Page 22 of Declan

8

A Wicked Way We Walk

Issa

Awoman'sweddingdayis supposed to be one of the happiest days of her life.

Right?

This is where my mind is at as I sit here in my wedding finery, all dolled up and ready to face the man I’ve promised to spend the rest of my life with.

I wasn’t even upset that someone had replaced my pure white lace wedding dress with this body-hugging, off-the-shoulder champagne silk number that fits me like a glove.

I can't even be bothered to crack a smile at my reflection in the vanity mirror, too distracted by my contemplations on how the fuck I got here.

Sure, I don't necessarily believe in fairytales, but you would think that at this moment, at the very least, I would be able to smile at my own reflection.

What’s even more amusing is that either no one has noticed my lackluster demeanor, or no one can be bothered to mention it. Not even my own mother, though I suppose that is to be expected, considering I’ve just been her stepping stone to a better life since she found out that I could sing a note.

I know at some point, Bobby and I must've been happy together. Or I was too blind and stupid to recognize that he’s a mean, narcissistic, compulsive liar with a tendency to cheat.

Unfortunately, my initial red flag that we may be doomed was my ambivalence over the fact that he was cheating. At first, I allowed myself to believe he had a right to cheat because I wasn't giving him what he wanted, but now, I know how ridiculous that thought process was.

And then, there’s the fact he has a lewd video of someone I care about, which he will release to the press if I ever leave him. It would be easier if the video was of me. I’m generally a modest person, but I’d just as soon have millions of people see my bits than have to deal with this dickhead for the rest of my life.

But regardless of all that, it's now too late to go back and change any of it, so here I sit, grimacing at my own reflection, giving myself a pep talk on the merits of prenuptial agreements and divorce lawyers.

Bobby tried to tell me he’d have his lawyer take care of our prenup, but I wasn't stupid enough to do that. While he certainly gets more than his fair share in a settlement if we divorce within a certain timeframe, it's far less than he would've gotten if we used his terms. And the fact he tried to play it off like he didn't understand the wording was even more laughable and showed what a dumbshit cocksucker he truly is.

Anyone who has never known the reality of being trapped in a story of their own making believes I’m incredibly stupid. They tell me I should've walked away a long time ago, and I most certainly should walk away now, but as I've been reminded a million times before and will be reminded a million times more, I don’t have the luxury of doing what I want.

As that miserable thought settles, the door opens, and Jessica comes flying in with a piece of paper in her hand. “Issa, you forgot to sign the marriage license. They won't do the ceremony until they have it signed.”

I turn, raise my brows at her, and ask, “What are you talking about? How much more paperwork can there be?”

She laughs and places a paper on the vanity in front of me, handing me a pen. “That was all the legal paperwork. This is the marriage license. Your lawyer said the dates don’t matter, but it still needs to be filed.”

“Damn,” I say with a hollow laugh. “There goes the chance for an annulment.”

She tilts her head at me and gives me an amused smile as I sign my name in the appropriate spot. “Bobby hasn't signed it either. I guess someone better bring it over to him.”

She snatches it from my hand, grabs the pen, and makes a dash for the door, calling out over her shoulder, “I'm on it. You better hurry. You don't wanna be late.”

The door slams with a thud, and I go back to grimacing at my reflection in the mirror, wishing they'd forgotten the marriage license so that three weeks from now, I could learn we were not married and it was all a bad fucking joke.

Sure, I won't be a virgin anymore, but I'm starting to think that never fucking mattered in the grand scheme of things. Why the fuck does it matter who I give my virginity to at this point in my life? It’s not like anyone cares about it except for me, anyway.

Bobby has always been a bit of a prick, but he was skilled at hiding his prick nature until he realized he had me on the hook. And even then, I'm pretty tolerant of pricks—a skill I learned from growing up in the spotlight.

He became entirely intolerable a few weeks ago after that stunt Declan pulled on Kylie’s show. He even accused me of staging the whole thing to embarrass him, which is completely ridiculous because the only person I might dislike more than Bobby is Declan fucking Hughes.

Of course, my distaste for the man didn’t stop me from viewing that clip at least a hundred times since then. I can say a lot of bad things about Declan, but two things I do know for certain: he’s fucking hot, and he's one hell of an entertainer.

As he proved again when he crashed my concert a few days ago, putting on a show of epic proportions that will likely be racking up views and comments for months to come. Even more so once our fans find out that I went and married Bobby, anyway.

A knock sounds on the door, and a voice follows to tell me it's time. I give myself one more grimace and then school my features into that of a blushing bride as I rise, smoothing the champagne silk skirt of my bridal gown.

I exit the bridal suite and make my way down the hallway to the beginning of the aisle that I agreed to walk down. Bobby tried talking me into going to the courthouse and getting it over with, but I finally managed to get him to compromise by having this intimate ceremony with just a few close friends and family. My side is full of people, and his side only has a sprinkling, and it appears so off-balance that it irritates me.

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