Wedding
Aria’s POV
They said brides got nervous before weddings. That their minds raced with thoughts of their new life. That maybe, just maybe, they'd feel a flicker of doubt.
Cold feet, they called it.
But this wasn’t cold feet.
I stood in front of the mirror, numb. Dressed in white, face flawless under layers of expensive makeup, hair styled like I was about to walk the red carpet; not into a trap.
"I still can't believe I'm about to walk down the isle ," I muttered for the fifth time, my voice sounding hollow even to my own ears.
As I stared at the mirror I didn’t recognize the girl staring back at me. Everything about her was pristine. Delicate earrings dangled near sculpted curls, and the dress, flowing, fitted, too perfect... clung to someone I didn’t know.
I looked like a damn white lotus! I was even dressed in a white gown!
"You better believe it, baby. My doll is getting married!" Paloma's voice chimed from the phone.
I frowned. “Don’t call me that.” I normally hated that name, but today... Right now, I hated it even more because I did look like a doll.
A barbie freaking doll!
“Relax,” she giggled, teasing like this wasn’t happening. “You’re glowing. You look absolutely stunning ."
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “How many times do I have to sacrifice for him, huh? How many times do I have to play the pawn just because he’s my father?”
Paloma’s laughter faded, her voice sobering. “You’ve asked that same question every time he pulls you into something. And you always say yes. You love him, Aria. That’s why.”
Yeah... I loved him.
He was my father, of course I did.
I looked down at my dress, the embroidery sparkling even in this dim room. It should’ve been beautiful. It was beautiful... Only that for this occasion, it had no meaning.
“He said it’ll only be for a few weeks," I whispered. "Just long enough to get whatever the hell he wants from the Jacksons."
Paloma kept silent. I didn't speak too.
Anytime I spoke of my father's business, Paloma refused to comment.
She didn't agree with it, neither did she disagree.
Then, Paloma sighed. “Well, for now, try not to sound like you’re marching to your own funeral. It’s your wedding day." She said changing the topic .
I scoffed. “I'm glad you're not here, it makes this even less real."
Paloma feigned a hut expression, releasing an overdramatic gasp. "How dare you..."
A knock at the door pulled my attention away. It creaked open and a young woman peeked through, her voice quiet. “Miss, it’s time.”
I nodded. My grip tightened on the phone. “Showtime,” I muttered.
“I’ll call later,” Paloma said.
I ended the call without another word and turned back to the mirror.
This is who I had to be today.
The car ride to the venue was short... thankfully. My palms were damp, and I tried not to think too hard. At least it wasn’t a church. My father knew better than to lie in front of God.
Nah...
He didn't.
My father didn't fear anybody.
He probably just found this venue more convenient.
The car door opened, and before I could step out, a man approached. He held a tablet, tapping the screen a few times before turning it toward me.
I hesitated, frowning at the screen, until my father’s face appeared.
“Baby,” he said with a smile, like this was just another business call. "How is everything going."
I didn't know why, but I felt disappointed.
Deep down I knew he wasn't going to come.
But it was a wedding, my wedding.
I thought he would try.
But he didn't.
“You made me do this,” I said quietly, “and you couldn’t even show up?”
His smile faltered. “Darling, I had work. There was no way I could...”
“Of course,” I cut in, voice flat. “Too busy to attend your daughter’s wedding.”
“It’s not your real wedding,” he snapped, eyes darting to someone offscreen. “Besides, there are too many enemies in that room. I couldn’t take the risk.”
I stared at him for a beat, then hit the red button, ending the call.
The bodyguard holding the tablet blinked, clearly not expecting that.
“What?” I snapped. “Want to call him back and tell him I cried?”
His mouth clamped shut.
I stepped forward, my heels crunching against the gravel. The venue wasn’t packed. Only the groom’s family and some powerful-looking business associates filled the seats. My father hadn’t even bothered to arrange someone to walk me down the aisle.
Figures.
This made the wedding even less real.
I looked down the aisle, and there he was... my soon-to-be husband, tall, broad shoulders. He stood perfectly still, like a statue in a tailored suit. His face was too far to make out clearly, but from here, he looked... decent. Handsome, even.
Whatever.
I pulled down the veil, exhaling slowly.
“I can do this,” I whispered.
As I stepped forward, I tried to feel something... anything. They said this walk down the aisle was magical. That time would slow, and the moment your eyes met the groom’s, everything would fall into pla
ce.
But all I felt was the weight of my steps and the silence screaming in my head.
Nothing magical about that.