Chapter 5 ~ Alexander #2
The bottle of wine is gone now, and they look tipsy.
I hope she is not hung over tomorrow. The last thing I need is for her to throw up in the church.
They hug as they walk over to the bed, and climb in together like two teenagers having a sleepover, as Isabella turns out the lights and the room goes dark.
I click off my phone and plug it in, tossing it on the nightstand, and shoving my hands behind my head to look out at the skyline twinkling in the dark.
You're mine tomorrow, little bunny, all mine.
Present day
The sun streaming in through the window blinds me as my eyes try to adjust to the bright light.
I forgot to close the curtains last night.
Moaning, I rub my hands over my face and roll over away from the intense sunlight.
I glance over at the bathroom door. My tux is hanging there inside my garment bag. A smile spreads over my face.
Today is the day I make her mine.
She might not want to, from what I witnessed last night, but too bad.
I’m making her mine in every way today; I’m finally going to have authority over that rebellious runaway.
I’m tired of fighting and failing with her.
This afternoon she won’t have a chance to get too far.
She’ll be by my side, and when she’s not, I’ll have my cameras and Sasha on her ass.
Rolling out of bed and padding over to the garment bag. I open the zipper, stroke the fine silk, and chuckle. Your mine today bunny.
I shower and shave, get back into my t-shirt and joggers, and head out to the living room. Carlos is awake, sitting at the table eating breakfast, and reading the newspaper.
“Morning, sleep well?” I ask him as I sit down and pour myself a coffee.
“Good and you? Did you get any sleep?”
I just nod and look out over the city. “I slept just fine.”
I smile over the rim of my coffee cup.
I’ll be sleeping even better tonight once my cock gets what he’s been after for nearly two weeks. I reach down and adjust my growing hard-on. Soon, boy!
Carlos chuckles. “I’m guessing you’re ready for today, or should I say tonight?”
“What’s to be ready for? I’m always ready.” I give him a smirk and take a plate, filling it with scrambled eggs and sausages.
Christopher joins us, and we eat, cracking jokes and settling in to drink our coffee. It’s an enjoyable morning, not one chest pain.
Sebastian arrives around eleven o’clock, and we all settle into the living room to watch a football game until it’s time to get dressed. Christopher orders us lunch, and we gorge ourselves on burgers and fries while downing a couple of beers.
In a way, this is my bachelor party, because I opened my big mouth not thinking about how close everything would be with the New York trip and the wedding day, but whatever, it’s perfect if you ask me.
It’s time to get dressed and we all head off to our rooms. I take the tux off the door and lay on the bed.
I take out the shirt and lay it down. That tight feeling invades my chest again and I rub my sternum in small circles.
She was crying last night, not a good sign of a happy bride by any means, but I want to make the best of this for the both of us if I can.
Taking the suit with me to the bathroom, I hang it up, strip out of my clothes and jump in the shower. I try to stop my thoughts about Isabella and the upcoming day by doing my usual morning routine.
I get dressed and look at myself in the mirror tugging on my cuffs and turning to look at my back. It's the best I’m going to get, so I head out to the living room.
A huge grin breaks out on my face when I enter the room full of men.
Christopher and Sebastian, in their tuxes, and Danny and Carlos, dressed in their black Armani suits.
This group of men is my pack, my family of brothers.
Some were born, the others have been chosen and I couldn't be more proud to have them with me today.
I whistle, “Holy shit, we cleaned up nice boys!” I slap Carlos on the back.
Sebastian comes over and pins a cream and peach rose boutonnière on my lapel.
“Ready?” He looks at me with a huge smile on his face.
I clap his shoulder and squeeze lightly, “I am. I promise I’ll do my best, Sebastian.”
“That’s all I ask, brother. And I’m here if you ever need more than advice on Harry Potter. Come on. Let's get going.”
I blow out a breath as we head out of the hotel and climb into the car on our way to the church. I look out the window as the boys tease and joke with each other. That constricted feeling is getting tighter around my ribs, and I rub my hands on my knees.
All too soon we are out of the car, I’m rushed into a side room, given a drink and a toast, and before I know it, I’m standing in front of hundreds of people at the altar, my brothers at my side, my chest so tight I can hardly breathe.
My eyes are transfixed on the far door, waiting for her to come to me.
The music starts and the doors open, revealing Anna. She’s a sparkling little sprite in her silk champagne spaghetti strap dress. She smiles at Danny, then beans a bright smile across the room at Carlos, who is on either side of the church as our security.
Anna’s cheeks turn a shade of pink to match the blush of her dress as she makes her way toward the altar. Once she reaches me, she glares at me as she passes, and then takes her spot once again, turning to the church and smiling at the crowd.
What the hell? What did I do now? Everyone else got a smile and I get a glare.
Rebekah is next, and she walks like a queen, elegant and graceful as she stands beside Anna. My heart stops, and I hold my breath as Isabella appears beside her father.
Her lace veil hides her face, but her dress is stunning.
The lace and silk hug her curves; the train fishtails out behind her as she carefully walks beside her father.
Her long lace sleeves cover her arms, hooking around her middle finger, and the collar goes up the back of her neck, leaving the front open to reveal the soft swell of her breasts.
They styled her hair in a beautiful long braid shimmering with pearls.
I texted Isabella’s hairdresser and asked her to put her hair up.
But that wasn’t what I was striving for.
I knew if she could fight me on anything, she would.
So her hair is down, exactly how I like it.
As her father extends his hand and lifts the veil finally revealing her to me and I smile.
Christ, she’s beautiful. Her makeup is simple but exquisite, bringing out her elusive features. That pouty pink upper lip, her tiny pert little nose.
But her eyes.
Her sorrowful and distant eyes make my heart sink as I look into them and plant a gentle kiss on her cheek.
She won't meet my gaze, her face slightly hidden as she turns it away and tries to hide it.
But I can see it clearly in those jade-green spheres--the anguish and trepidation as they look everywhere but at me.
I have to look away as I hold her trembling hand, walking us up to the altar to stand before the priest.
She is standing beside me, but she might as well be a thousand miles away. I face her, ready to say my part, taking both her hands in mine, but she stares blankly ahead like she is unaware of what is happening.
Tugging her towards me, somewhat bending low to draw her attention, she stares straight ahead, focusing on the priest. I stand up straight and put my hand on her shoulder, making her face me taking hold of her icy hand once more as she stares at the lapels of my suit.
I say my part, and the vows penetrate my heart as they leave my mouth.
I promise to love, honor, and cherish her as long as I live, and as I look at this devastated girl before me, I mean every word as I slide the ring onto her finger.
I rub her knuckle gently with my thumb, and I realize I never even gave her an engagement ring to prove I was serious about us.
I’m such a dick.
She looks down at her finger, and a tear rolls down her cheek. Christ, I can feel the torment emanating from her as she flexes her fingers, testing the weight of it on her hand. Anna steps up and takes her flowers, looking at Isabella with unease on her face.
I take her other hand and place my wedding band in hers.
She looks at it laying flat on her tiny palm.
Another tear slowly rolls down her face, dripping off her trembling chin to land on the cold metal band in her hand.
Isabella flexes her fingers closed and then opens them again, the tears now glistening on the metal.
The priest speaks, and she repeats each word as she looks at him.
She trembles as she pushes the damp ring on my finger.
Another tear falls as she stares at the platinum band on my finger that signifies I am hers and she is mine.
I slowly reach up and wipe away the tear tracking down her cheek with my thumb and hold her hand softly.
When she finally looks up at me, I’m gutted.
There is no life or tenderness behind her eyes. More tears make light tracks through her makeup as it slowly rolls down her cheek as if she’s in mourning. And God help me, I just want to hold her at this moment, kiss her and take that pain in her eyes away.
"You may kiss your bride."
It is final, we are wed and she is mine. I lean in to kiss her sweet trembling lips, and she turns at the last minute to kiss the corner of my mouth. She can’t even bring herself to touch her lips to mine. That constricting pain in my chest turns to indignation, and it simmers to the surface.
I’m not perfect. I never said I was. In fact, I outright told her I’m an asshole. I wrap my arm around her and turn us to face the crowded church as they clap for the happy couple. I lean down and kiss her ear.
“Fucken smile, Isabella.” I remind her.
I walk her slowly past everyone as they shake my hand, smiling at us. We reach the door and are escorted to the side room to wait while everyone files outside to throw whatever the hell they throw at us as we get in the car to head back to the hotel.
I close the door and lean up against it, watching her. Isabella walks over to a chair, taking her seat facing away from me, her back straight, her flowers held tightly in her lap. She just stares out the window. As pissed off as I am, I can’t help but think she really does look lovely.
I point at her and harshly tell her, “I don’t know what’s going on in your head right now, but you need to get your shit together unless you plan on spending the entire wedding bawling."
I push off the door and take a few steps toward her. "For your sake, I hope the people out there thought those were happy tears. What the fuck Isabella? It’s a wedding, not a fucken funeral.”
She takes a deep breath and, in a thin voice, says, “This was your wedding.
Yours and my father's, not mine. Today I lost my life, my career and the chance to find the love of a man who could have loved me and only me.
" She looks down at her lap. "No, Alexander, today I mourn the life I lost. My wedding day would have been to a man would have been my everything. It’s not my wedding day, Alexander. It is my funeral."
Shock, anger and pain riddle my body at her words. She is so fucken calm as she rips my chest open. I don't love her, not like she wants to be loved, but I thought we could build something, a friendship at least. Find some even ground in this situation.
She looks down and picks at her flowers. “I’m fine now.” She looks up at me and that fucken imitation smile is plastered on her face.
She tilts her head to the side. “I’ll be the perfect bride.” She holds up two fingers above her head. “Scouts’ honor.”
I can’t even respond to that. What the hell?
I take a step towards her, close enough to smell the lilies off her warm skin, and point in her face as the cold wave of rejection hardens my voice; “You’re telling me that five minutes ago, in front of all those people, you compared marrying me to your death?”
She remains perfectly still. Her emotionless green eyes look right through me, and she remains silent.
“Answer me!” I roar. She doesn’t even flinch or jump; she just stares at me, her face vacant and emotionless.
I can’t control myself and I jerk her up out of her chair to stand before me and shake her by the shoulders, holding her in front of me. “Answer me, damn it!”
Her eyes dart across my face, scrutinizing the rage burning in my eyes. She looks at my lips, at my eyebrows that are furrowed, then back into my eyes. Her breathing is slow and steady, and she is not fearful of my rage as I expected. She’s… expressionless.
She’s treating me like I’m one of her fucken paintings instead of her new husband, whom she basically said she’d rather die than marry. I drop her and she stands there, quiet and still, holding those flowers like a marble statue.
We lock our gazes on each other. The silence grows between us. My breathing becomes increasingly louder in my ears as I watch her, waiting for her response.
“Fine, don’t fucken answer.” I push her away and walk to the center of the room, rubbing my forehead. Sebastian opens the door and comes in completely oblivious of the tension between Isabella and I. He passes me, and goes over to Isabella and hugs her tight.
“You look absolutely stunning.” He kisses her cheek and holds her back from him so he can look her over. She smiles back at him. Her cheeks are pink from the compliment, her eyes bright and shining as she dips her head and says thank you. She willingly gives him what I will never have.
Her warmth.
“Cars at the curb. Are you two ready to run the gauntlet?” Sebastian smiles and lets her go to face me.
I nod and step up beside Isabella. She places her hand on my forearm and we follow Sebastian out the door; her face is a relaxed posie of elegance with that plastic smile spread across her lips.