Page 3 of Tales of Obsession Epilogue
Piya’s mouth curved when the sky lit up with fireworks just as we were announced husband and wife. I mirrored her smile. Finding her had been my purpose in life. I knew it then, when we took symbolicpherasaround a fire and got married without witnesses in the dark of the night. I knew it now, as we legally wed in front of the world under the spotlight, so no one could ever again deny that she was mine.
My princess.
Chapter
Two
DAMON
A NEW YEAR’S WEDDING
I carriedPoppy to the chapel, the icy winds of December greeting us on the way. A few passersby looked suspiciously at the barely coherent girl in my arms.
“She drank too much,” I explained with a shrug. “Vegas.”
They laughed jovially and didn’t think too much of two drunk people walking into a chapel. After all, most people getting hitched in Las Vegas were intoxicated. They assumed we would annul the marriage by tomorrow. If only they knew—I would never let her go.
I wanted to surprise Poppy with her dream wedding in her favorite city, though it was a shame she herself wouldn’t be lucid for the event. Every selection revolved around Poppy’s likes and dislikes, as I let myself believe that she was of sound mind and body while marrying me.
Unfortunately, that was hardly the case. The drugs had already taken course, and the champagne we shared hadn’t helped.
At least, I took care of all the logistics. We already picked up our outfits, and I wasn’t entirely surprised when Poppy settled on a black dress. The chapel was booked for two hours for our wedding. It had been decorated with Poppy’s favorite flowers—black dahlias—and the camera crew was all set up.
“Mr. Maxwell.” A blonde woman in a business suit sprang to her feet as soon as we entered the chapel. “I’m Farrah. We spoke on the phone. I’m the chapel coordinator.” She nervously glanced at the girl in my arms. “Oh my. Is the bride all right?”
“We started the celebrations early, and I underestimated my bride’s tolerance.” I gave her a charming smile.
Farrah didn’t seem all too concerned by Poppy’s state. “That’s Vegas for you. Happens all the time.”
I gave her an apologetic smile. “It’ll be great if we can get started.”
“Shouldn’t we wait for the bride to sober up first? Let me get her some water?—”
“We only have this place for two hours, and we have a red-eye flight right after the ceremony. I’m sure Poppy will sober up soon.” She knew what I was implying. How cognizant did she have to be to legally marry me, and how strict was that policy?
Farrah waved a hand in understanding. “Oh, of course. Let me introduce you to the wedding vendors.”
She pressed a button on her earpiece and, as if responding to a silent incantation, the massive doors to the chapel swept open in a perfect, synchronized fashion. The activity within the chapel reached a sudden hush. Inside, the wedding vendors were putting on the finishing touches with a florist perched on step stools, fixing cascades of black dahlia arrangements around the pews, two men at the altar unfurling a plush velvet runner, and a woman in a tight bun and headset barking into her phone while simultaneously smoothing wrinkles from the cake table linen.
Everyone glanced at Poppy apprehensively as she raised her head against my chest. “What’s goin’ on?” she slurred.
I told her we were getting married, but she kept forgetting due to the aftereffects of the drugs and alcohol. This time, I didn’t bother. “Don’t worry about it, baby. You can rest for a little longer.”
Curiosity met, Poppy slumped against my chest.
The vendors dismissed their concerns when I explained it was her first time in Vegas and she had gone a bit overboard. Wedding jitters!
“This is Maggie.” Farrah introduced another woman in a business suit and a tight bun. “The jeweler.”
As a high-end jeweler in Las Vegas, Maggie was accustomed to all sorts of elopements. I thought it’d be the first time she met a bride slipping in and out of consciousness until she explained a similar occurrence last week.
“Vegas.” She shrugged like everyone else, as if it were explanation enough. Maggie was more concerned that I had ordered rings without getting Poppy properly fitted for them. “Mr. Maxwell, it’s a good thing you already got fitted for your ring. Do you mind tilting the bride my way so I can fit hers?”
I moved Poppy to the right so Maggie had better access to her left hand. She placed Poppy’s wedding band on her ring finger—a simple white gold band dipped in black rhodium. Seemingly satisfied, she fitted her for the engagement ring—a solitary black diamond cut in the shape of a crown.
“Perfect fit,” Maggie exclaimed, seemingly proud of herself. “It’s the first time I designed a ring from scratch without measuring the finger. I’ll take the win,” she squealed.
The jeweler’s enthusiasm jolted my half-conscious fiancée. “What the fuck?” With her eyes barely peeled open, she glared at the ring.
