent shivers down my spine. I felt goosebumps erupt across my skin as his lips moved against mine, every sensation heightened by the intimacy of the moment. His thumb brushed my cheek in a delicate caress, grounding me even as I felt myself floating.
For a brief moment, everything else ceased to exist—the courthouse, our hasty marriage, even our complicated reasons for being here. It was just us, lost in a kiss that spoke of possibilities neither of us had dared to consider.
Keaton pulled away slowly, his hand lingering on my face for a heartbeat longer before dropping to his side. His eyes were a soft blue as he looked at me, a hint of something vulnerable breaking through his usual guarded expression.
"Come on, Mrs. Douglas," he murmured, his voice low and steady. "Let's go home."
I nodded, still reeling from the kiss and the weight of what had just happened. The new title—Mrs. Douglas—felt strange on my tongue but carried with it a sense of finality that was both terrifying and oddly comforting.
Together, we walked out of the courthouse and into our uncertain future.