Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
ISABELLE
The journey to the church wasn’t long, the roads curved and the traffic was slow, but it couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes.
What worried me though was the way the houses were moving, waving in my periphery. The traffic swayed, forwards and backwards.
I tapped my eyelids, willing their movement to settle.
Sophie was silent beside me, her hand steady on my thigh over the layers of my dress. The hold anchoring me until the limousine pulled up outside the church, smoothly turning in to find the side entrance.
I glanced at the main entrance doors which sat open, allowing a steady flow of guests inside.
So many people.
My door opened, the driver offering his arm patiently. Sophie read my reluctance and manoeuvred around me to exit first, putting out both hands and helping me to twist and rise from the vehicle.
The doors into the bridal entrance were opened with voices trickling out from inside, emphatic and jarring.
Sophie guided me inside and we froze at the scene.
Ester was beside herself, arms waving in the air, her voice a quiet screech that she’d perfected the way only Ester could manage. She was making a scene, enough to get a reaction, but quietly enough that no-one outside this room could hear her.
Before her stood Father.
It was the first time I’d seen him since I ran away.
He looked tired, but only to eyes that knew him. To anyone else, the cut of his custom suit, the coif of his hair and the stoic set of his shoulders – he looked exactly as he should.
“You must do something, Edmund,” Mother pleaded. “This is your fault after all.”
Father scowled at her, she was rarely so brusque with him, but her favourite child being in such a state of distress had her speaking out of turn.
“She is here now.” He didn’t turn to acknowledge me, the action a sledgehammer to my chest. He’d never dismissed me in my life.
“She will embarrass us,” Mother snarled. “She’s leveraged threats against her sister, against all of us by association. You should have sent her to the clinic, Edmund.”
Father let out a low groan, scrubbing his face, he stared at Mother, a silent communication passing between them.
Mother relented at whatever she saw and she huffed. “Ester, come now.”
She guided my sister past Father, her fury had morphed into watering eyes and pouting lips, a classic technique, and one that never failed on Father.
The tearful pout shifted to a victorious smirk for only an instant before she was out of my sight.
“Isabelle, come here.” He addressed me without looking at me. “Sophie, could you please get Isabelle a glass of orange juice? Something with sugar.”
Sophie hesitated.
“It’s okay, Soph.” I released where I still held her.
She snuck from the room, the door clicking quietly closed behind her. The entrance through which we had come had been secured as soon as we were inside and I was now alone with Father in a quiet alcove at the front of the church.
He didn’t speak to me, and the silence felt immense.
“Father?” I stepped forwards unsteadily.
His eyes only narrowed, enforcing the agonising silence.
“Say something.” I tried to meet his gaze, but he looked away. “Please?” My voice broke.
“Here.” Sophie snuck back into the room. My mask not quite back in place, she saw straight through me and glanced between us.
Sophie offered a flute of juice. I accepted it gratefully and raised it to take a sip.
Father moved, his hand coming to cover the glass and pressed for me to lower it. His fingers dug into his inside breast pocket, withdrawing something in his fingers.
He looked at Sophie then; she stood her ground.
I smiled at her, the action forced but I was still grateful to have her. My true family.
The thought was a dagger to my stuttering heart. My pulse felt too slow, sluggish and no amount of horror from the day’s events thus far caused it to wake up, not properly.
Father’s fingers extended, a pale capsule between them, which he flexed and the thing broke in two, a white powder cascading into the juice below.
Sophie’s gasp met my squeak of horror.
He was increasing my dose.
The white powder sank below the surface and Father cupped the rim of the flute, swirling it weakly in my hold, still careful to avoid any contact.
“Sophie, you will be expected at the front of the church.”
The music had started up, the call for Sophie to walk down the aisle ahead of me.
Her repeated hesitation had him bristling.
“Sophie.” His voice was low, warning. “Your involvement in all this has hardly been unnoticed. I’d warn you not to swim against the current today.”
“You’re joking?” she challenged, her back ramrod straight.
Father simply sniffed before he finally looked at me with nothing but cool detachment in his face.
He placed several fingers under the glass and pressed, watching me carefully while he forced me to raise it to my lips.
His brows rose and my lips parted, the juice slipping inside, the taste bitter with the added drugs.
“Sophie, now!” Father ordered.
She stroked the skin of my arm drawing a shudder, her hand pressing a bouquet into mine, then he turned away to leave me, the sound of the string quartet flowing through the doors which opened to allow her to enter the church.
By the time I had finished the drink – struggling with the speed he tilted the glass and unable to stop unless I was willing for it to spill which would only cause me a different set of problems – the music had changed.
He took the glass and discarded it on the counter, coming to stand beside me, he wavered, briefly, before he reached around my shoulders and lowered the veil over my face. He hooked my fingers inside the crook of his elbow before releasing my hand as if it burned him.
The doors before me swung inward, Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata drifting into the small room, the notes slowly haunting and ethereal.
I had so loved this song once.
Father moved, and I lurched beside him, my vision swimming with the suddenness, he slowed until he found a pace I could manage and clapped his fingers over mine.
I didn’t try to find any affection in his act. He was trying to keep me upright.
We floated through the doors, his face falling into a mask of pride and joy, so I pulled my lips into something that I hoped resembled a smile and searched for Sophie.
The aisle was long. Lines of lilies and roses cascaded down the edges, wrapping up and over the ends of the pews. The centre carpet was a soft cream, complementing the white floral arrangements. The pure white beauty a fantastic joke in the presence of so much clutching corruption and control.
I found her. Sophie was standing on the raised platform, and she was smiling at me. At least I thought she was – her form wouldn’t stay still for long enough for me to be completely certain.
I could step forwards, one foot in front of the other, to get to Sophie.
My legs tingled beneath me. The vodka-infused full-body cuddle now morphing into an unsteadiness that only came from a skin full of alcohol and poor life choices. And I was weathering the effects in a room filled to the brim with every significant politician in society.
Their eyes were like pins pricking across my skin.
I felt completely exposed, making the mistake of glancing over the staring faces.
There was pity – more than I’d expected – and there was envy. Then there was Ester with her critical suspicion and raging hurt.
So many eyes, all of them judged me. Some actively hated me. I knew it. I knew it.
Finally, the steps rose ahead of me and I found the forethought to lift the flowing skirt to take them, one stilted step at a time.
I looked at him then.
His forest green suit, matched by his groomsmen behind him. His jaw was clean shaven, skin smooth and bright, and his eyes sharp.
He looked down on me adoringly and I blinked hard to keep him in focus.
“Isabelle,” he whispered. “You look beautiful.” He turned to my father. “Thank you, Edmund.”
Father didn’t speak, he passed my arm to Teddy and withdrew, the sounds of his footsteps lost in the rustle of the guests sitting.
My bouquet was teased from my fingers, the gentle reassurance of Sophie’s touch fleeting.
The room shifted slightly and then settled more as I stilled. Teddy’s arm swooped around my waist and he reeled me in. The act of a caring fiancé who wanted never to be parted from his recently returned wife-to-be.
The priest began to speak, calling across the room, welcoming the guests.
“I’m very disappointed in you, my bride,” Teddy whispered carefully, nuzzling my ear through the long veil. “I’ve just been comforting your distraught sister, what on earth did you do?”
I remained silent, my mind thick and slow, I had nothing to say and Ester worked so very fast.
“Not even bothering to make excuses, that’s a relief.” His forehead came to rest against the side of mine. “I like you when you’re like this.”
I swallowed, the relief of the juice long gone.
The priest was still speaking. He announced a curtailed service, the decision to simplify driven by the beauty of a love reunited and the urgency of our need to be wed.
I huffed a chuckle, but the noise was more akin to a strained squeak.
The priest paused.
“Continue, please.” Teddy drew his attention away from me.
“Please, face each other,” the priest resumed the service.
Teddy turned to me, lifting the veil covering my eyes. It did nothing to improve my ability to focus.
“We are gathered here to witness the joining of these two people in holy matrimony, in the sight of God.”
Teddy took both my hands in his and I gripped them fiercely.
From my position I could see so many faces in my periphery.
Each of them moving slightly, reacting slightly, flicking through their order of service.
The effect was eerie. Like looking at Van Gogh’s The Starry Night, but after a bottle of wine.
Only this wasn’t art, and I wasn’t under the influence. I was sedated.
“Marriage is a gift, calling two people to walk together through life, in faith, in love, and in trust.”